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Starting to Look Up

Written By: Spudz

Trash littered the gutters and anywhere else it could collect. A few parked cars sat on cinderblocks, long since abandoned by their owners. Only one streetlamp provided any usable light to cast eerie shadows across the old decrepit buildings butted up against one another.

Luka Cross walked down the dirty ill-kept sidewalk, a pair of boxing gloves dangled over her muscular shoulder. She found the city street's atmosphere comforting, reminding her of her old stomping grounds as a feisty youth.

The wolf paused, scowling warningly at a group of shady drifters in the nearby alley, making sure they didn't get any stupid ideas. They seemed to get the message and shrank back more into the shadows. Yes... right at home indeed. She moved on, not giving them a second thought.

Tonight's the night.

Months of hard work and training had come down to this. Just down the street a dirty neon sign loomed above her destination. The name of the bar had changed, but the new owner had not taken the time to replace the old logo. Instead a piece of cardboard scrawled with 'The Pit' now adorned the face, announcing how cheap or lazy the new management was. You couldn't call it the best establishment. Not even close. But no other bar in town hosted amateur boxing events.

Just beneath the sign, a burly husky stood with his arms folded across the chest; typical bouncer material from the looks of him. His small shirt struggled to contain his bulky muscles, and he stood with the passive confidence that bespoke an inclination to bust heads and whoop ass should the job require said services. He almost stacked up to Luka's daunting stature... almost.

In the dim neon light of the sign, she could see his eyebrow arc at her approach. He whistled with approval. "Wow. My, my, look at you girl." His eyes swept across her finely sculpted form with no effort made to hide his admiration. "I've never seen a chick built like you. Good grief, you put me to shame."

She motioned with a jerk of her muzzle to the bar entrance. "This where the amateur boxing night is still held?"

"That it is," he replied, gesturing with a thumb to the paper flyer on the wall just over his shoulder. "Why? You lookin' to enter?"

His powers of observation failed him, given the boxing gloves dangling from her shoulder. But then again, they weren't paying the bouncer to be smart. "I am. Same cover fee?"

"S'right. Just head inside and see the owner, Frank. Fat coyote. Can't miss 'em." With that he stepped aside, giving her room to pass.

She dipped her head in thanks and took the half-flight of stairs down to the bar entrance.

"Come back and see me later, babe. I love me those nice big knockers. Could motorboat that all night long."

He didn't see her eyes roll as she continued down the stairs, not bothering to dignify that with a response.

The overwhelming stench of spilled beer and mildew smacked the wolf squarely in her nose as she entered the bar. The Pit deserved the name for its location in the basement of an old apartment complex; a dive, plain and simple, but still fairly popular given the amateur fight night events it hosted regularly.

All conversation briefly stopped at the wolf's entrance. The low lighting made it hard for her to pick out faces in any detail at the various tables that littered the garbage crusted floor. A few furtive glances didn't escape her notice: definitely a rough crowd tonight judging from the vibe. She could handle herself if things got rowdy though.

She found the bar owner easily enough. The pudgy coyote had his back to her as he counted out stacks of cash on the bar counter. He didn't notice her approach until a polite cough perked his ears.

His was clearly shocked to see her standing there when he turned in his stool. "Whoa, now. Damn!" After a moment he managed to put on a sleazy smile. "Goddamn, that's quite the rack you got there, hun."

She felt her ear twitch at his words, but didn't take the bait. "You Frank?"

His grin widened to showcase a set of sharp fangs in a fashion typical of devious coyotes. "I certainly am. Are you old enough to be in here, girl?"

Her shoulders sank a little. She was only 19, not even old enough to drink yet. "No. But I figured you'd let me enter since I intend to pay."

"You looking to enter the fight tonight?"

At least he was more observant than the bouncer. "Yes. The women's round is after the men's, right?"

He took a moment to pull a pack of gum out of his pocket, sliding a single piece out with a finger so he could peel open the foil. She waited, with no effort made to hide her growing annoyance, as he plopped it in his mouth and began to chew, slowly, with deliberate smacks of his lips.

Only when she felt her hand tighten into a fist at her side did he decide a reply was warranted. "Yes it is." A few more smacks of his gum. "But you can't enter."

