Red on Black: Wyvern vs. Karla "Ray" Reinhardt

[Hills]

Wyvern's caution towards her opponent prevents her from immediately going in as Karla reenters the ring. Something about the woman's bearing screams danger, despite her erratic behavior in response to Wyvern's further taunting. Thus, the Irish wrestler's only immediate response to Karla jumping the ropes is to reassume her combat stance, leaning her weight onto her back foot to allow for a more defensive fighting style. She makes no move even as Karla apparently lands poorly, merely raising an eyebrow confusion. Wyvern has seen numerous injuries in her time, and is generally quite adept at sussing out which ones are real and which are faked. With Karla, she sees no evidence of the latter. Something, however, still feels wrong. While Wyvern made frequent use of her analytical skills, it was her instincts that she truly trusted. And her instincts told her that Karla was still a predator, not prey.

Mistake of that severity unlikely. Bait? Probable. Position suboptimal for counter strikes or observation. Sufficient speed should prevent planned reaction. She's underestimating me.

Weighing the odds in her mind, Wyvern decides that she doesn't care if the injury is real or a gambit. She's not inclined to pass up an opportunity to strike, and if she can outmaneuver Karla for a third time it will prevent the other wrestler from resetting the match to a neutral state. Moreover, Karla's continuous use of these tactics is beginning to wear down Wyvern's (highly limited) supply of patience. Her course determined, Wyvern leans forward and bolts towards the corner, cocking an elbow back as she aims for the base of Karla's neck.

[Monsy]

The fictitious pain addled through her leg, seemingly like she stomped on a scorching nail. Her face was hidden, she was weak in posture and the referee who came to check her condition could now even hear her laboured breathing. And this… whining? It served exactly well to create a lull, it seemed, grab attention, eyes and ears to the supposedly wounded Reinhardt. Was this the end? What was happening? Karla always soaked in these theorised questions, newfound eyes and the attention she always deserved. It was her right. And now no longer needing to make the first move, she can finally get her way. This particular adversary had a way of picking at nerves and fundamentally answering things situation to situation. Handling it traditionally was too frustrating. No. She wanted her piece NOW and drove in regret like a blunt screwdriver.

“C-Can’t… I c-can’t…” Her voice croaked.

The stomps. Footsteps. That was her cue. Karla needed only to raise her head, peek through the sea of velvet hair with focused eyes. Her body remained loose, and she took in a deep breath, rolling her lips inward. She threw her shoulder towards the side, then took her “wounded” foot and swung it back full force. Her aim was to strike between the legs with her boot sole, and with the referee’s eyes locked on her to assure her health, they would be none the wiser if success was achieved.

[Hills]

Wyvern can be quite fast on her feet when moving in a straight line, but speed is not her strongest area by a wide margin. Despite this, at this close range, she trusts herself to be fast enough to hit Karla before the other wrestler can strike from her awkward position. Faked injury or not, the necessary movement to make a good strike would be difficult from where Karla was. Moreover, this trickery was getting old. If Reinhardt wouldn't stay in in the fight, Wyvern was more than happy to put her in a position where she had nowhere to run to. Unfortunately, Wyvern underestimates her opponent again, and for her most severe oversight she finally suffers for it.

"Kch!"

Karla's boot impacts directly on target, eliciting a hiss of pain and shoving Wyvern out of the air mid-leap. Crashing back-first to the mat, the Irish wrestler is unable to fully orient herself for several seconds between the rapid change in position and the throbbing pain coming from her lower body. Rolling onto her belly, she slams one hand into the mat and begins trying to push herself up, but she remains vulnerable to a follow-up strike if Karla acts quickly.

[Monsy]

Tension and counterforce came into her leg like a stiff jolt. It was uncomfortable at worst, but so satisfying at best. Gambits bore the fruit of success. Karla grinned ear to ear afterwards, beginning to laugh as she turned around and stalked her opponent’s rise. “Tut tut tut. They always have the brains of a puppy.” Now totally self-satisfied and absorbed with wordlessly praising herself, it was now time to open up this cut she formed. “My turn.”

Karla ran with vigour, unlike moments ago where she played possum to that limb. Her boot was charged up like a punt, with one boot planting, the other leg fully extended back, then swung forward with the single intent to toe-bash them right in the stomach like a blunt spear.

[Hills]

Falling for the bait would have been bad enough, but the leaping attack Wyvern attempted had cost her dearly. Karla's back would have been strong enough on its own, but off the ground Wyvern had no way to defend or redirect the damage, adding to it with her own momentum. The Irish wrestler is still in the process of getting off the ground when Karla's boot reaches her, momentarily being taken off the ground again and once more sent rolling away by force of the sadistic strike.

Gasping for air after a direct hit to the solar plexus, the Irish wrestler doesn't even move this time, splayed out on her side and facing Karla. Unlike before, her gaze is unfocused, looking at some point on the mat rather than staring defiance into Karla's eyes still. Still heaving for air, it would seem that Karla has her prey entirely at her mercy.

[Monsy]

No fault for them. Hundchens often had lower intelligence.
Karla relished in reminding them of this simple, simple fact. And when her boot ran into their stomach? Orgasmic. She found her prior frustration filled with laughter, butterflies and this hot dosage of control that was arousing in the plainest of forms. Her ran dwindled into a slow step, looking at them with a small sugar-sweet smile. “You are more delicate than I originally thought, du kleiner hundchen.” She got down on one knee and tangled her hand into their hair until she could scratch the scalp, and lifted their head off the ground, pointing out to the crowd.

