Post by Clayton Lang on Dec 31, 2010 21:10:44 GMT -5
POW! Mixed Martial Arts Gym- Chicago, IL
It was another day of training for one of the new faces in the XWA. Clayton Lang was standing in the corner of a sparring ring, his fists strapped up with training gloves and his legs with padded leg protectors. He had on some typical TapouT shorts and no shirt, his arms resting against the ropes, burning a hole through his latest sparring partner.
Lang had a scowl on his face that looked like the poor man, padded up from head to toe, had stolen something from his mother. A look as if he wanted to hurt this man who up until this moment he had never even met.
"Ok Clay, nice and easy now..."
Those were the words from one of his trainers standing behind him, but Clayton wasn't hearing any of it. This was a man who was bent on being the best in the world pound-for-pound, and he was going to do it one opponent, or in this case-sparring partner at a time.
Just ring the damn bell!
He's request is fulfilled, and both men move to the center of the ring.
You scared, little man?
His makeshift opponent wasn't little by any means. He was at least 250lbs., not far below his own 270+lb framework. The scowl on his face though was transformed into a devious grin. He was blood-hungry, like a bandit about to attack a caravan and steal all their riches.
The sparer took the first move, trying to feel Lang out with a few jabs and hooks that were deftly swayed around.
Hoooooo Hoo! This one's got some spark, don't he? C'mon.
Lang lowered his hands, then patted his chin with one of them.
C'mon, chump! Hit me! I'll let you hit me. C'mon!
Everyone around the ring paused for a second, including the man in the ring opposite Lang. What was he thinking?
C'MON GOTDAMMIT!!!
Clayton's roar almost pushed his opponent back a few feet. He then lunged in with all the force he had, trying to give Lang exactly what he wanted.
That was a mistake.
Clayton ducked under the haymaker and landed two sharp hooks to both sides of his victim's rib cage. That was enough to push him back the rest of the way to the ropes. By then, everyone who knew of Clayton Lang was yelling for him to let up, but they knew he wasn't done yet.
Right hook to the body. Left to the head. That leaned him towards the right again. Lang stabs a knee into his gut as he does. That doubled him over...and by that time, Clayton was a shark smelling blood. He reached over and grabbed the man by the torso, and with his tree-trunk sized legs as leverage, hoisted the man up high in air by the waist. Then...
THUD!!!
The damnest powerbomb you'd ever see in a training ring. It liked to have shook the world. His partner was down and huffing for air, not knowing what world he had been dropped into. By then the trainers had scattered into the ring, trying to get him out before Lang did anything else, but Clayton just stood there, seemingly satisfied with the carnage he left behind.
Yeah. Get that fool outta my ring! He's got nothing. No heart, no will, NOTHING! I didn't even have to throw a kick on his ass.
"Clayton...you gotta stop this man. We're running out of sparring partners willing to train with yo-"
Then find someone who's got some balls then! Get 'em off the street, from another gym, wherever! You think I'm suppose to get ready for what I'm about to do to the XWA by going "nice & easy"? I'm a man of STEEL...and you keep sendin' me men of glass to break.
"Clay..."
Lang waved off the trainer and stormed out of the ring. Aggressive as he was, there was deadly focus in his eyes. The XWA was a new battleground for him, and he wanted to make an immediate impact. Whoever he had to mow down, that's just how it was going to be in his mind.
He practically ripped the gloves off as he stepped into the locker room. It was then and there that a figure appeared out of noweher almost. Lang looks over, not the least bit startled as he was more aggravated.
Who the...what the hell are you supposed to be. Some ninja creeping in the shadows?
It was another day of training for one of the new faces in the XWA. Clayton Lang was standing in the corner of a sparring ring, his fists strapped up with training gloves and his legs with padded leg protectors. He had on some typical TapouT shorts and no shirt, his arms resting against the ropes, burning a hole through his latest sparring partner.
Lang had a scowl on his face that looked like the poor man, padded up from head to toe, had stolen something from his mother. A look as if he wanted to hurt this man who up until this moment he had never even met.
"Ok Clay, nice and easy now..."
Those were the words from one of his trainers standing behind him, but Clayton wasn't hearing any of it. This was a man who was bent on being the best in the world pound-for-pound, and he was going to do it one opponent, or in this case-sparring partner at a time.
Just ring the damn bell!
He's request is fulfilled, and both men move to the center of the ring.
You scared, little man?
His makeshift opponent wasn't little by any means. He was at least 250lbs., not far below his own 270+lb framework. The scowl on his face though was transformed into a devious grin. He was blood-hungry, like a bandit about to attack a caravan and steal all their riches.
The sparer took the first move, trying to feel Lang out with a few jabs and hooks that were deftly swayed around.
Hoooooo Hoo! This one's got some spark, don't he? C'mon.
Lang lowered his hands, then patted his chin with one of them.
C'mon, chump! Hit me! I'll let you hit me. C'mon!
Everyone around the ring paused for a second, including the man in the ring opposite Lang. What was he thinking?
C'MON GOTDAMMIT!!!
Clayton's roar almost pushed his opponent back a few feet. He then lunged in with all the force he had, trying to give Lang exactly what he wanted.
That was a mistake.
Clayton ducked under the haymaker and landed two sharp hooks to both sides of his victim's rib cage. That was enough to push him back the rest of the way to the ropes. By then, everyone who knew of Clayton Lang was yelling for him to let up, but they knew he wasn't done yet.
Right hook to the body. Left to the head. That leaned him towards the right again. Lang stabs a knee into his gut as he does. That doubled him over...and by that time, Clayton was a shark smelling blood. He reached over and grabbed the man by the torso, and with his tree-trunk sized legs as leverage, hoisted the man up high in air by the waist. Then...
THUD!!!
The damnest powerbomb you'd ever see in a training ring. It liked to have shook the world. His partner was down and huffing for air, not knowing what world he had been dropped into. By then the trainers had scattered into the ring, trying to get him out before Lang did anything else, but Clayton just stood there, seemingly satisfied with the carnage he left behind.
Yeah. Get that fool outta my ring! He's got nothing. No heart, no will, NOTHING! I didn't even have to throw a kick on his ass.
"Clayton...you gotta stop this man. We're running out of sparring partners willing to train with yo-"
Then find someone who's got some balls then! Get 'em off the street, from another gym, wherever! You think I'm suppose to get ready for what I'm about to do to the XWA by going "nice & easy"? I'm a man of STEEL...and you keep sendin' me men of glass to break.
"Clay..."
Lang waved off the trainer and stormed out of the ring. Aggressive as he was, there was deadly focus in his eyes. The XWA was a new battleground for him, and he wanted to make an immediate impact. Whoever he had to mow down, that's just how it was going to be in his mind.
He practically ripped the gloves off as he stepped into the locker room. It was then and there that a figure appeared out of noweher almost. Lang looks over, not the least bit startled as he was more aggravated.
Who the...what the hell are you supposed to be. Some ninja creeping in the shadows?