"What?" the wolf exclaimed, recoiling back. "Why not?"

"Look at you. You're a frigg'n tank." He grinned, his jaw working the gum over like a cow chewing its cud. "Wouldn't be a fair fight for the other ladies."

Her anger welled up as she leveled a finger at him. "They let me fight in the women's last time!"

"I didn't own the bar last time," he countered with cool, sleazy calmness. "My bar, my rules, sweetheart. Enter the men's bracket or leave." He cocked his head, favoring her with malicious eyes over the bridge of his nose. "So, wa'da be?"

She opened her mouth to retort, fangs bared to berate him loudly in front of the patrons. But she stopped short of words; there was too much riding on tonight. She needed the money. Bad. If she had to fight in the men's bracket, then so be it.

The coyote could see that he had won; his grin only grew more devious. "Hundred to enter. I'm sure you know the rules."

Luka reached into her pocket and extracted a bundle of cash, all small denomination bills. It had taken her a month to scrape together the money. What she now held in her hand represented a large portion of her savings. She handed the wad over with a scowl that could kill.

He took the cash and thumbed through the stack with a practiced hand, counting each bill. After a moment he nodded, satisfied that she had not shorted him. "You'll be in the first fight sweetheart. You got fifteen minutes." His business with her now concluded, he returned to counting the cash on the bar counter, leaving the wolf to seethe angrily.

Luka stomped over to the fighting ring, trying to put the fat bastard out of mind. She was committed now. There was no going back. No time to concern herself with anything but the upcoming bout.

The ring situated at the center of the bar's open floor space was surprisingly well maintained, given the general state of the bar itself. The canvas had been replaced since her last time here, and the ropes and turnbuckles sported a refurbished look to give the elevated stage the appearance of a proper boxing venue. The overhead lighting had even been upgraded. Frank may have been a slimy coyote, but he clearly knew where his money was made.

She wasted no time mounting the ropes, climbing through to stand at one corner of the ring. Her muscular presence on stage immediately commanded the attention of all the nearby tables. She paid no mind to the catcalls that ensued and disrobed to leave only a pair of black sports trunks and bra -- the latter struggling valiantly to contain her ample bosom -- as her fighting attire.

As was her routine, the wolf next pulled her fiery red mane of hair back and tied it off into a ponytail, ensuring it had no chance of interfering with her vision. The boxing gloves came next, old, but well taken care of. She slipped them carefully over her hands and tested the fit with a few quick jabs.

The old reliable gloves had belonged to Rufus for some years, and had seen quite a few matches before the wily fox had passed them down to her. She was only in the ring thanks to him. He had proven a skillful trainer, surprisingly quick with his feet and fists even in the onset of his latter years. She remembered it all so vividly. Every training session. Every lesson learned. Every grueling punishment she had endured physically and mentally to better herself in the ring.

Luka was no longer an inexperienced whelp of a pup, wild and untamed in her fighting style. She was not the wolf who, on that fateful night, had duked it out against her betters in this very ring and come up woefully short. She was not the young beaten girl Rufus had taken under his wing after that punishing defeat. She _was_more than that now... much more.

Boxing was not like the rough and tumble fights of her youth. There was structure, a form and flow to it, a mastery that could be acquired and honed with expert precision. Rufus had taught, and she had learned.

The crowd's hoots and hollers had only grown more vocal, making her fur bristle with excitement. She basked in the moment, closing her eyes. The anxiety that wanted to overwhelm her was a guilty pleasure. She reveled in it, really she did; it kept her focused. On her toes just like she needed to be.

From the pocket of her discarded jeans, she extracted her mouth guard, first taking a moment to remove a glove to do so. The thick blue rubber guard was also a gift from Rufus. She really wished he could be here. But the fox had been persistent in his refusal to attend. This was a test, as he had said, to let her prove for herself that she no longer needed him. Deep down she knew he spoke the truth, as much as she longed for his presence at her side right now. No sense dwelling on that now.

She shook the thought off, giving a few more quick jabs and a shuffle of her feet to loosen up the muscles a little more. Yes, she was ready for this.

Her opponent chose that moment to enter the ring.

The malamute didn't so much as enter, as he did stumble through the ropes, only just keeping his mug of cheap beer upright.

