WAR
The Journey of Martial

Dark

Fight week had arrived and the pressure was beyond intense. The weight cut was gruelling and it was starting to push each fighter to the very end of their limits. Coach Flynn gathered the team and made an important announcement.

“We’re moving to a hotel for the rest of the week,” Coach Flynn said casually. “The upcoming match against Team Ireland has attracted a lot of media attention to our facility. We need to stay focused and avoid distractions.”

We all nodded in agreement and, to be honest, the idea of having some time to ourselves felt like the excitement before Christmas morning. But that aside, the intensity of the situation was sinking in. We donned our Team New Zealand tracksuits and were guided to the team bus. But we didn’t even make it that far before we were ambushed. As soon as we left the facility, a swarm of journalists rushed us. It was worse than the horde that had crowded around my house when my selection had been announced.

“Tia Clarke, how do you feel about the upcoming fight?” one of them shouted.

“Coach Flynn, what’s your strategy against Team Ireland?” another rattled off.

“Captain Ari "Ace of Clubs" Morgan, do you think Team New Zealand can win?”

The questions were practically screamed at us and they came from all directions. The only saving grace was the fact that the security team quickly formed a protective barrier around us and guided us safely to the bus. I took a seat by the window and I felt like I was outside my body for a second. I watched the journalists still clamouring for our attention and felt my stomach do a flip.

What if I messed up?

Jessica slid into the seat next to me and her hand found mine. She gave me a reassuring look and, in spite of everything we were already going through, she calmed me. Just having her near me put most of those butterflies at ease. I hadn’t noticed that Phoenix Maia was right behind us and if you know anything about Maia, it’s that he always finds himself in the right place at the right time. He leaned forward with a curious smile.

“Is there something we don’t know about?” he asked quietly as his eyes twinkled with mischief.

“Shut up, Phoenix,” Jessica replied softly.

But I could tell that she was struggling to hide her own smile.

The bus ride to the hotel was tense but pretty uneventful for the most part. We just watched the scenery pass us by in comfortable silence as everyone else around us chatted and laughed. By the time we pulled up, we were greeted by a sea of fight fans and even more journalists. You’d think that there was a limit to how many people in that industry, but they seemed endless.

Inside the lobby, we immediately noticed Team Ireland in their own tracksuits. Their eyes locked onto us immediately and the atmosphere grew thick with rivalry. It’s weird to think that these people, who were perfect strangers, could have something against us or us against them. But we fight for a living — or at least that was the plan.

The lobby itself was sleek and modern. It had high ceilings and tall glass windows that let in streaks of afternoon light. The floors were a cool grey stone that looked like they had spit-shined. Every step we took echoed slightly. A huge reception desk sat at the centre. It was curved and spotless with two staff members typing silently behind it. Lounge chairs with sharp angles and stiff cushions were arranged in clusters. I could tell that they were more for appearance than comfort. Potted palms stood like guards at the edges and everything smelled faintly of lemon polish. It felt expensive.

We made our way to the elevators and headed upstairs to our rooms.

“See you out there,” Jessica said as she rounded the corner to the wing where the female fighters would be.

“See ya,” I replied with a smile.

Finally, I made it into my own room and shut the door behind me. I took a deep breath and it felt like the warmth of relief was swallowing me up. The weight cut and the media frenzy were one thing, but the upcoming fight felt overwhelming. Still, I knew that I was here for a reason and I needed to stay focused. The time for reflection and doubt was over. It was time to prepare for battle.

So, I got to work on unpacking my things. First, I placed the picture of my father and me training together on the nightstand. I had honestly thought about leaving it in the safety of my room back at the facility, but I hadn’t made it this far without him. I knew full well that I carried him in my heart, but that photo was a reminder of why I was here and who I was supporting back home. Though I probably wasn’t fighting this time, my role was no less important. I had to stay strong for the dream I had been chasing my whole life.

The team gathered in the hotel’s conference room later that evening for a strategy meeting. Coach Flynn went over the game plan, starting with a full analysis of our opponents. From there, it was discussing our tactics. Each of us listened intently, knowing that every detail could make the difference between victory and defeat. After the meeting, I returned to my room and exhaustion was starting to set in. That’s when I heard a knock.

‘What now?’ I thought as I pulled myself back up off the bed and shuffled toward the door.

I looked through the peephole. It was Jessica.

“Hey,” I said as I swung the door open.

“Hey,” she replied as she hugged me and walked in.

She sat down on the bed and I walked over to sit next to her. It was odd, but her presence was the silent support I needed.

“The team will do great, Martial,” she said softly.

Her eyes were full of confidence and it made me feel that much more ready for what the days would bring.

“Just remember to calm down and relax. You’ve already done everything you can to prepare. If reserves are called, you’ll know exactly what to do. Trust in the process.”

I let her words sink in as we sat in comfortable silence for a while. The magnitude of the upcoming fight might have felt heavy but it was shared. I knew I wasn’t alone in this. We were our own kind of team, and together, we were ready to face whatever came our way.

