Romans & histoires Eight Rules Of Fight Club

Big, fast, technically excellent. Rafe showed nothing. "What are the combat rules?" "Old charter. Submission or incapacitation. No weapons. Witnessed by pack representatives and recorded." Juno paused. "Thirty minute limit. If no result, judges decide." Rafe stood up. "Then I have five hours." "Rafe—" "Leo." He looked at me directly. "This is my fight. Not yours. Don't try to fix it." "I'm not trying to fix it. I'm trying to—"

“I want to know the principles in which you built this empire.” Mr. Norman smiled, as he started. “I have three rules son, okay and these are my three rules of winning.” “Rule one, the world is a mess, Jace.” “You have to fight back, you need to be tough to survive.” “Attack! Attack! Attack!” “If somebody comes after you with a knife, you shoot them back with a gun. Okay?” “Rule two, what is the truth, Jace?” “What is the truth?” “You know what's true? What you say is true, what I say is true.”

It was better to keep them in suspense, and maybe it may give me the upper hand. It wasn’t as if they were excited about my arrival either. Whenever I wasn’t brushing up my travel plans, I was in the training room, sparring with anyone that cares to fight. It was no rumor that I fought dirty. I don’t know why we are always advised to fight within the rules. We are werewolves; our existence is already proof that rules don’t matter. I had to develop my own motto: fight until your opponent is dead or about to die and until you have no more strength. I throw my logic away when I am in the training room and only rely on my instinct and my wolf, and they have yet to fail me.

Joey guided me to a quiet corner of the training grounds, away from the main group. The sun was high, casting shadows that danced across the dirt floor, and the smell of sweat and leather hung heavy in the air. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. “First rule of fighting,” Joey said, her voice serious but encouraging, “don’t panic. Fear will make you sloppy. Focus on your stance and balance.” She demonstrated a simple pose feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, hands ready to strike or block.

I watched as he hit the ground three times. A cheer so loud it made the ground shake a little, rose up from around us. Every wolf in the building ended up watching us fight. I wished suddenly the challenge hadn't been so hectic. We drew too much attention. Then I turned and held my hand out for the ex-champion. For a moment I was afraid he wouldn't take it. Fighting, even if it was friendly, often led to grudges. But his hand clasped mine and I pulled him up. The boy kept his grasp on my hand, then he hoisted it up and another cheer rose vibrant and deafening around us.

Eighteen months in the Cage taught me things Bill's fighters haven't learned. I win by submission. Force the wolf to tap out before I kill him. Bill pays me two hundred pounds cash and tells me I can fight again next week. I'm walking away from the pit when the wolf I beat jumps me from behind. Sore loser wanting revenge. His claws rake across my side, opening deep wounds. I turn and fight back. We're brawling in the alley behind the pit. No rules now. Just violence. I get the upper hand. Pin him down. Could kill him but I don't. Just knock him unconscious and leave.

She kept looking at Trish walking down to enter the arena. Trish was entrusted with observing the fight. He told them some rules that must be kept. “The first rule is not to use mana, and the second is not to kill each other. The fight must be stopped when the opponent says they have given up. Do you understand?” “Yes!” Kaven smiled while Hanry just nodded slowly. Trish quickly stepped aside while Hanry and Kaven raised their swords and took a stance. When Trish gave the signal to start the fight, Kaven and Hanry immediately ran and attacked each other.

Wild Bill bellowed, effectively telling everyone in the club bar to move their arses out to the back. The bullpen was a tradition amongst the Aces and Eights, as the name suggested it was a pen of sorts, encased in a black overhead cage, much the same as a UFC ring. Once inside, there were only three ways out, the first was by forcing submission, the second by way of unanimous crowd decision, and the third was by stretcher. Aimee knew William would face her off with the prospect first, no sense in using their sergeant at arms unless she managed to get past the first opponent.

The beast in between us then says, "Do you know the rules?" We both nod, but he goes over the basic ones. "Full contact?" He looks at me and then at Brett. We both nod and he continues, "But nothing to draw blood and the first one to put their opponent on the ground 3 times wins!" He then places his hand between us and then says, "FIGHT!"