Luka couldn't believe it. The dog had the audacity to bring a drink into the ring. She watched with muzzle agape as he tilted the mug back and downed the rest of his beverage, capping it off with a satisfied sigh and hearty belch. His legs barely held him upright through it all. This... this is my opponent?

Another wolf joined the ring. She assumed he was the referee, judging by his black and white striped shirt. It wasn't even the right sort of attire that real refs used. He didn't look all that knowledgeable at first glance -- probably just some random bar patron they had picked to officiate tonight.

The _ref_quirked an eyebrow at the empty mug still held in the malamute's hand. "Uh... you're not really s'posed to bring that here."

Her opponent only then seemed to realize he was holding the glass. "Ah, whoops." He set it down, with great difficulty, on the edge of the canvas and wobbly stood once more. "Sorrys. My bads." The effort of donning his boxing gloves proved equally challenging.

The referee walked over to Luka while her opponent struggled. "'Fraid I didn't catch your name on the registration sheet." He looked back over his shoulder as the malamute finally figured out how to get his hand in a glove. "You sure you want to fight in the men's bracket?"

She pressed her gloves together, knuckles meeting with a satisfying thump. "Luka... and you bet."

"Well, good luck," he spoke with a shrug. "This first match will probably be easy. But the rest..." He didn't finish and turned back toward the center of the ring, apparently deciding he didn't need to spell it out for her.

The crowd was getting rowdy, gathering in greater numbers around the ring's edges. The energy of the room was electric. Luka donned her mouthpiece and stood to face her opponent, setting her expression.

He... sort of did the same. She wasn't sure if he was even looking at her or the turnbuckle behind the imposing wolf. Her question was soon answered as the malamute stumbled forward and blinked a few times.

"Now, hold on... hold on. Wait. A. Minute! I'm fight'n a woman?" His slurred speech was grating. "And with such big titties too? My god!"

Apparently her ample bosom was going to be a running theme tonight. She just sighed and looked to the referee, silently imploring him to start the match.

He got the message. "Alright I want a nice clean fight. In this corner we have the newcomer, Luka. And in this corner, Tenacious Terry." He took a moment to size them both up. "No dirty hits... ah, yeah, whatever. You know the drill." He threw his arm between them and then pulled it away, signaling the start of the bout.

The audience erupted in a raucous uproar. They wanted a fight worthy of spectating, something to cheer for in drunken delight. Luka hoped she could give them just that.

She brought her hands up in a ready stance, gloves poised to strike out in a mere instant. Her opponent... did not.

He stood there, head swimming in a swirl of booze, clearly not in the right state of mind for a fight. Or was he? She had to wonder: was this some sort of elaborate ruse? Was he trying to catch her off guard? She had no real way of knowing until they exchanged fists.

She advanced on her toes, ready to react. Her strategy was deceptively simple; employ a balance of agility and power to keep the enemy guessing, using the former in defiance of her bulk to learn the opponent's style and the latter to apply precise strikes to exploit any weaknesses found. It worked well enough on paper, and in the countless training sessions she had undergone. But this, this was the real deal, the first true test of the fighting strategy under her employ.

The malamute moved to her, his brow furrowing with the concentration of remaining upright. His gloves were hung loosely at his sides. They met in the middle, Luka bouncing on her toes, arms up, waiting for him to make the first move. Now she would see what this dog was really about.

His gaze refocused on her, and a drunken scowl splayed his muzzle like the flick of a switch. "Co'mere!" He flew at her in a rage, yelling at the top of his lungs, arm swinging out to deliver a powerful haymaker.

Too easy. She sidestepped the powerful punch with ease. He stumbled, falling forward. The miss left an opening so big that you could drive a semi-truck through it. And that's exactly what Luka did.

She countered with a savage uppercut, landing the blow squarely on the underside of his muzzle. Her second punch with the other hand snapped his head to the side brutally.

The malamute reeled back from the force of the blows, bouncing off the ropes to fall forward like a sack of potatoes. Her one-two combo had finished what the eight mugs of beer had started hours ago.

The thud of his body hitting the canvas made her wince. He was out cold, just like that. It was over.