It got later and the tension started to drop. Jessica moved closer and kissed me. It was soft at first and then it got deeper. Everything else faded. The pressure, the noise, and the stuff waiting for us outside the hotel all just went quiet. We didn’t speak. We didn’t need to. It felt like the whole day had been building to this. For the first time in a while, I wasn’t thinking about the next match or the weight of everything we were here to prove.

Lying there with her felt safe. It didn’t fix anything but it made it all feel easier. She didn’t try to say the right thing. She was just there and that was enough. I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to think. I just wanted to hold onto that stillness for a bit longer.

I shut my eyes and let myself stay in it. The rest could wait.

The next morning, the atmosphere was electric as the press conference for WAR 34: Team New Zealand vs. Team Ireland was about to begin. The room was packed with fight fans and journalists. Everyone was on the edges of their seats as they waited for the showdown. The air was filled with excitement. At the front of the room, the President of WAR, Richard Ricci, took the podium.

“Welcome, everyone, to the official press conference for WAR 34: Team New Zealand vs. Team Ireland,” he began as his voice commanded attention. “We have an incredible lineup for you, featuring some of the best fighters in the world. Let’s get right into it.”

The first question went to Team New Zealand’s Super Flyweight fighter, Lola Williams. A journalist leaned forward to address her directly.

“Lola, what are your thoughts on a potential bout against "The Only Survivor" Saoirse McGeady?”

Lola smiled humbly. She had a calm and respectful air about her.

“Saoirse is a tough competitor, no doubt. I’ve watched her fights and I have a lot of respect for her skills. It would be an honour to fight her. My focus is on giving my best performance and representing Team New Zealand with pride.”

The journalist then turned to "The Only Survivor" Saoirse McGeady and rattled off the same question. Saoirse’s response was glaringly different as her tone dripped with arrogance.

“Lola’s a good fighter, but I’m on another level. When we face off, it won’t just be a win for me. It’ll be a knockout. She won’t know what hit her. I feel tiny bit sorry for the wee girl.”

The room immediately grew alive with murmurs at Saoirse’s bold statement. Another journalist quickly shifted focus to Team New Zealand's captain, Ari "Ace of Clubs" Morgan.

“Ari, how confident are you in your team’s chances against Team Ireland?”

Before Ari could answer, Kyran Byrne, Team Ireland’s Super Lightweight fighter, interrupted with a smirk.

“Confidence is good, but let’s face facts. Team Ireland is operating on a different level. Ari won’t even get a chance to fight because Saoirse will close out the match before it even gets to me.”

Ari’s expression hardened and he shot back angrily, “Is that right, Kyran? Maybe you and I should settle this right now. Let’s see if you can back up that talk.”

Kyran stood up as his eyes locked onto Ari's.

“AYE! Do it then ya gobshite,” he bellowed.

Security quickly stepped between the two fighters to prevent any escalation. The tension in the room was high and the crowd on edge as they watched the intense exchange. Journalists continued to ask questions. The fighters responded with a mix of professionalism and animosity. Each answer only heightened the anticipation for the upcoming matches.

“Geez,” I murmured to myself. “Ireland’s on something.”

As the press conference neared its end, the fighters were called to the front for the traditional face-off. Lola Williams and "The Only Survivor" Saoirse McGeady stood toe-to-toe with their eyes locked in a fierce gaze. Ari "Ace of Clubs" Morgan and Kyran Byrne followed and the intensity between them crackled like electricity. Even during the face-off, the trash talk didn’t ease up one bit. Saoirse leaned in close to Lola and whispered something that made Lola’s jaw clench. Ari and Kyran exchanged heated words with their voices low but filled with menace. It really was a sight to behold. This is the stuff you see on TV and I was living it. As intense as it was, it was out of this world.

Richard Ricci stepped forward once more to close the press conference.

“Thank you to our fighters and everyone here today. This match promises to be an unforgettable night. We look forward to seeing you all at the fights.”

With that, the room erupted in applause. The fighters were still brimming with competitive fire but they stepped back from their face-offs and made their way off the stage. The anticipation for WAR 34 had reached a fever pitch and everyone knew that the upcoming matches would be fierce battles. Each fighter was single-minded in their goal to prove their dominance. I didn’t know which of my emotions was the loudest: excitement or tension. This was more than just a fight. It was a test of wills and skills. Smack dab in the middle of it all, the spirit of competition and the love for the sport had intertwined to shine brightly. In a way, this was how fighters and fans alike were united in the thrilling journey that lay ahead.

From there, it felt like I blinked and fight night had finally arrived. As we made our way to the Hi-Tech Arena, I marveled at it. This was a state-of-the-art facility known for hosting the most prestigious events in combat sports.

The place was full. Every corner of the arena felt packed with people who looked like they had come straight from red carpets or private jets. There were actors, rich types, and faces I had only seen online. They were all here to watch us fight. It felt strange to be the reason they had all shown up. The lights were bright and the noise was loud but weirdly repetitive, like a giant engine that never stopped. You could barely hear your own thoughts.

We walked in and the crowd closed in fast. Reporters shouted. Fans tried to push forward with their phones up. Flashes went off non-stop. Everyone wanted something from us but we kept walking. We didn’t stop. We didn’t smile. Our heads stayed straight. It wasn’t about them.

