Spectre vs Auralith - "The Last Word"

[RingRose]

Match Type: POW Verbal Submission
Victory Conditions: Force your opponent to utter a phrase of your choosing, declared at the start of the match.
Stipulations: Hentai Allowed. Loser becomes the winner's POW for 24 hours.

No mortal could ever claim to achieve the perfection and grace that Auralith had exuded since entering the world of professional wrestling. It was for this fact alone that she took it upon herself to become a divine enforcer, a being meant to punish those who would indignify the sacred ring, and what was worse, those who refused to acknowledge her mastery over it. While she knew that truth to be self-evident, she understood that even a divine truth deserved to be spoken aloud from time to time.

And that was what tonight's match was truly about. Breaking another woman's body, mind, and spirit until she was nothing more than a trembling mess, forced to surrender not only her pride, but her very body, compelled to acknowledge the greatness that stood before her.

Whether or not her opponent was deserving of such an almighty demonstration of providence was something that would surely be answered once the two began battle inside the ring, but irrelevant nonetheless. For it did not matter who they placed in front of Auralith tonight, honorable foe or otherwise. They would all face a level of wrath too powerful to be of this world.

As Auralith's entrance music began to grace the arena speakers, the elegant heavyweight rose from her position backstage and made her way toward the entrance curtains. Just as the music reached its crescendo, she emerged onto the stage, bathed in spotlights of gold and purple hues. She walked triumphantly down the entrance ramp, head held high as her cape flowed behind her, each heavy step of her bare feet causing the fans lining either side of her to tremble with simultaneous shock and awe.

Entrance Theme

Auralith

As she made her way up the steps and onto the apron, Auralith grasped the top rope and paused, her eyes closing as if in reverence. For a brief moment, the arena fell silent, then, her eyes slowly opened. She raised one hand toward the audience, her gaze sweeping across them with quiet disappointment, as though they had yet to fully understand the privilege before them.

"Look upon me."

Her voice echoed throughout the arena.

"You stand before greatness given form. You stand before the hand of judgment itself."

Auralith slowly extended her arms outward, allowing the crowd to take in her presence before a faint, confident smile crossed her lips.

"When my opponent's voice finally betrays her and she speaks the truth she has denied... the entire world will hear her acknowledge what I have always known."

A pause.

"I am Divine."

With that, she finally unclasped her cape and allowed it to fall gracefully to the ringside floor before dipping between the ropes and slowly circling the ring. The referee visibly gulped as the titaness wrestler loomed over her, a raised fist held high as a chorus of chants and cheers descended upon her, as if the audience had already crowned her the inevitable victor of this match. But Auralith would eventually make her way to her corner in due time, lips pursed as she stared stoically at the entrance stage, eager to finally lay eyes upon the woman whose body she intended to decimate tonight.

[Monsy]

Programs are meant to provide answers under a sequence of carefully calibrated steps. The crumbs of movements were her data points in evaluating wrestlers. Highlighted red zones that told delays in rhythm, a break in sequence, a hesitance, stutter or favouring to unveil one part of the beloved dossiers the Virus loved to create. When it came to Auralith—those pages were in contradiction that she salivated for and growled at her executables to be blind in any metric. She can send out a dozen people to watch Auralith. The information was the same. Slowish, but consistent and relentless. She didn’t have a tank. She was plugged into another power source altogether. Sure, she remained unchallenged—but there had to be something, an amateur match, a training video, a CCTV incident from years back. Whatever could be out there, she looked and manifested a thin dozen pages. Field research was the only answer now. An eye evaluation put Auralith at l one third of her own skill, half the strength and a millionth of brainpower. Higher than she ranked anyone but her strongest rivals. A premium bounty that she saw living on her broadcasts. Those sets of abs crushed into a flat swollen surface. Gold stripped from her clothes. Eyes soaked. Limp and broken.

She’ll mount that picture like a trophy.
All those occupied by her speech will see it too. Spectre was above in the rafters. Leaning against the railing next to her was the prized Sword and Shield: Dot, in a black and pink plugsuit and half-mask helmet. One hand nested in the other.

“Think I can get a piece? All that talk is reeeaally gettin’ my knuckles crackin’.”
“Try the afterparty. If there’s anything left.” A finger pressed to Dot’s collar. “Now. The Tools!”

Dot needed to only bend over and pick two things from the dufflebag. A homemade shock baton from aluminum alloy, ABS plastic and polycarbonate for a chrome and black zappy collar attached to a metal retractable wire. On the other hand, a rubber leash fitted with a button over-top that manually administered a shock. As for the next thing. A seven inch purple strap-on with black straps. “Spicy taste M’lord. You strap the back, I lift the front. A tower in Paris we’ll be, eh?”

Spectre wondered that in an amused HMMMM, head-mathing the approximate.
“Honouring her with both of us... That’s extremely generous. A show like that needs a world audience.” Said Spectre with a quick stand to her tippy-toes, arms behind her back.
“Which makes….”
The image immediately flashed. She brushed that thought aside with a head shake.
“Our heading. For now—I’ll squash this punchmeat.”
Dot saluted. “To war!”

Evil Manifests!

And to war they went. When Spectre raised her arm mid-conversation, reality warped to accompany the cue.

signalled the arrival of The World Blight. The choir echoed. The electric synth cued her insignia, The Chrome Skull, to appear upon the Titantron, moving banners and livefeeds. Flaming purple spires erupted from the ring’s corner posts. The pyro shot about one foot high, then warped to four when the speakers erupted with LAW’s most despised voice. “The Show is now MINE!” Yelled Spectre under a flickering stadium that flashed between pitch black and purple nightshade. A grappling hook descended from above, interwoven between invisibility and a snapshot of the descending Virus. She swung in a wide arc with a flexed bicep, slowly reigning into a large shadow over the ring. A wide grin met the eyes of thousands that glared back. Once above the centre of the ring at about six feet high, the hook stopped and gave Spectre the stage to meet her opponent’s eyes with a downward gaze.

“Myyyy—My ~ so this is Divine.”

She jumped down, landing at the center of the ring with a short superhero landing. A moment later she was back tall, one arm behind her back which held the gifts. The other was inspected. Passively observed as her hand flexed out, then in, turned around and the nails evaluated for imperfections. She approached without much security or alarm till she needed to stare high up. Her stomach window stretched with another raise to her tip-toes, then back down. Almost like punctuation.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ “How you say that this without a molecule of resemblance to me is beneath my understanding. Just like the inquisition, I have means to make you recant…” She revealed her two toys. Collar and strap. Both hanging off her fingers loosely in an upturned palm. Her profile slid one leg back, hips and fist chambered to throw one.

“Right. Here.” And just as she finished up, her fist went forth like lightning to strike the solar plexus of this wall of muscle that she rendered fake in her estimates. Abs like a marble statue? Please!