The referee didn't even bother with a count. He simply shook his head, obviously having seen this play out many times before, and motioned with an outstretched hand to the wolf. "Winner, Luka."

The crowd broke out in vociferous laughter. From the shadowy expressions of the rowdy onlookers she could make out, it was no surprise Tenacious Terry had lost so easily.

There was nothing more to be done. She extracted herself from the ring, jumping down into the audience to be enveloped with hearty slaps on the back and drunken cheers. In the meantime, a few of the malamute's friends had climbed into the ring to tend to him. He was eventually brought back to the waking world and groggily escorted out of sight.

In that moment of indecision, she had a sudden urge to get away from the chaos of it all. The women's restroom seemed like a welcome respite, and with the crowd's attention turning to the next fight she took shelter in there.

The solitude gave her time to breathe, letting her replay the quick match over and over in her mind. She couldn't believe what had just happened.

It had been effortless. Granted, her opponent had been blind stinking drunk. But the victory was still thrilling. She'd faced her demons of the past and conquered them.

Even with her newfound confidence, Luka couldn't muster the willpower to make her way back out into the bar. She heard the crowd's cheers ebb and flow with each unseen hit between the boxing fighters, and she knew that she should be out there studying their moves, watching their fighting styles to find weaknesses before she faced them down in the next round. But something held her fast to stare into the dirty bathroom mirror at her reflection, wondering if she could see this through all the way.

The restroom had lockers and a bench. Not wanting to go back out, she instead decided to take possession of the latter by lying down on the hard wooden surface, staring up toward the ceiling and the few dingy lightbulbs that lit the space.

There was no questioning her motives for doing all this. The construction job, along with the occasional complementing odd job around town, made ends meet. But only just. She knew she could not keep going on like that, barely scraping together enough money to pay rent and put food on the table.

Luka had a chance, here and now, to make something of herself, a chance for her to pick up the shattered pieces of her life; pieces that had never been whole since the death of her parents during their deployment to Afghanistan almost a decade ago. That day she had lost everything... not just her beloved mother and father.

Maybe, just maybe, she could finally save up enough money to hire a private investigator to track down her brother. She had not seen Ben since that fateful day -- the news of their lost parents, the screaming, the crying, the anguish as he was torn from her arms to be taken away.

The memories made her shudder. That day she had learned just what hell was, thrown into a foster care home far removed from what remained of her family. She had no idea where he had been taken. The inept foster agency had lost all his records. Hearing 'I'm so sorry' only made the pain worse after a while. Eventually she had been forced to give up her search.

Tonight, though, she could start to mend that pain of her past, and maybe start putting her life back together. You always had to start somewhere, and this was her chance to do just that.

Some time later the wolf's ears flicked at the shouted announcement of the next round beginning. She didn't know how long it had been since her first fight. That didn't matter. She drew a heavy breath and steeled her expression, before removing herself from the bench to exit the bathroom, a purpose in her step.

She found her opponent already waiting in the ring when she managed to pick her way through the crowd. The large muscular tiger favored her with a wicked smirk as she climbed through the ropes. His long feline tail flicked about incessantly. "Well, and here she is. Miss Big Bad Bulky Wolf."

She ignored his sneering words and tested the fit of her gloves. A few quick stretches ensured her muscles were still loose.

Her silence did not faze him. "Gonna be the strong and silent type, eh? No matter." He leveled a gloved hand at her, grinning over his upturned muzzle. "I saw your first fight. I know you're no pushover." His tail curled and lashed about with more animation. "You're no match for me, though."

The beginnings of an angry frown started to work its way across her muzzle before she stopped herself. She kept her peace, only letting his taunting smirk grow wider.

"You got nothin' on me! I'll bury your face in the canvas before you can even throw a punch! Teach them to pit me against a fucking chick."

This guy could certainly run his mouth. But he definitely wasn't all talk. That much she could tell from the way he carried himself in the ring. In that case...

She looked right into his eyes and put on a knowing smile. If he wanted to try and get inside her head then two could play at this game.

"Bitch! You best wipe that smirk off your muzzle before I do it for you!" He started dancing around the ring, strutting about like a peacock. The crowd loved it. "Bitch thinks she can best me. She be wrong! Probably thinks she be distracting me with them big titties!"