“Let's show them what I know.” And to unmask the crowd’s ignorance, Karla used her grip to thrust Wyvern’s face towards the canvas, only to lift it up again, and repeat. Wham… Wham... Wham.

[Hills]

Galling as it is, Wyvern is forced to admit that, despite her many flaws as a human being, Karla absolutely has the strength and skill to earn her place is this ring. Her blows are powerful and focused; Wyvern has faced multiple opponents whose strikes she barely felt, but she's taking damage here at an alarming rate. The more experienced wrestler's condescension is aggravating, but that was a tool used by her to keep her opponent off-guard. Wyvern does her best to block out the taunts as she focues on recovering. As Karla's boots stalk closer in her vision, Wyvern braces herself for another kick. One that never comes.

What is she...oh, you absolute bitch.

The nails digging into her scalp prompt little more than annoyance from the Irish wrestler, but being forced to look out at the crowd from this position certainly didn't do her dignity any favors. Rather than close her eyes and wait for the moment to end, Wyvern glares back out into the crowd, daring them to mock her. A few do, but other cries die in throats. There is no resignation or acceptance to be found in the young wrestler's face.

A face that isn't visible for much longer as Karla continues her degrading beatdown. This position allows little in the way of leverage, and Wyvern's head is pounded repeatedly into the canvas without mercy or meaningful resistance. Once...Twice...

*CRACK*

On the third strike, something breaks, and Wyvern's body goes limp in Karla's hands. Just another victim, it would seem.

[Monsy]

One - two - three, just like all matches end for Karla’s dear opponents. The surge she got, the pleasure and fulfilment in hearing that crack was something else. It felt like winning a trophy, and getting to show it to someone. Though, the second part was always missing. So she was impressed with herself, “KAHAHA!” And let go, tightening her fists, squeezing until her nails made it hurt. She looked at her unfurling palms, an open-mouth smile as she dragged her tongue between her teeth and darting between the concerned referee, the jeering crowd and the downed Wyvern.

“I just can’t help myself here. I am going to ruin your face into something that will make your friends puke.”

She pushed on their shoulder, and tried to roll them onto their back, then throw one leg over and plant the boot at their opposite shoulder, positioning herself over them. One hand went to their throat, and formed an iron vice. Then her elbow lifted, and she leaned back as her left fist was squeezed, and she looked down into those eyes, trying to drink up their face one last time. Then she threw that punch, a full-force, bare knuckle strike from a former professional boxer with all that weight whipped with her shoulder, and aimed for the bridge of their nose, right between the eyes.

[Hills]

While gloating might not be the best strategy during a match, it seems to make no difference now that Karla has silenced Wyvern's taunts and clap-backs, the younger woman simply laying there while the jubilant Reinhardt celebrates the results of her brutality. The Irish wrestler offers no resistance as she is flipped onto her back, her body limp and eyes unfocused. Karla is able to easily mount her and secure a grip on her throat before finally cocking one fist back and launching a devastatingly powerful strike with the aim of obliterating the upstart's face. Just as her fist descends, however, everything goes wrong.

Like lightning, Wyvern's arm flashes up, catching Karla's fist and stopping it dead despite the Irishwoman's weaker position. An incredibly strong grip closes around Karla's hand, threatening bruises in mere seconds. At the same time, Wyvern seizes for Karla's wrist with her other hand, intending to pry the grip off of her throat and secure control of both of her opponent's arms. One way or another, when her airway is unblocked her eyes finally refocus onto Karla's own, her nostrils briefly flaring as she refills her lungs. It is, at this point, that Karla may notice a slight indentation in the canvas next to Wyvern's head, from where it had snapped one of the boards forming the inner structure of the ring clean in half.

"Funny as that sounds, I decline."

With that, Wyvern attempts to pull Karla down, simultaneously raising her head in an attempt to slam her forehead into Karla's own nose.

[Monsy]

There wasn’t a man, woman or god that could save someone from Karla’s fist. The hunger within those eyes was an addiction seen all too plainly. Bloodlust. Purity of malice that made the faces of the front row twist, some in awe and others to scowl. Even to the strongest of stomachs who saw what looked like a hopeless moment about to stretch the limits of a standard bout, her fist landed within a palm. Karla’s eye tensed, and she put her shoulder into it, stacking her weight, if not to complete her strike in some fashion, or pin their hand down, but for the simple idea that she was stronger. Even that played second note to what her intentions were, to use her second hand to deliver a quick fist. There was always another haymaker. And when that hand too was pulled, finally, her smile descended back into that childish frustration and animalistic growl.

Still. Seeing that indent on the canvas, her eyes switched it, and stared with such glee like a mother witnessing its newborn. That split moment took her down, where words bounced off the proverbial wall. Like she listened to anyone, but that bludgeon of skull was like a log to a twig. The crack was an echo inside a tunnel. Karla’s chin dipped, then went skyward, her back arched as she was flooded with numbness and shock in this great explosion of sensation. Her eyes spun inside her head, the world became ethereal and identical timelines crashed together to make her see double, triple and quadruple. All within a second.

“AAAGGGHHHHHHH!!! RRRAAAA!!!” Karla retreated and shoved them to break grip, then flop to her side, climb to her hands and knees then bumble to her feet with her legs banging together at least once or twice from dizziness. She continued to scream, whimper, snarl and frantically scratching her own face, stumbling and pacing around as blood dripped, both from a cut and the nostrils, from the bridge down to her lips. Hardly anyone could tell if she was agonising or riling herself up. “NNNNNNNGHHHH!!!” Just that everything - this pain that was squeezing her face into a dome of hurt was making her want to rip her own skin.