L.A.W. - League of Anime Wrestling

Match Type: No Disqualifications.
Stipulations: Anything Goes, Weaponry Allowed.
Victory Conditions: Pinfall, Submission, Knockout.

Career resurgences for actors were akin to rare animal sightings within the wild. Exceptionally scarce given the infrequency with which they appear and simultaneously celebrated by those considering themselves fortunate to bear witness to one~...at least this was Bethany's theatrical interpretation of the matter given she was a practiced thespian undergoing one such career resurgence herself. Beth's original claim to fame being the as the Maniacal Seductress Mistress Paige, a diabolical seductress being particularly popular with the young male’s demographic on the show Super Sentai Dairanger. Several seasons of being one of the main arch villains dueling with multi-colored spandex clad warriors and wreaking havoc throughout her intergalactic warpath until the character's demise came along via the one unconquerable adversary...the writer's pen. Alongside the show's producers seeking to replace her with a younger actress. Bethany taking her unjustified termination with overzealous confidence towards her intentions of shining brighter within Hollywood. That is until she was presented with the frigid callousness of reality.

Beth's lamentation over being regulated to the bottom bin of celebrity tiers by heartless movie critics, while a significant setback, was merely the fuel to her impassioned fire when it came to proving her worth within this industry. One day her overworked agent eventually came through in the form of an opportunity to wrestle as her beloved television character and showcase her exquisite acting range in the process. Tallied victories and a revitalized fanbase eventually culminating with offered action movie roles within a franchise that churned out one Summer Blockbuster after another. Movie fans even praising her performances with claims that she was overshadowing her co-stars. Magazine covers showcasing her ravishing physique with her star clearly on the rise~...however, whatever spark was flickered as a direct result of her wrestling career simply wasn't being satiated within Hollywood. Although she was no longer contractually obligated to don her wrestling skivvies anymore, the unmitigated thrill was as salaciously intoxicating as it ever was. One queried phone call later, and LAW executives were scrambling over themselves to secure Mistress Paige as wrestling talent on their roster once again~...

Black Widow

"...Entering the ring first, hailing from the Negative Zone within the Galactic Federation, The Beautiful Harlot of Darkness and Noxious Bliss....The Queen Of Corruption...Mistress....Paiiiiige~..."

Mistress~...

Nocturne darkness enshrouded the arena with Paige's the pulsating rhythm of her bewitching theme, swelled anticipation burgeoning from around the arena with focused eyes and steadied cell-phone cameras centered upon the spotlight on top of the stage and what appeared to be an embroidered black curtain serving as a veiled border. One that covered the entryway although semi-transparent enough to see the shadowed outline of Mistress Paige posing provocatively with a swayed swivel to her hips and hands folded behind her head. All amidst the decadent pageantry of a high-end burlesque show complimented with a wafting ankle-deep fog and spinning spotlights spiraling around before centered on the figure behind the curtain that was dramatically opening to unveil Mistress Paige now sashaying seductively. A silken bodysuit accentuating her supple curvature with whip and riding crop affixed to her belt, coming to ringside and slithering in from beneath the bottom rope. Knelt in the middle of the ring with hands trailing her figure with the hard camera following her hands until fixating on her Azure eyes and devilish smirk as the arena would soon become illuminated. Paige arising and resting her back against a corner turnbuckle, licking her lips in anticipation...

Starcourt - To Hell and Back

The arena lights dimmed once more, and then the first electric thrum of her music rolled across the air like a cosmic heartbeat. A shimmering synthwave beat ignited the speakers, flashing blue and crimson beams of light streaking through the fog still lingering around the stage.

No curtain, no veil, no tease, just

, illuminated in the neon glow, her silhouette sharp and radiant against the darkness her villainous opponent had heralded before her. Long, flowing pink hair framed her face, her features striking in their simplicity, her smile earnest, unpretentious. She did not slink, nor strut, nor slither. She stood tall. Every line of her toned body radiated discipline and poise, a picture of raw athletic grace carried without vanity. The heroine had arrived.

The crowd swelled as she began her walk down the ramp. Every step fell in rhythm with the pulse of her theme, steady and purposeful, like a soldier marching into battle. She reached out along the way, fingertips brushing eager hands, not as spectacle but as solidarity. These were her people, those she fought with for a brighter tomorrow as much as those she fought for them. Nova didn’t claim to be their champion. She simply carried herself like one, and the fans believed it.

At ringside, she seized the apron edge and vaulted up in one fluid motion, her body taut and effortless. In one smooth bound, she sprang over the top rope, landing in the iconic three-point superhero pose at the center of the ring. The canvas shook faintly beneath her impact, the crowd exploding in response.

Nova rose slowly from her crouch, squaring her shoulders, puffing her chest, the stage light catching the contours of her physique, the clean cut of her arms, the sculpt of her legs, the balance of strength and femininity that made her magnetic without trying.

She lifted an open palm skyward, fingers outstretched to the heavens. The lights dimmed further, until a single radiant spotlight followed her hand, painting her as though she truly were drawing power from the cosmos itself. Her face turned upward, eyes closed, lips parted in quiet reverence as if she were listening to something greater. Then, with a deliberate roll of her shoulders, she drew that hand back to her chest, palm pressing firmly over her heart, absorbing that imagined light into herself.