Just past the main corridor, we were pulled aside for the checks. The room looked like something from a science fiction film. Every surface was smooth and shiny. The scanners passed over us without touching but still picked up everything. They measured our bones and our muscles. They even picked up on the tiniest signs of strain or swelling. A nurse pricked my finger and before I could even blink, a screen next to me filled with stats and numbers. They checked our reactions with sensors on our hands and feet. The screens lit up green when everything looked right. If you weren’t ready, they would know. There was no hiding.

After that, we were taken to the warm-up space. It was huge. The walls were lined with screens showing every angle of the ring, from the seats to the entrance. You could see the whole event unfolding while you wrapped your hands. The gear was all set out for us, including gloves, guards, and mouthpieces. Everything was in place like someone had measured it all three times just to be sure. No one spoke much. We were getting ready for WAR.

Professional masseuses were on hand and they gave us all last-minute muscle relaxation and tension relief. Security personnel, on the other hand, were anything but relaxed. They were on tenterhooks to ensure our safety and privacy. All the while WAR inspectors oversaw every detail and maintained the integrity of the event.

The changing room felt hotter than usual. Sweat clung to my back before I had even started warming up. One by one, the team pulled on our fight kits. We had black long-sleeved rash guards that were tight enough to feel every breath with the New Zealand flag streaked across the shoulder. The shorts matched. Our mouths were fitted with gumguards bearing the silver fern and the boys were adjusting their jockstraps like they were getting ready for battle. Which, I guess, we were.

I watched Tami Ranga strap up his ankle supports while humming the same chorus from a drill song he’d been stuck on all week. He caught me staring and gave me a crooked grin.

“You reckon they’ll make us do a haka on the way in?” he asked. “Because I’ve got one move and it’s mostly eyebrows.”

“If you do that eyebrow thing again, I’m walking off the stage,” I said as I stretched my quads.

Ari "Ace of Clubs" Morgan passed behind us with his gloves tucked under one arm. He wasn’t smiling. He never smiled before a fight.

“No gloves this time, mate,” I reminded him. “You ready to punch someone with your actual bones?”

Ari cracked his knuckles.

“I was born ready. I used to punch trees for fun as a kid.”

“Yeah well,” Tami muttered, “trees don’t hit back.”

Everyone laughed, but it was the kind where you knew nerves were buried underneath.

We started warming up. First, there was shadowboxing then movement drills and some padwork. The first time I saw Caleb go bare-knuckle on the pads, I felt a weird shiver crawl across my back. The slap of knuckle on leather was sharp and final. You could hear it echo. WAR didn’t do gloves. WAR wanted the raw version. I felt my hands twitch like they knew what was coming before my brain caught up.

Then the room felt like it tilted. Everyone felt it.

The door opened and in walked a man in a sleek suit and shiny shoes that probably cost more than mum’s car back home. Richard Ricci. The big guy behind WAR. He looked like a fitness freak and a mob boss had a baby.

“Team New Zealand,” he said with that fake TV smile. “Looking sharp.”

We all stood straighter without meaning to. He walked down the line like he was inspecting soldiers and stopped in front of Lola as he tilted his head.

“You’re fighting "The Only Survivor" Saoirse McGeady,” he said like it was gossip. “Give her hell.”

Lola didn’t blink.

“I plan to.”

He smiled wider. “Good. WAR needs drama. And blood. Drama and blood make great telly.”

Then he was gone as he wandered off to charm someone else.

“Is it just me,” I said to Tami, “or does that guy look like he drinks protein powder for breakfast and eats raw eggs with a fork?”

“He’s the kind of bloke that’d sell his grandma for ratings.”

We were still laughing when the room went quiet again. A second group entered with two security guards. There was a flash of suits, and then him. The President of New Zealand. No one told us he was coming. Surely, there should have been briefing and a protocol to follow. But Chief Flynn looked just as stunned as us, so I knew it had to be impromptu. He looked smaller than I expected with tired eyes that caught my own before his navy suit. But when he shook my hand, it was firm and steady. He felt like a father you didn’t want to disappoint.

“You all right, Wilson?” he asked me like we’d met before.

“Yes, sir. Good to be here.”

To say I was stunned would have been an understatement. He moved down the line and talked to each fighter. They weren’t necessarily long speeches, but just personal things. He told Ari that he had watched his high school title fight. He told Tami his little brother was a fan. He told Lola she was a national treasure. She rolled her eyes after he had walked away from her and moved on but I knew it meant something. Then he stood in front of us all.

“You represent the heart of this country,” he said. “We’re small, but we’re proud. Make us prouder.”

We all clapped and shouted “Yes, Sir!” We knew what it meant.

The moment hung in the air for a while until the spell broke and cameras started clicking. The journalists came in like a swarm, led by that sharp-nosed guy from Fight Island Weekly. Flashbulbs went off and someone shouted my name, then Ari’s, then Lola’s. Emma from NZFIGHTNEWS waved from the back but didn’t push forward. She was classy like that.

“Wilson!” a younger journalist called out. “Is it true you and Jessica—”

“Pass,” I said as I grabbed my water bottle and turned my back.

Tami chuckled.

