Marcus was arguing with the judges for a while, even though he had put on his helmet and his precarious protections, the judges who organized the evening of combat told him, with reason, that this was not a Battle Suit, that he could die in there. But nobody could make the former champion see reason, in the end they let him fight, to do otherwise would have voided the bets and broken the atmosphere in the club.
Even though Marcus was not wearing the Battle Suit, he was almost taller than his opponent and had the same broad shoulders as his rival with the armor on. That body was on a completely different level to a simple class E. What class would Marcus have?
The referee in the ring did not care how crazy Marcus was, in that ring children and adults died every few days in the fights, the fact that a famous guy died did not affect him in the least.
Marcus's drunken pre-fight attitude seemed to disappear as soon as he was in the ring, his feet were firm and he barely wobbled, the tension in his muscled body also tightened.
Comparing the bodies, just one of Marcus' abs could be more bulging and bigger than the muscles in Mouse's arms, and for some reason he had them swollen since he started that hell called training.
The other opponent had a metallic grey helmet, with half the visor broken, a metal mesh replaced this part with some iron additions to give it protection against direct hits. Marcus' helmet was not much better, it really looked like a madman had joined random and poorly welded pieces together until he managed to cover his head.
That was not a helmet, it was the biggest botch job that could be done, but since it had no flight system or mechanical or hydraulic parts Marcus did not really need a Battle Suit helmet, just something to protect his head from a direct hit.
The former champion's opponent got into position with his legs slightly apart and one leg just a little behind the other, his center of gravity low to take advantage of the hydraulic system of the Battle Suit's legs and back.
But Marcus's posture was carefree, even eccentric, he stood with his body almost sideways, only his left arm forward away from his body, his right hand in line with his stomach. What would happen if he received a blow? In that position he couldn't block, did he think he would receive a full-on blow from a Battle Suit?
All these thoughts went through Mouse's head until the referee blew the whistle on the fight. The other fighter, knowing that he had the advantage of the suit, came out like a shot, a full-power blow trying to tear off Marcus's head or helmet. But by the time the blow was about to arrive, Marcus's head was no longer there, he had simply jumped back, barely a step. Marcus's forward punch was then launched three times in a row, the punch was lightning fast, and although it didn't have the power of the hydraulic system, the metal gloves made a loud "clank! Clank! Clanck!" sound against his opponent's helmet.
Despite the surprise, the other guy wasn't an idiot and he recovered, now launching a series of punches in a row, but Marcus was always out of range and those fast punches always landed with their metallic rebound sound.
Seeing that the tactic wasn't working, Marcus' opponent launched himself with the momentum of his flight system and his arms open with the intention of charging and crushing the former champion against the fence, but Marcus simply jumped over it to avoid it. It was a jump that no human being should be able to do, at least not any that Mouse had ever known.
The other wrestler crashed into the fence in rage and frustration, trying to recover and turn around, but Marcus had already landed and jumping, all his weight concentrated on his left leg, the flat kick caught the other in the knee that bent at an odd angle. If it weren't for the Battle Suit there was no doubt that that blow would have broken his knee in two.
There were a couple of exchanges of blows again, the other wrestler tried, but now he was limping noticeably, and Marcus had no problem getting out of range and repeatedly hitting his helmet with his left hand.
In the end the other wrestler did the most logical and predictable thing, taking flight and gaining speed as he spun around the ring and gained height. He dove into the former champion. Marcus didn't seem to want to move, protect himself or flee.
The impact was inevitable, Marcus only had his hands extended towards his opponent, they were going to collide head on, his opponent's fist was launched at the right moment to add its strength to the speed of the descent. However, in a strange maneuver, the former champion caught that extended arm with both hands, all the muscles in the back of that guy who was beyond class F tensed and redirected his rival's nosedive.
The impact against the ground was loud, at that speed even inside the battle suit he had to have been hurt, but Marcus was not going to end there. He wrapped his legs around his opponent's torso while he positioned himself on his back, you couldn't strangle a fighter in a battle suit, the former champion knew that, but what he did was put his hands through the cracks and holes in the helmet, and began to pull back using leverage with his body.
The clanking of gears and joints could be heard, his opponent was thrown into the fence but Marcus resisted his efforts, a blow against the fence would not make him give up. The seconds passed, but in the end his rival's helmet flew into the air, the former champion struck with his two hands together as if it were a mallet against the crown of his opponent's head. At the third blow a jet of blood and brains splashed Marcus on the face and body. He had blown his skull. He had had no qualms about killing his opponent, and it seemed as if he had planned the entire fight from beginning to end.
The former champion took off his helmet and left the cage, his drink had just arrived.
"I told you kid, it was fast, five more of these and I can leave this forgotten dump"
Despite the brutality, Mouse learned a lot from watching the fight, the ex-champion's movements had nothing to do with any other fighter he had seen, it was not the speed or the strength of that body, it was the way of entering and exiting the distance, the way of hitting or preparing the body. He thought about many of the punches he had been practicing, and knew that despite having been an improvement compared to throwing crazy punches, they were surely wrong. What had impressed him most was that left hand, fast, pounding.
Mouse still had a lot to learn. The referee called Mouse, he would be announced first by the referee. The public that had seen him fight a couple of times was delighted, although that day many people from the club where the other boy had fought were there.
Despite everything and fighting at home the bets were two to one against him, that was what it was like to continue being small in size. This time Mouse bet two thousand shillings on the same match. At the moment when the referees accepted the bet, his opponent was announced by the referee. His opponent's name was Rompehuesos.