Win by Pinfall, KO, Submission or DQ.
Events seconds before this follow this introduction.
Mazikeen started understanding the crowd on a surface level. They wanted excitement. Entertainment in some form, just like Cynara wished. But she didn't think herself capable of delivering what either expected or desired. She knew her style. Rather dull and straightforward in a controlled form. A silent, mechanical and deliberate style. Having looked at Mizuki, she mapped their posture and got familiar with their jawline. Then it went down, from how their feet were placed to how they leaned. And, of course, the pink underwear.
And the crowd’s reaction to it… Maze watched on and was perplexed. Was showing skin better in this scenario? Was it the underwear colour? The girl herself?
She looked at Cynara and pointed a quick finger from her fist at Mizuki. A brow raised, lips pursed, appearing to ask for an explanation. Was this girl ready for ANYTHING coming her way?
One fist on the jaw should be enough. They wouldn't feel a thing if she landed it clean. It would be a job well done on all sides, even if boring. But Mazikeen already had her dose of public exposure and was craving some solitude. So, she turned her head back to Mizuki and tilted her head further. She lifted her brows twice, trying to lighten the mood on some level. She pointed a finger at them, this time deliberately trying to get their attention. That finger went to Mizuki’s hands, then made fists of her own and put them into a neutral boxing form. Then she pointed at their feet, showing her own and taking a bladed stance. Whatever gave them a chance to try at least. Make an effort. Defend herse--
The collar made an audible buzz. Mazikeen’s shoulders tucked in immediately, with her chin tipping up. She had a series of mini spasms on the spot, from her knees banging together to leaning slightly one way and her fingers contracting and arms folding in. Then she collapsed to her hands and knees two seconds later. Her mouth breathing was heavy and full of drool that started coming out like sticky water droplets. It didn’t hurt at all. But every inch of herself felt pressured. Squeezed into a little box. Like her own skin was getting claustrophobic and was getting smaller.
She breathed heavier. Her fingers started crawling on the canvas, scratching. The nails were already worn down. She went down to her elbows, and those hands went to her face, then scratched. Her hands went over her eyes not to get those, but her forehead was free game. She made painless shallow cuts on it but was careful not to let her mouth shut so she didn’t chew her tongue. These minute inhibitions. Conscious efforts, yet she wasn’t any closer to calming. It got molten. Her breathing got erratic in seconds and turned to deep, animalistic snarls. Whatever desire to help this girl was forgotten. She just wanted to yell at something. And since she just closed her mouth. Her fists would do.
Her knuckles pushed off the ground, a boot placed itself ahead, and Maze launched herself forward off that knee. She took her bare hands and tried to catch Mizuki by her throat, then squeezed like a stress ball. The momentum would take them toward the ropes, and Mazikeen could force their nape against the top rope and push down, with her thumbs overlapping at the windpipe. The murder in her blue eyes ran bloodshot, staring down at a long-time enemy she just met. But she wasn't seeing an enemy -- only total red. And instead of throwing a fist to their jaw as planned, she took one hand, made the fist and whipped for the solar plexus.
