HELL IN THE CELL DRAKE ISHIKAWA VS JOHN MITCHEL

"UGH!!!" Drake would cough hard as his upper cut was canceled by a strong boot to his stomach taking the wind and momentum out of him as he fell onto his back. He would hold his stomach but wasn't done with yet, he would attempt to get up and make some space between them and think of a better way to attack. "That...was a good move..." Drake would admit as he grinned glad his opponent wasn't just a moving punching bag.

“Thanks.” He’d say, loudly as he was already on the move whilst he spoke, this time he was circling, moving back and forth in a semi circle approximately one meter away from Drake. He did not feel confident that he could attack Drake without being countered, and was now trying a more defensive tactic, preparing to dodge and counter whatever Drake would try now, making Drake need to move first.

John was smiling widely as he bounced from one foot on the other, moving quickly. He was already having fun, and the pain in his body from Drake's earlier impacts showed this guy was definitely going to be a challenge. He loved a challenge, and even in defeat he'd learn something.

Drake looked as if he was going to get up, but instead planted his hands firm to the mat and quickly swung out his legs trying to fake John out. If he succeeded then he would aim to kick out both of John's legs and follow up with a series of mounted punches. He knew John was a good fighter and he couldn't afford to let him be made a fool of. He just hoped his plan succeeded.

That Patton-esque instinct to attack first was now going to bite him in the ass. Moving quickly to meet Drake’s supposed offensive, he’d suddenly find both of his legs kicked out from under him! “Shit!” He’d shout out as his eyes widened. The big red head was now tumbling down to the ground, just managing to bring his arms up to defend his face whilst he was completely vulnerable to Drake’s mounted punches.

Drake didn't want his face unfortunately for John. His block left him open not waisting one punch as Drake went straight for the ribs continuing where he left off. He would continue to try to send as many hard blows as he could to his opponents body waiting for him to block low. Once he did Drake would try to grab him by the hair and smash into his face with a head butt to leave him stunned.

John’s instinct was always to attack, so that’s what he did. The moment he realized his arms weren’t being struck, he used them to attack and not to defend. Acknowledging the fact that his ribs would take many painful hits as a result of this strategy, he punched with his right arm towards Drake’s jaw or lip or lower face (wherever he could hit), followed by his left arm to catch him under the chin.

While, if effective, these attacks might motivate Drake to retreat, John was loudly grunting with each hit, one or two visible bruises forming.

Drake coughed and spit blood as his face was battered around by John's fists. He had managed to cut open Drake's forehead and split open his lip. This only made him grin as it was finally getting for real. As a test of strength among men he helped John up to his feet and threw a punch right for his face. He would hope to trade punches back and forth until one felt the need to give.

John groaned a bit as he was helped to his feet, inclining his head slightly, a nod to acknowledge his opponent’s strength and skill. He knew, without having to be told, what was now going on, and doing nothing to avoid the punch, he threw one of his own, trying to catch him in the jaw. As Drake’s punch connected, John’s lip would begin to bleed.

Drake's head snapped back as he responded by swinging over head to make his fist come down into John's face at an angle. He would continue to trade punches as his face was getting bruised including a black eye starting to form and a mixture of blood and sweat pouring down his face. His heart pounded as adrenaline rushed through his body driving him to swing hard each and every time as they beat each other into oblivion.

John grunted loudly as the fist came down at an angle, leaving a black eye in it’s wake to match the shiner Drake had. As they continued to beat each other, throwing all sorts of different shots at all sorts of different angles, blood was forming from various cuts and impact points, the red liquid dropping down, a perfect match for the Ginger’s red hair…if Drake was watching, he might see a slight drop in John’s stance, a slight pushing back of his feet, indicating John might wakening.