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Description
Joanne takes on the champion of the arena, Amilia.
This is an excerpt from my WIP novel, but most of this should be understandable without any context. Hope you enjoy the read and let me know if you want the rest of the fight as well

part2:
www.deviantart.com/emot1onblur…

Joanne is my OC

The smell of alcohol and sweat filled the arena. Clouds of dust and smoke billowed across the floor, creating a dense mist. The cries of the audience, bookmakers and announcers mixed with the clinging on coins, the blaring of horns and other sounds she couldn’t even pinpoint. And in the midst of everything, dim light shone on the dome shaped cage. Jo took a deep breath, her hands clenched to fists. Once she stepped in, there would be no turning back, they said. But it was an illusion. She had burned any bridges the moment she agreed to Leto’s offer.

Slowly, she made her way through the crowd, down the stairs. Her eyes fixed on the steel cage, she barely registered the spectators crying in ecstasy, throwing insults in her face, touching her shoulders, arms, stomach and legs. She drowned out the noises, focusing on her own heartbeat and the cold concrete beneath her feet. Keeping her chin up high, she steadily walked forward. They wanted their champion to win, to show the foreigners from Earth what happened to those who mingled in their affairs. Nothing they said or did mattered. If the 19 sailors were still alive, they needed her help. Victory was the only option.

With a metallic shriek, the doors slid aside reluctantly. The walls of the cage were made of a thin mesh, its loops barely large enough to fit one hand through. That’s when Jo spotted her, stepping into the ring, arms up and further inciting the crowd who started chanting her name. Amilia wasn’t as tall or bulky as many of the women in the Navy, but there seemed to be no excess weight on her. Whenever she moved, the muscles rippled beneath her skin, perfectly visible as if all fat had been removed. Like a machine that was built with only the necessary parts, every part of Amilia’s body looked like it was designed to hurt and maim her opponents, whether it was her thick legs, her muscular arms or her firm core. Her dark eyes mustered Jo and a smirk appeared on her lips. She cracked her knuckles and sauntered towards the middle.

Let’s do this, Jo said to herself, approaching her opponent. Somewhere in the crowd, her squad was cheering for her. She couldn’t disappoint them. The sound of the gong echoed through the arena. Immediately, Amilia stepped forward, throwing a punch. Jo twisted her body and ducked, but the fist still grazed her cheek. Damn, she’s fast! Her mind raced, frantically searching for a strategy. Was the champion just testing her or going all out? Amilia gave her no time to think about it, as her leg swept through the air. Dodge. Another kick, this time aimed at her leg. Jo stepped back, out of range, but Amilia kept pursuing. An opportunity for a counter presented itself. Jo leaned back, letting her opponent’s foot fly over her head, then thrust forward.

A sudden outburst of pain in her stomach halted her advance. Amilia’s heel had buried itself in her midsection, impaling her mid attack. How was this possible? How did she turn so quickly after that roundhouse? Jo stumbled backwards, pressing one hand against the aching spot. She needed a better approach, fast.

Description
Joanne takes on the champion of the arena, Amilia.
This is an excerpt from my WIP novel, but most of this should be understandable without any context. Hope you enjoy the read and let me know if you want the rest of the fight as well

part2:
www.deviantart.com/emot1onblur…

Joanne is my OC

The smell of alcohol and sweat filled the arena. Clouds of dust and smoke billowed across the floor, creating a dense mist. The cries of the audience, bookmakers and announcers mixed with the clinging on coins, the blaring of horns and other sounds she couldn’t even pinpoint. And in the midst of everything, dim light shone on the dome shaped cage. Jo took a deep breath, her hands clenched to fists. Once she stepped in, there would be no turning back, they said. But it was an illusion. She had burned any bridges the moment she agreed to Leto’s offer.

Slowly, she made her way through the crowd, down the stairs. Her eyes fixed on the steel cage, she barely registered the spectators crying in ecstasy, throwing insults in her face, touching her shoulders, arms, stomach and legs. She drowned out the noises, focusing on her own heartbeat and the cold concrete beneath her feet. Keeping her chin up high, she steadily walked forward. They wanted their champion to win, to show the foreigners from Earth what happened to those who mingled in their affairs. Nothing they said or did mattered. If the 19 sailors were still alive, they needed her help. Victory was the only option.

With a metallic shriek, the doors slid aside reluctantly. The walls of the cage were made of a thin mesh, its loops barely large enough to fit one hand through. That’s when Jo spotted her, stepping into the ring, arms up and further inciting the crowd who started chanting her name. Amilia wasn’t as tall or bulky as many of the women in the Navy, but there seemed to be no excess weight on her. Whenever she moved, the muscles rippled beneath her skin, perfectly visible as if all fat had been removed. Like a machine that was built with only the necessary parts, every part of Amilia’s body looked like it was designed to hurt and maim her opponents, whether it was her thick legs, her muscular arms or her firm core. Her dark eyes mustered Jo and a smirk appeared on her lips. She cracked her knuckles and sauntered towards the middle.

Let’s do this, Jo said to herself, approaching her opponent. Somewhere in the crowd, her squad was cheering for her. She couldn’t disappoint them. The sound of the gong echoed through the arena. Immediately, Amilia stepped forward, throwing a punch. Jo twisted her body and ducked, but the fist still grazed her cheek. Damn, she’s fast! Her mind raced, frantically searching for a strategy. Was the champion just testing her or going all out? Amilia gave her no time to think about it, as her leg swept through the air. Dodge. Another kick, this time aimed at her leg. Jo stepped back, out of range, but Amilia kept pursuing. An opportunity for a counter presented itself. Jo leaned back, letting her opponent’s foot fly over her head, then thrust forward.

A sudden outburst of pain in her stomach halted her advance. Amilia’s heel had buried itself in her midsection, impaling her mid attack. How was this possible? How did she turn so quickly after that roundhouse? Jo stumbled backwards, pressing one hand against the aching spot. She needed a better approach, fast.