“You’re gonna have to answer that one sooner or later, bro.”

“Not today,” I muttered.

My stomach flipped again as I realized that word would get out. How that journalist had already gotten an inkling of it was beyond me. Jessica and I had been so careful and so private.

Then there were more cameras and more noise. A billionaire I recognised from a sports drink ad walked through shaking hands and handing out compliments like he owned the team. He told Caleb he looked “dangerous.” Caleb just nodded with a grin. Another sponsor in head-to-toe gold turned up with a film crew and a teacup dog in a handbag. I nearly walked into a wall trying not to laugh.

But even with all that chaos, something in me stayed quiet and focused.

As the match time approached, the room slowly cleared out. It was just us — the team and Coach Carter Flynn. The noise from outside seemed to fade and get replaced by a focused silence. Coach Flynn gathered us in a circle.

“Alright, team,” he began confidently. “This is it. You’ve trained hard and now it’s time to put everything on the line. Remember your strategies, trust in your skills, and support each other out there. This is our night. Let’s make it count.”

As the fighters prepared to head to the tunnel, Coach Flynn and the backups, including myself, remained in the training room and watched the show unfold on the numerous screens. The tension in the air was crazy. You could almost taste it. I stood by and watched the official fighters as they readied themselves. Each one carried the New Zealand flag with pride. It was a powerful sight as a symbol of our unity and strength. As they were guided to the tunnel, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy. But at the same time, I couldn’t imagine the pressure they must have been feeling knowing that the entire world was watching their every move.

From the screens, I watched as the team entered the tunnel. The cameras captured their faces and I saw this unreal steely determination mixed with a hint of nervousness. They were about to step into an arena unlike any other, where every punch, kick, and move would be scrutinized by countless number of people.

Every one of the 70,000 seats was taken. You could feel the magnitude of all those eyes fixed on the WAR canvas. The screens above lit up with fighter profiles as their stats flashed in sharp detail. The WAR canvas itself was huge — forty-five yards by thirty — bright under the lights and covered in WAR logos and sponsor names printed like stamps across it.

Our team stood tall at the centre with New Zealand flags held high. Their shoulders were back and their faces calm. You could tell they were locked in. The crowd roared so loud it felt like the sound shook the ground. It was pride. I watched from the training room. I wasn’t out there but I was part of it. Every move they made mattered for all of us. I could feel it in my chest. Coach Flynn stood beside the screen with his arms crossed and eyes locked onto every tiny detail. He didn’t blink much. He never did when he was analysing.

Then the lights in the arena dropped and the crowd went instinctively quiet. Green and orange lights swept across the WAR canvas. Then Sinead O’Connor’s voice rang out.

“Foggy Dew.”

The sound echoed through the arena like a wave. It wasn’t overly loud or dramatic. It was clean and haunting like something old. It was the kind of song that reached into you. Then, Team Ireland walked in slow with their flags in hand and heads held high. Led by "The Only Survivor" Saoirse McGeady. She didn’t look left or right. Just forward. The crowd stayed silent as they watched the team cross the arena floor.

Jacob Thompson, the backup 2 Heavyweight, leaned over to Ethan Ngata, the backup 1 Super Lightweight, and whispered, “What happened to her face? She looks terrifying”

Ethan was never one to shy away from a comment, so he nodded and added, “Yeah, she looks scary. I don’t know what happened. I heard she got caught in fire or something I can’t remember.”

Sarah Roberts, the backup 2 Super Flyweight, immediately turned to them with a fierce glare.

“Shut up, both of you,” she snapped. “McGeady is a burn survivor. Show some respect.”

The Irish team walked slow and steady like they had rehearsed it a hundred times. My eyes stayed on one person. "The Only Survivor" Saoirse McGeady. Everyone knew her story even if she never spoke about it. In 2022, there was a fire in an apartment block in Limerick. It killed all 46 people inside. Her parents and her twin brother were among them. Saoirse survived. She was just a kid. The fire left scars on her body and her face. She didn’t talk for years after that. Not one word. People say she hasn’t cried or smiled since.

She trains like she’s trying to break the world. People at the Fighting Irish Academy say she’s one of the hardest partners to spar. She goes full force. There’s no such thing as half-speed. Some people say it’s too much and that she’s dangerous, but no one says it to her face.

Outside of the gym, there are stories too. Some say she has ties to Irish crime families. I don’t know if it’s true but it wouldn’t surprise me. A few years back, someone stole a gold necklace from her. It had a pendant with a photo of her twin. The necklace was returned. The people who took it were found beaten up so bad they still walk funny. The weird thing was no one pressed charges or asked questions.

The crowd snapped me out of it. Everyone stood and cheered as the teams faced off. The lights grew brighter and the noise got louder. I could feel it in my ribs. I looked at the WAR canvas. Both teams were lined up and ready. You could tell the moment was here. It was the one we had all trained for. The WAR announcer stepped forward and raised the mic to his mouth. His voice came through the speakers as clear as anything. This was it.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to WAR 34: Team New Zealand vs. Team Ireland!”

The crowd erupted in cheers.

“Introducing Team New Zealand!” the announcer continued, his voice filled with enthusiasm.”

