She presses the attack, driving me backward with a flurry of strikes. I block, parry, absorbing the blows on my forearms and shoulders. My vision tunnels. This isn't a sparring match. She's coming for a knockout. A sharp elbow catches me on the chin, rocking my head back. For a moment, the lights in the gym swim.
She capitalizes instantly, closing the distance and driving me against the padded wall. Her knee slams into my thigh, then another. I grit my teeth, pushing back, trying to create space, but she's stronger than she looks. She transitions smoothly, grabbing my arm, twisting, and suddenly I'm falling.
I hit the mat hard, the air driven from my lungs. Before I can recover, she's on me, anaconda-like. Her legs wrap around my body, trapping my arm. She's going for a rear naked choke, securing her grip, tightening, tightening. My vision starts to grey at the edges. This is it. I can hear Curtis yelling something, a blurred sound through the haze.
