Introduction

I fight with brute force, a storm of sheer aggression that crushes anyone foolish enough to stand in my way. My fists don’t just hit, they devastate. I thrive on overpowering my opponents, breaking through their defenses with relentless strikes, showing them what true strength feels like.

But even the strongest warriors have their weaknesses. Mine? My belly. Some fighters have an Achilles’ heel, they guard it, protect it at all costs. Me? Sometimes… I don’t. I leave it open, baiting my enemies into thinking they’ve found a way to break me. I let them sink their fists in, watch their faces light up with triumph, only to crush their hopes with my fists a second later.

I’m no jobber, no submissive prey. I fight to dominate, to win. But I won’t lie… Something about the torment, about the brutality of it, that I never shook off. A scar left not on my skin, but somewhere deeper.

Back in the Day…

Before I became the fighter I am today, I was just another college student, hustling to get by. I worked part-time at a small diner on the outskirts of town, slinging plates and taking orders to pay my tuition. It wasn’t glamorous, but it paid the bills.

That night started like any other. A group of five thugs swaggered in, the kind that made everyone else in the diner shrink into their seats. Loud, arrogant, reeking of cheap cologne and ego. I walked up, not in the mood for their nonsense.

“Ready to order?” I asked, pen tapping against my notepad.

One of them, a big guy, thick hands, dead eyes, grinned. “Yeah, baby, how about you sit on my lap while I decide?”

Disgust churned in my gut. “Not on the menu,” I snapped.

His hand shot out, fingers groping for my waist.

Wrong move.

Before he could even react, I grabbed his wrist, twisted it outward, a classic Krav Maga wrist release, then followed with a brutal palm strike straight to his nose. His face crunched under the force, blood spurting as he stumbled back, howling.

The diner froze. His friends shot up from their seats, rage flickering in their eyes.

The manager, bless the old man, stepped in, hands raised. “That’s enough! You take this outside, not in my place.”

I wiped my hands on my apron and walked away, heart still pounding but victorious. I thought that was the end of it.

I was dead wrong.

The Ambush

Hours later, my shift was over. I locked up the diner, my body aching for sleep, and headed to my car parked in the dimly lit lot.

The moment my hand touched the door handle, I heard footsteps.

Before I could turn, something slammed into my back, sending me sprawling against the car. A rough hand clamped over my mouth.

“Think you’re tough, waitress?” a voice sneered.

I bucked, elbowed, twisted, fighting like hell, but there were too many hands, grabbing, yanking, forcing me back. My arms were wrenched behind me, my legs kicked apart. I fought like a wild animal, landing blows where I could, but they were prepared. Restraints tightened around my wrists.

Then came the first punch.

A brutal fist slammed into my stomach, knocking the wind out of me. I gasped, my body instinctively curling forward, but hands yanked me back. Another punch. Then another.

They took turns. Punches, knees, elbows. My abdomen, the core of my strength was systematically broken down, each hit sending fire through my body. I refused to scream. Refused to give them the satisfaction.

But inside, something cracked.

For the first time in my life, I felt trapped. Helpless. My body betrayed me, spasming with every new blow.

Finally, sirens wailed in the distance, someone must have called the cops. The gang scattered like roaches, leaving me gasping against my car, barely able to stand.

I made it home that night, but I wasn’t the same.

Something changed.

Now?

I still fight. Harder. Stronger. More ruthless. But I never forgot.

To this day, my stomach is my weakest point. It’s not just physical, it’s mental. The second someone targets it, that night floods back. I push through it, I refuse to let it break me, but deep down… it’s still there.

Some fighters shield their weakness. I embrace it.

Come for my belly? Fine. Just remember, when I get back up, I will end you.

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