The audience roared with laughter at his words. Luka just stood there and smiled. She knew how to play this game.

Her stoicism had the intended effect. He stopped dancing around and scowled at her from the other side of the ring. "Think you can just stand there, huh? I'll fucking give you something to smile about, bitch."

The ref finally decided the fight should start. He came between them, motioning to the two boxers. "First match of the second round. Luka versus Mike." He rolled his wrist as a show of hurrying the particulars up. "Yada, yada, yada, clean fight and whatnot."

When the wolf pulled his arm away, both fighters donned their mouth guards and advanced to the center of the ring. This time her opponent had his arms up in a proper stance. Not going to be so easy this go.

The tiger came out swinging, his fists reaching out in predictable, but powerful, haymakers. But unlike the malamute before, he didn't leave openings for her to exploit with a counter. She danced between his strong punches, reading him carefully. Her subsequent counters met his unyielding defense, rendering them harmless.

He was using a southpaw stance, she quickly realized, leading mostly with the left hand; a slugger type of boxer too. He wasn't particularly quick with his jabs, but each punch carried a heavy blow behind it. She could not let herself get hit full on. It would be over in a flash.

He backed off his attack and she went on the offensive, her gloves lancing out at her opponent in a series of jabs, crosses, and hooks.

He bobbed and weaved around her attack expertly, her last hit landing on his gloves as he covered up. The crowd was going nuts all around them. This was a fight, a real boxing match between equal opponents.

The tiger pulled away from the engagement, bouncing on his toes as he flexed his arms. His muzzle turned up in a cocky grin to show his mouthpiece as he pranced about the ring out of her reach. More head games; she ignored his taunting and held her stance, inching toward him, but not pressing her attack.

Suddenly, he was upon her again, his gloves reaching out to connect with dangerous power. She stumbled. Her defense faltered.

In that horrific moment, his unblocked glove came flying in with a powerful cross; a killing blow.

The wolf shifted; the glove glanced off the side of her cheek, only just avoiding disaster. She pulled away, reeling, glad he didn't press his advantage. This isn't going so well...

In the ebb that followed, she racked her mind. There must be a weakness in this guy's style, something she could exploit. Something she could use. The cat was laughing at her through his mouthpiece, waiting.

And then she remembered -- why hadn't she sooner? It was something Rufus had taught her, a weakness that all felines had: his tail. If you learned to watch how it twitched and waved about, you could begin to read your opponent's moves before he even made them. A good feline fighter knew how to disguise such a debilitating tell... but then, most did not even know it existed.

She let her gaze drift down to the tiger's tail, scrutinizing its every flick and wave as he bounced on his toes. Worth a shot.

Luka pressed in, attacking with a flurry of blows, forcing him on the defensive. She kept an eye on his tail, noting how it moved in tune with his defensive bobs and weaves. He wasn't disguising his moves!

The wolf pulled back, letting him go on the offensive. Sure enough...

She saw his punches coming before he even threw them, until... there!

A strong hook, aimed at the side of her muzzle.Perfect!

She evaded effortlessly; he didn't even see her counter punch coming up from below in a concise uppercut strike.

Her glove connected viciously against the underside of his muzzle. Lights out.

The tiger's momentum carried him forward to fall onto the canvas like a stiff board. She spun around, just in case, but it was over.

Her opponent was out cold, sprawled out on the ring spread eagle. For a moment, the bar was utterly silent, punctuated only by the count as the ref gave it.

"...6...7...8..." It was pointless. The tiger was not getting back up. "...10!"

The silence that had taken hold was consumed by the boisterous cheers and whoops of the crowd. The whole bar went ballistic. The fight had been one to watch, and the audience had loved it.

Luka extracted herself from the scene as quickly as she could, weaving through the bodies and hoisted beer mugs in her honor. She got a few more pats on the back this time and was accosted by a few drunken patrons, before managing to find refuge back in the women's restroom.

The bathroom still offered the solitude she needed. The women's bout was later on in the night and apparently none of the contenders had shown up yet, or they were busy watching the men's.

She looked at herself in the mirror, surprised to find a smiling wolf looking back. The exhilaration of the moment got the better of her.