Team New Zealand

Heavyweight:

Liam Tahana

Super Middleweight:

Niko Houghton

Super Welterweight

Caleb Scott

Team New Zealand's Captain: Super Lightweight:

Ari "Ace of Clubs" Morgan

Super Featherweight:

Kieran Fitzpatrick

Women's Super Bantamweight:

Tia Clarke

Women's Super Flyweight:

Lola Williams

As each name was called, the fighters stepped forward, carrying the New Zealand flag. Their expressions were focused and hardened. The crowd’s applause grew louder with each introduction and the support for Team New Zealand was incredibly overwhelming.

The WAR announcer’s voice boomed through the arena, filled with anticipation and excitement.

“Ladies and gentlemen, introducing Team Ireland!

Team Ireland

Heavyweight:

Caolán Hughes

Super Middleweight:

Rian Loughnane

Super Welterweight

Paddy Ó Néill

Super Lightweight:

Kyran Byrne

Super Featherweight:

Sean Murphy

Women's Super Bantamweight:

Eilís Tadgh

Team New Ireland's Captain: Women's Super Flyweight:

"The Only Survivor" Saoirse McGeady

As the anticipation in the arena reached its peak, the WAR commentators, Gareth and Duke, took the stage to introduce the iconic moment.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it's time for a tradition that sends chills down your spine. Get ready for the Haka!” Gareth announced.

“That’s right, Gareth,” Duke said. “Team New Zealand is about to perform the Haka, a ceremonial Māori war dance that signifies their readiness and unity. It’s a powerful display of their spirit and strength.”

“Leading the Haka is Team New Zealand's captain, Ari Morgan. This is more than just a dance; it's a declaration of their determination and pride,” Gareth commented.

The arena fell into a hushed silence as Team New Zealand stepped forward and formed a line facing Team Ireland. Captain Ari "Ace of Clubs" Morgan stood at the front and his eyes blazed with intensity.

“Stand together, warriors of New Zealand!” bellowed Captain Ari "Ace of Clubs" Morgan, his voice carrying the weight of their collective spirit.

In perfect unison, Team New Zealand echoed, “Stand together, all of us!”

Their chant reverberated through the arena as a powerful display of our unity and readiness.

“The power stands, the prestige stands!” Ari’s voice cut through the air. It was steady but sharp. “The strength and the bravery of this team!” he shouted. The rest of us hit back just as hard. “We stand for battle!” Ari took a step forward and didn’t blink. “To fight, to be victorious!” The room shook with our reply. It wasn’t just words. It was pressure. It was fire in our throats.

“BE STRONG! BE UNITED! BE A WARRIOR OF NEW ZEALAND! I AHAHA!” Ari yelled so loud his voice cracked near the end. We all followed, fists clenched and feet planted. The energy didn’t need music or lights. It just needed us.

“A warrior, a warrior! We are strong! We are united! We will continue to fight for New Zealand! Forever and ever! Yeah! Team in Black! Yeah! Team in Black! Yeah! Team in Black! Yeah! Team in Black! Yeah! Team in Black! Yeah! HAH!”

It didn’t feel rehearsed. It felt real. Like the kind of thing that only came out when you believed in the people next to you. When the last shout dropped, we moved as one and sliced the air in front of our throats. The gesture was sharp. It was final. It wasn’t just for show. We wanted them to feel it.

The crowd roared so loud I could feel it behind my eyes. We stood there, breathing hard. Then Saoirse stepped forward. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t blink. She just stared at us and smiled. Not a real one. The kind you see before someone swings. Then she lifted her hand and made the same cut-throat motion straight back at us. It was calm. It was slow. And it stung.

Team Ireland burst out laughing. Not fake laughing. The kind that makes you feel like you’re the joke.

The tension snapped right then. The crowd lost it. Everyone was on their feet.

Gareth’s voice came through the speakers. “And now, folks, it’s time for the first fight of the night – the Super Middleweights!”

Duke followed. “This is going to be an intense showdown. Let’s take a look at the tale of the tape.”

And just like that, it was on.

Tale of the Tape:
Super Middleweight Bout

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Gareth boomed, “it’s time for the first fight of the night! representing Team Ireland, the Super Middleweight, Rian Loughnane!”

“And from Team New Zealand,” Duke said, “we have Niko Houghton! Both fighters are ready to put on a show. This is the moment we’ve all been waiting for. The energy in this arena is electric.”

The bell rang and the fight started. Rian and Niko circled each other with quick feet and steady eyes. Neither rushed. They kept their distance and read every twitch. You could tell they were both waiting for something real before making a move. Rian stepped in first. He landed a fast jab-cross and followed it with a leg kick. His hands were fast and tight. Niko fired back with his own shots and answered with kicks of his own. Every hit sounded like a slap across concrete.

“Look at those combinations from Rian. He’s found his rhythm,” Gareth said.

“Rian’s striking is clean tonight. Niko’s taking shots to the face but he’s still pressing forward,” Duke added.

They traded hard punches in the centre. Rian stayed just out of reach between combos. Niko looked game but slower. His face started to swell near the right eye and Rian picked him apart piece by piece. Then Rian dropped low and grabbed a single-leg. He dumped Niko to the WAR canvas and took top position. His elbows came down fast. One. Two. Three. The sound was brutal.

