The Queen of All Serpents versus The Siren Trio

[Hagen-Autem]

Gabriel turned at once, watching intently as the first mermaid fell. She was deeply engrossed in the trio’s scene, like someone waiting eagerly, like a cat waiting to see what happens now that the first little fish has fallen and the other two must decide what to do about the predator.

The queen had made herself far too comfortable, curving against the ropes with her arms folded over them whilst one heel remained lazily lifted. As though the ring belonged solely to her now.

She wanted to know if she had finally lit that spark in the other two, or if she needed to do something more. And to her delight, the two mermaids seemed affected by Asanagi’s defeat.

For her, throwing someone out of the ring wasn’t such a big deal; after all, it had happened to everyone at least once. And Asanagi looked like a rag doll after suffering her fingers' style. So perhaps she’d survive the fall. Nevertheless, something stirred within Gabriel because Freya had gone over to check on her partner.

Allen’s shouts didn’t affect her; anyone could hate her for being passionate; but Freya’s attitude, her expression. That did cause an internal jolt.

They matter to her.

She thought, her eyes shining at having uncovered something useful.

To Allen, the queen simply gave a smug smile, stoking that fury. Behind her arms was the grimace, no one could see it; but her cheerful eyes sparkled, making it clear that she had managed, at least, to tick one of her interests off the list. Although perhaps for Allen that playful, heavy-handed attitude was the wrong one after fingering her friend, throwing her out of the ring as if she were a sack of potatoes, and not having the decency to even justify herself, not even in the face of her barrage of threats.

The mermaid threw herself into the ring—Gabriel saw her climb up—and lunged at the blonde to dispatch her with a roundhouse kick!

The queen snapped to attention upon seeing this wrestler's obvious intentions. She leapt away from the rope like a startled cat and stepped back the moment that kick was launched.

Unfortunately for her, Allen is the same size as her, so ducking wasn’t an option; that’s why the Brit bent her own back sharply to evade the strike.

She could feel the fury Allen was harbouring: her kick sliced through the air right in front of Gabriel’s face, and she was certain that, had it connected, it would have sent her reeling. And that shock had an impact on her balance. She stumbled and could barely steady herself to avoid falling, backing up until the ropes saved her. So Gabriel decided to take advantage of that, hooking onto them with one arm and stretching them with the force of her retreat! If Allen wanted to take her down... she could do the same.

So she shot towards Allen M. Summer! If the tall, furious siren didn’t try something, then Gabriel would calm her down with a Single Leg Dropkick!

Spoiler

[SkoomaAddict]

Allen didn’t care about tactics anymore. She didn’t care about the queen’s smug smile or the way Gabriel’s eyes sparkled like she’d just won something. All she saw was Asanagi’s limp body tumbling over the edge, Freya’s face crumpling with worry, and that blonde monster still standing in the ring like she owned it.

She vaulted over the ropes before her feet even found the apron, landing hard on the mat and launching herself forward without a breath of hesitation. Her leg arced up—roundhouse, full force, aimed right at Gabriel’s perfect, irritating face.

However, Allen’s kick sliced through nothing but air. She felt the whoosh of it miss by inches, saw Gabriel bend backward with that unnatural grace, and for a split second, Allen’s momentum betrayed her. Her planted foot slipped. She stumbled. Her arms pinwheeled uselessly as she tried to recover, but her balance was already gone, and she was backing up, scrambling, until the ropes bit into her shoulders and stopped her cold.

Gabriel seized the ropes with one arm, pulling them taut like a bowstring. Allen saw the grin blooming on her face, saw the way her body coiled and sprang—and then the queen was airborne, hurtling toward her with both legs extended, soles aimed directly at Allen’s face.

She couldn’t dodge. The ropes held her trapped. The dropkick connected like a cannonball.

Allen felt the impact drive through her jaw, through her teeth, and brust into her head chamber. Her body folded backward over the middle rope before snapping forward again, and then she was falling—not gracefully, not like the queen’s calculated movements, but like a felled tree. Her back hit the mat with a sickening thud, and the rebound bounced her head once against the canvas.

She didn’t move. Couldn’t. Her hands flew to her face on pure instinct, pressing hard against the burning ache spreading across her cheek and jaw where her own arm had slammed into her during the fall. The mat felt cold against her shoulders. Distantly, she heard someone shouting—Freya, maybe—but the sound came through muffled, like she was underwater.

Her fingers curled against her hurting face, trembling. The roar in her ears faded to a high, thin whine.