She'd survived two fights and come out relatively unscathed. Just one more waited; the final match to decide the winner of the night. She was one fight away from collecting the winnings she so desperately needed. How could she not be excited? One more... just one more.

The bar's energy built up again in the background, signaling the start of the next fight. She decided to wait out the interval in her seclusion, taking the time to calm herself back down and focus on the task ahead. The final bout was not going to be easy. Her opponent had to make it through the first two rounds as well. She couldn't let that thought faze her though.

Once again she took possession of the restroom bench and stared up toward the ceiling, letting her mind wander as she distantly listened to the commotion of the bar.

Just one more.

One more fight and she would be on her way to a new start, a new chance to begin making something of herself. She started thinking what she could do with the money. No more odd jobs on the side for a while at the very least. Rent had just been paid, and she had plenty of food in the fridge and pantry. For once, the wolf had gotten ahead on her bills too. Adding the prize money to the mix would only sweeten things up that much more...

She couldn't wait.

Roughly an hour later, another shouted announcement summoned the wolf back out to the ring. It was time for the final fight. This was it.

She took a moment to regard herself in the mirror once more, finding the wolf that looked back cool, calm, and confident. I got this! I know I do!

Like before, her opponent waited for her in the ring when she returned; a Doberman this time, his features rather unremarkable at first glance. Not overly muscular, or tall. He sported a puffy eye, no doubt from a previous fight, and stood with a calm poise, watching her as she approached. Her casual observation made him out to be older than her previous opponents too, probably late thirties. She could handle this.

He licked his lips thoughtfully as she climbed through the ropes. "So I get to fight the up-and-coming Luka? This should be interesting." The way he spoke carried a fatherly quality. She found herself unnerved by that as she came to regard him from the opposite corner of the canvas. "You've proven to be an interesting contender tonight. My compliments for making it to this final round."

She ducked her head with a raised eyebrow. "Ah, thanks?"

He chuckled, slowly putting on his boxing gloves. "You should be a worthy opponent. This will be interesting."

The wolf didn't say anything more. She waited as he calmly finished lacing up and donned his mouthpiece. She did the same as the ref found his way between them.

I got this!

He didn't even bother with his halfhearted explanation of the rules this time, and instead favored them both for a moment with a disinterested look. His voice barely carried over the din of drunken noise from the patrons. "Final fight. Luka versus Robert." He stepped to the side. "Begin!"

Don't throw this away now! She advanced on the Doberman, intent on finishing the fight quickly. Her fists came in a quick dizzying volley, aiming for a decisive knockout.

She hit only air; he dodged her combo perfectly. Effortlessly.

She reeled back, finding the dog suddenly in her face. His steely expression made her blood run cold.

His fists were a blur. She ducked and weaved, defending, only just staving him off. He pressed his attack mercilessly, pushing her up against the ropes, starting to work his way right through her guard like it was nothing. Not good!

It came out of nowhere. A left hook hit her square in the jaw, sending her reeling back against the ropes. She was pinned, still under his relentless attack.

Another punch snuck through her gloves, hitting her hard in the cheek. She couldn't escape!

He connected again, a punishing body shot that stole her breath in a pained gasp. The crowd's deafening roar faded into a dizzying buzz as she tried desperately to keep on her feet, arms held up awkwardly to fend off the next blow.

Another unseen punch to the muzzle finished it.

Everything was a blur. She lost herself, and then came back.

Her muzzle was laid out on the canvas. Someone was counting.

"...2...3..."

She had to get up! Had to keep fighting. She couldn't lose like this!

"...4...5..."

With every ounce of her remaining strength, she found her footing somehow.

"...6...7..."

Everything snapped back into focus. Her opponent stood on the other side of the ring. The crowd roared with unbridled energy as the referee's count halted at eight.

She signaled she was good, and brought her hands back up. Her head buzzed, vision blurring as she forced herself to remain upright. She didn't dare let this fight end now.

The Doberman came back across the ring, his emotionless expression making her fur stand on end. She had to find a counter fast!

His punishing blows still resounded with her, how they had connected; a combo that he had repeated. She kept her hands up in defense, taking a gamble, knowing she had only one shot of turning this around.

The wolf dodged instinctively before he even swung, hoping he would use the same move again.