“Rian shoots and gets the single-leg. He’s on top now and those elbows are nasty,” Gareth said. “Niko can’t take too many of those this early.”

Niko covered up and tried to twist away but blood smeared across the mat. I watched from the warm-up area with a tight feeling in my chest. This was WAR. You blink, you bleed. But Niko wasn’t done. He kicked off the cage and scrambled up to his feet. His stance was wide and shaky but his eyes were locked in. Rian came forward again and started chopping at his ribs. Niko winced with every kick but kept swinging.

“Niko’s back up. You can see it in his face. He’s not done,” Gareth said. “But Rian’s still mixing those body kicks in and they are hurting.”

“Rian’s breaking him down. Those kicks are taking a toll,” Duke added.

“Niko needs to do something different. He can’t just eat those,” Gareth said.

Niko must’ve heard it in his own head. He rushed forward with a wild burst and fired everything he had. Hooks. Uppercuts. Knees. Jabs. He wanted to change the story fast. But Rian stayed calm. He dipped under a punch and went for a double-leg. Niko sprawled like his life depended on it and kept his balance. They broke apart and stood again. This time, both were breathing heavy and sweat dripped from their chins.

The pressure was getting worse. I could see it in Niko’s face. He still wanted it, but his body was falling behind. Rian looked locked in. He was sharp and dangerous. Then it happened. A left hook from Rian landed clean. Niko’s legs gave out and he crashed down to the WAR canvas.

“Big left hook for Rian! Niko is down!” Gareth yelled.

“Rian’s pouncing. He’s looking to finish this!” Duke said.

“Rian’s all over him now. Landing big shots. Niko is in trouble!” Gareth shouted.

I held my breath. Niko tried to shield his face but Rian was faster. He passed Niko’s guard like it was nothing. Niko twisted to block the strikes but turned the wrong way. His back was wide open.

“Rian sees it. He’s got the back. He’s locked in a rear-naked choke!” Duke said.

“He has the choke! Will Niko escape?” Gareth asked.

The choke was deep. Niko reached for the hands but it was too late. His legs kicked once and then he tapped. The ref stepped in fast. The screen flashed red and blue as the fight ended. Medical bots rushed in before anyone else could. They lifted Niko onto a stretcher and he didn’t fight it. He just lay there with his eyes open and blank.

“It’s all over! Rian Loughnane gets it done for Team Ireland! What a start to the night!” Gareth yelled.

“What a win. That’s the tone-setter. Team Ireland takes the lead,” Duke said.

Gareth stepped up again.

“Ladies and gentlemen, up next is the Super Welterweight bout of the night. Representing Team New Zealand, we’ve got the sharp striker Caleb Scott. He’s young. He’s fired up. He’s here to prove something.”

“And across from him, repping Team Ireland, we have Paddy Ó Néill. Veteran. Submission machine. Cold as ice,” Duke said.

“Both men want it. You can feel it in the air. Let’s check the tale of the tape,” Gareth said.

I stared at the screen. My stomach tightened. Caleb was up next and things were about to get rough.

Tale of the Tape:
Super Welterweight Bout

Caleb and Paddy clashed in the centre without hesitation. There was no circling or waiting. Just fists flying. They both came out swinging. It was raw and fast. You could feel the tension in your chest.

“Right from the start, these two are going at it! No feeling-out process here!” Gareth said.

Paddy threw a teep kick but Caleb smashed over it with a heavy overhand right. It cracked against Paddy’s jaw and dropped him back a step. The crowd went off as Paddy stumbled. Caleb’s shot landed clean and I felt my pulse spike.

Paddy recovered fast. He danced out of range and started snapping jabs at Caleb’s head. They landed hard and kept coming, but Caleb stayed calm. He stepped in again and dropped another right hand that sent Paddy straight to the WAR canvas.

“Paddy is down! Caleb’s power is on full display here!” Duke said.

Caleb rushed in. He wanted the finish, but Paddy grabbed at a leg and nearly twisted into a lock. Caleb scrambled out fast and the moment passed. Paddy stood back up and shook it off. You could see it in his face . He wasn’t done yet.

They went back to throwing with no breaks. Punches to the ribs and knees to the legs. Elbows that cut so hard I could practically feel it all the way from the locker. Caleb started landing more often. Paddy’s face split open near the brow and the blood poured down.

“Caleb is in control now! Paddy’s face is a mess, but he’s still fighting back!” Gareth said.

Caleb pushed forward again. You could see he thought it was done, but Paddy stepped back and threw a jab. Then a head kick came right behind it. Caleb didn’t see it. It snapped into the side of his head and dropped him to one knee. The whole arena gasped and I stopped breathing. Caleb looked like he was sleepwalking.

Paddy didn’t wait. He jumped and smashed a flying knee into Caleb’s face, and Caleb dropped flat. The ref stepped in and waved it off without a second thought.

“Wooooooow,” Gareth said.

“What a finish! Paddy Ó Néill with an incredible flying knee knockout!” Duke said.