His glove came around right where she had hoped it would, hitting nothing but air.

She moved again, bringing a glove up just so. His second punch was blocked.

Another move and another wild swing that missed wide. This was it! Her only chance.

The wolf's glove sprang out in a quick jab, exploiting the brief opening, meeting his cheek in a purposeful blow.

He fell back, stumbling. She closed in, giving everything left she had, fists flying in a fury, landing a few glancing hits.

Her strength waned. The wolf panted with her growing fatigue, still reeling from the near knockout. She had to finish this now!

Her opponent bounced off the ropes, still stumbling under her withering assault. He tried counter-punching, missing wildly, opening himself up to another wicked hook that almost tore his mouthpiece from his muzzle.

Finish it! Now or never!

She wound up and came in low, connecting hard against his jaw in one last desperate punch. The dog staggered, his arm coming out in a wild jab that was knocked off course by her brutal hit.

The wolf staggered, crashing into the ropes as her stamina left her and her vision whirled in a horrible dance. She spun around, waiting for him to deliver the final knockout blow that would surely finish her. But it never came.

The Doberman had fallen to his knees, his head pressed against the canvas, struggling to stand as the ref began the count. She waited, only just able to stand herself.

He found his footing and then fell again. Luka willed herself to stay standing, ears splaying with her grimace of effort. If he got back up...

He tried one last time... and collapsed fully onto the canvas. He didn't muster a third attempt.

"...8...9...10!" The referee waved his hands. "It's over!"

The rumble of noise that enveloped the bar was incredible. She couldn't believe it. It was over. She had won...

She stood there, shell-shocked. I did it...

The words kept repeating in her head, until she was absolutely sure they were true.

The Doberman tried to get back on his feet, dazed and only just starting to grasp his loss. They were both worse for the wear. Luka herself had been one punch away from spilling to the canvas herself.

She extended a gloved hand out and he took it gratefully, letting himself be pulled back to his feet. She held him for a moment, until a buddy of his entered the ring to take over the duty. In that moment, their eyes met.

"Great...ah, fight," he managed, panting with the effort of trying to stay on his feet, even with his friend's help. He extended a glove and she tapped it wearily with her own. "You earned the win. I'm getting too old for this."

She smiled, knowing a true fighter when she saw one. "You gave me a run for the money. Don't count yourself out yet."

His tall pointy ears twitched, and a wan smile graced his muzzle. "Heh, maybe you're right. Look me up sometime. Just ask for Robert. I practice here on weekdays with a few locals." He paused to catch his breath. "Could use a new sparring partner. Wad'ya say?"

She bumped his offered fist again, grinning roguishly. "Sounds good to me. I'll be seeing you 'round."

"You know it."

With that, he wormed his way through the ropes with the help of his buddy and was promptly inundated by the crowd. Someone handed him a beer, and he set about downing it with gusto. Luka had other concerns.

She turned down the offered drinks and the few salacious requests that made her ears burn as she made her way to the bar.

The fat coyote was waiting, a grin embellishing his muzzle from ear to ear. "Some fight, girl. Very... entertaining." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills, thumbing through it before handing it to her. "Your winnings. Quite a sum with all the bets we had tonight. I hope to see's ya back soon." He swept a hand across the bar and the rowdy crowd that filled it almost to the brim. "Look at this place. You're quite the draw, girl. I could make a lot'a money off ya."

She counted the cash and felt her muzzle curl upward in satisfaction. Thirteen hundred dollars -- definitely a good return on investment. She pocketed the cash and nodded her head. "You should. I could come to enjoy this."

She turned down the bouncer's renewed offer for motorboating adventures when she left the bar, and started for home humming a soft tune with her boxing gloves dangling over the shoulder. Night had taken over the sky as much as the city lights let it, only a glimmer of stars managing to burn through the strong light pollution. She paid the seedy lowlifes around her no mind as she walked. Just another perfect evening in downtown.

This felt like the start of something good. The money was nice, but only a drop in the bucket for what she really needed. There would be more fights, and more chances to better herself in the ring. She'd lose some matches, she knew. It was a given. But she planned to win a lot more.

The burly wolf paused as she looked up to the clear night sky, a genuine smile catching her expression.

Things were starting to look up.