I felt sick and not because Paddy won but because Caleb gave it everything and still hit the floor. It was hard to watch. He wanted it bad, but Paddy wanted it more. The fight was brutal and fast and over just like that.

“What a start to WAR 34. Team Ireland leads two–nil after big wins from Rian Loughnane and Paddy Ó Néill,” Gareth said.

“But the night is still young. Next up, it’s the Super Featherweights,” Duke said.

“From Team New Zealand, it’s Kieran Fitzpatrick. Fast hands. Wild pressure. Always exciting to watch,” Gareth said.

“And across from him, Sean Murphy. Team Ireland’s grappling machine. He’s tough. He never stops coming,” Duke said.

“The crowd’s locked in now. This next one’s going to be wild,” Gareth said.

I leaned forward. This was Kieran’s fight. We needed this one.

Tale of the Tape:
Super Featherweight Bout

“Next up, the Super Featherweights," Gareth said.

“Representing Team New Zealand, we’ve got Kieran Fitzpatrick. Quick hands. Fast feet. He doesn’t stop,” Duke said.

“Facing him from Team Ireland is Sean Murphy. Grappler. No nonsense. Built for deep waters,” Gareth said.

“The arena’s ready. You can feel the tension. Everyone knows what’s on the line,” Duke said.

“Kieran Fitzpatrick. Sean Murphy. Two different styles. One shot at glory. Let’s see who wants it more,” Gareth said.

The ref stepped in. It was one of the robot types with the voice that always sounded too calm.

“Are you ready?” it asked.

Kieran nodded. Sean nodded too. They never broke eye contact. The bell rang and Kieran went straight for it. Big overhand right. Full tilt. But Sean saw it coming. He dropped low and wrapped up Kieran’s legs. He picked him up and slammed him down hard. The crowd roared as Kieran hit the mat.

“Sean with a perfect takedown. He’s got Kieran down early,” Gareth said.

“We knew Sean’s wrestling would show up. Kieran needs to stay standing if he wants a shot,” Duke said.

Sean stayed heavy on top. He drove punches into Kieran’s ribs and face. Kieran covered up but the shots kept coming. You could hear every hit. The sound bounced off the walls.

“Kieran is struggling underneath. He’s not finding space,” Gareth said.

“Sean Murphy is pounding him out. Elbows now. He’s turning up the heat,” Duke said.

Sean passed the half guard. Clean. No mistakes. He threw a knee into Kieran’s side that made the whole front row flinch. Kieran tried to move but Sean kept him pinned. Then Sean reached for a choke. It was an Anaconda with one seriously tight grip. Kieran twisted just in time and slipped out. That escape said a lot. Kieran was still in it. Still fighting. But he needed something big.

“Anaconda choke! Sean’s got it locked in!” Gareth said.

“Kieran escapes! He’s still in this fight!” Duke added.

Kieran twisted out just in time. His face was red and his breathing sharp. Sean didn’t slow down. He stayed on Kieran’s back as Kieran tried to stand. Then it happened. Sean popped his hips and lifted Kieran clean off the ground. The suplex sent him upside down. Kieran landed hard on his head and neck. The WAR canvas shook under the impact. The crowd exploded and some screamed while others covered their mouths. It was brutal.

“Ohhhhh!” Gareth shouted.

“What a suplex! Kieran is in serious trouble now,” Duke said.

“Kieran Fitzpatrick looks like he is out!” Gareth said.

Kieran didn’t move right away. His arms were limp and his eyes were wide. Sean dropped into mount and rained down punches. Every shot snapped Kieran’s head back. The ref waited for a response. There wasn’t one. He waved it off and shoved Sean away.

“The fight is over! Sean Murphy gets another point for Team Ireland!” Gareth said.

“Team Ireland is now ahead three–nil! They only need one more to win,” Duke said.

The medical bots zipped across the WAR canvas and checked Kieran right away. One scanned his eyes and another stabilised his head as it started lifting him onto a stretcher. Kieran blinked but didn’t try to sit up. You could see it in his face. He was awake but rattled. He’d given it everything, but it wasn’t enough. Sean raised his arms. His chest rose and fell fast but his face didn’t change. The crowd gave him everything. They applauded and whistled. It was loud and wild. They knew what that win meant for the whole game.

The lights changed and the music stopped for a second. Then the volume in the arena climbed again as the next name appeared on the screen. "The Only Survivor" Saoirse McGeady.

“Here we go. The moment we’ve all been waiting for. Team Ireland is three points up and now their captain is in,” Gareth said.

“This is massive. Saoirse McGeady. Burn survivor. Fighting legend. And one more win from her will end this whole thing,” Duke said.

The spotlight locked onto the tunnel. She stood just at the edge of the entrance. Her head tilted slightly forward. Her hands were already wrapped as she walked forward and the crowd went mad.

“Saoirse McGeady. A survivor. A fighter. From the ashes of a fire to this stage. She’s the definition of resilience,” Gareth said.

She looked up into the stands as he said that.

“She’s not just strong. She’s a symbol and Ireland is behind her right now,” Duke said.

She stepped into the arena and didn’t wave or acknowledge anyone. Her eyes stayed ahead and she looked like she was already in the fight.

On the other side of the cage, Lola Williams was bouncing on her toes. She looked smaller than Saoirse but she had something else. It was a spark like a twitch of energy that I had seen before in training. She didn’t need to be the loudest in the room. She just needed one clean shot. Lola was Team New Zealand’s last chance. If she lost, it was done. There was no comeback and no final round. This was it and both of them knew it.

“And from Team New Zealand, we have Lola Williams. She’s already proven herself to be a formidable opponent. Tonight, she faces her toughest challenge yet,” Gareth said.

“Lola Williams has the skill and the heart of a warrior,” Duke added. “She knows what’s at stake, and she’s ready to give it her all. The crowd is electric, and both fighters are ready to put on a show.”

The arena buzzed with anticipation as the tale of the tape appeared on the screens to highlight the stats of the two combatants.

Tale of the Tape:
Women's Super Flyweight Bout

The crowd’s excitement grew as the fighters made their way to the WAR canvas. The stakes were high and the world was watching.

“Here we go! The stage is set for an epic showdown. Will Saoirse McGeady secure the win for Team Ireland, or will Lola Williams keep Team New Zealand’s hopes alive?”

“This is what it’s all about, Gareth. The passion, the pride, the fight. Let’s get ready for an unforgettable bout!”

The crowd roared in approval as the energy in the arena reached its zenith. Both fighters stood ready and poised for battle. They knew that this fight could decide the fate of their teams. We all did. The robotic referee asked both fighters, “Are you ready?” and both Saoirse McGeady and Lola Williams nodded in agreement. The crowd’s anticipation was on another level.

“And we're off! This is the bout that could seal the deal for Team Ireland!” Gareth shouted.

Saoirse’s kick landed hard across Lola’s ribs. Lola stepped back and blinked, but she didn’t fold. She reset her stance and came forward again. Both of them stood patient in the middle, but Saoirse pushed first. She sent out fast punches and hard kicks. Every strike had weight behind it. When she spun for another back kick, Lola just missed the block. It hit square.

“Saoirse McGeady wasting no time, coming out with a spinning back kick to the body. That hurt Lola!” Duke said.

Saoirse stayed in range. She didn’t chase but she didn’t let Lola breathe. She threw long jabs and checked kicks. Then, she landed another clean shot to the stomach. Lola threw a counter and tried to step in close, but Saoirse kept moving. Her reach was perfect and her timing was sharp.

“Saoirse is keeping the pressure on. Her strikes are precise and powerful. Lola’s having a hard time finding her rhythm,” Gareth said.

Then came a front kick that hit dead centre. Lola folded for a second before straightening up. Saoirse answered with a one-two. Then again and again. The crowd shouted louder with every hit. Lola’s face started to split open near the cheekbone and blood leaked onto her shoulder.

“Look at those cuts on Lola! Saoirse’s mixing up her shots. Switching stances. Landing clean elbows,” Duke said.

Lola tried to close the gap. She ducked low and reached forward but she walked straight into a left hook and then an uppercut that snapped her chin back. Her legs buckled and she hit the floor hard.

“Ohhhh! Saoirse with a brutal uppercut! Lola Williams is down!” Gareth said.

But Saoirse didn’t follow. She waited and her hands stayed up. She watched Lola roll to her knees.

“But Saoirse isn’t going for the finish. She’s allowing Lola to get back up!” Duke said.

Lola dragged herself up as blood ran down her face. Her nose looked broken. She shook out her hands and tried to bounce again, but the snap was gone. Saoirse stepped in. Southpaw now. She threw a straight left that hit Lola right between the eyes. Lola’s legs wobbled. She ducked low and dove at Saoirse’s waist. It was a desperate shot.

“Lola Williams just shot for the double-leg and Saoirse McGeady with her famous takedown defence just stopped Lola in her tracks! Saoirse has the top position!” Gareth said.

Saoirse sprawled and stayed on top. She passed Lola’s guard without rushing. She moved straight to mount. Then came the elbows. They were hard and fast. Lola rolled over and covered up. Her arms were slow and her hands kept slipping.

“Saoirse’s defence is impeccable. She’s in control on the ground,” Duke said.

Saoirse saw the back. She slipped an arm under the chin and tried to seal it, but Lola twisted and peeled it away. She held on for a second longer.

“Saoirse’s going for the rear-naked choke! But Lola’s defending well,” Gareth said.

Saoirse let it go and started punching again. Fists and elbows flew. Then, forearms. Lola didn’t move. Her hands stayed tight but nothing came back.

“Saoirse transitions back to ground and pound. This might be it for Lola!” Duke said.

The ref stepped in fast. The lights flashed and the crowd exploded. Lola didn’t argue. She lay still and tried to breathe. Saoirse stood. Her face was still calm with no smile. She didn’t even give Lola so much as a fist pump. She was just done. The fight was over and so was the series.

“IT’S OVER!” Gareth bellowed. “TEAM IRELAND GETS THE WIN! Saoirse McGeady is a SAVAGE!”

“What a display of skill and heart! Saoirse McGeady secures the victory for Team Ireland. What an incredible fight and what an incredible night!” Duke added.

“Oh, man,” I sighed.