When her piercing blue eyes opened again, they fixed unshakably on Mistress Paige.

Her voice rang clear, not boastful, but resolute, cheesy in its honesty, and therefore perfect.

“From the edge of the galaxy to the heart of this ring, Justice has called to me… and I have answered. You, self-indulgent Queen of Corruption, have chosen an insidious path, and for that, you have been marked as my adversary. Stand ready for your unraveling.”

You never get a second chance to make a good first impression. Words of wisdom which Paige's first acting coach once imparted to herself and the rest of their class when the young actress was first breaking into the business. A rather obvious bit of tutelage in retrospect now that she thinks about it, but one that nevertheless latched onto the burgeoning actress as she carried it with her from audition to audition. Paige's honed flair for the theatrical at the very least etching herself within the memory banks of the talent scouts who either hired or kept her in mind for future roles. Eventually this became an indelible and crucial skill for her considering her future employment hinged on her ability to stick out from the other aspiring actresses crowding up the hallways...and one which Paige surmised was shared by her flamboyant adversary making a veritable buffet of scene chewing dramatics throughout her entrance. A joyous and vibrant cascade of dynamic illumination, complimented by an eighties synthwave hearkening back to a time of interstellar adventures and galactic warfare. The psychedelic presentation portraying this Nova Steele individual as the unparalleled North Star of this universe. Shimmering brilliantly as a beautiful beacon of hope and salvation for the downtrodden, a true paragon of justice whose helping hand was now high-fiving ringside audience members before entering the ring and seemingly drawing strength from the light itself~...

*Ahhh~...it's good to be back...* Paige internalized while sulking against her corner turnbuckle, somehow veiled within her own personal shadows even when the stadium’s strobe lit illumination was taking place. Nova's ostentatious presentation being the diametric opposite of Paige's nocturne abyss of an entrance certainly not going unnoticed by the Midnight Harlot, appreciating the earnest commitment to Nova's craft when it comes to extravagant theatricality captivating the audience. Paige was possessed by a burning temptation to ask Nova which acting coach she trained under and if she was in any television shows or movies she may be familiar with...but as a professional actress she knew full well that the middle of a performance on stage was no time to talk shop. Mistress' bewitching azure gaze locked upon Nova's, who was now casting judgement upon her from the middle of the ring. A calculated approach towards the galactic heroine taking place. "Ara~...How unfortunate. Is that what will become of me once Justice reigns down upon myself? Will you...unravel me? Strip me bare, right down to my decadent core~..." Paige's sultry voice accompanying her hands trailing up her midsection and betwixt the curvature of bosom, a confident stride taken until the swell of their abundance makes first physical contact between them. "Because such a fate is only the beginning once you become swallowed within my malevolent shadows, Oh Cosmic Defender~...

Nova stood a few paces off, arms folding beneath the swell of her chest, the curve of her lips tugging into a faint, knowing smirk. There was no rush in her bearing, only a patient, deliberate calm. She didn’t just look at Mistress Paige; she appraised her, weighed her, judged her not only as an opponent but as a performer. Paige was decadent where Nova was steadfast, shadow where she was light. Diametric opposites standing across the canvas, perfectly cast for the stage. It was perfect.

She offered the Midnight Harlot the barest nod, curt but pointed, an acknowledgment, even a brush of admiration, as Paige’s velvet tones unfurled like smoke and her hips moved with that spellbinding poise. The crowd might have swooned, but Nova drank it in with steady eyes, savoring the raw electricity Paige radiated, the way she painted sin with every syllable.

Yet beneath the heroine’s composed mask, her body betrayed her. The smirk quivered faintly when her gaze traced the path of Paige’s hands—gliding upward, lingering between the swell of her bosom, flaunting herself like a priestess in ritual. Nova’s stance shifted instinctively: boots spreading wider, shoulders tightening, a ripple of tension coursing through her spine. Her arms slipped down, fingers flexing loose and ready, betraying the hum of anticipation pulsing under her calm façade.

Then came the meeting, chest to chest, firm and unyielding, light and shadow colliding before the bell even thought to ring. Nova allowed it, if only for the moment. She let Paige’s perfume coil around her senses, felt the heat of her body slide close like a midnight fog wrapping the moon. The heroine’s bright eyes narrowed, crystalline fire beneath the arena lights, glittering with unshaken resolve.

Her voice came low, steady, every word dipped in molten steel and quiet allure. “If what you seek is to drag me into the depths of your depravity… then you’ll be gravely disappointed, Queen of Corruption.” She leaned forward, lips hovering close enough that her breath ghosted warm along Paige’s ear. “…Dusk always yields to the dawn.”

With that, Nova slid a boot into the space between them, closing it like a door. Her body surged forward, pressing flush against Paige, the tight frame of the pinkette heroine forcing the Midnight Harlot backward with uncompromising weight. It was no mere shove, but a declaration, the clash of ideals already igniting in the heat between them. "Stand ready for the crushing finality of all that is you."

The dichotomous parallels between the avatars bearing celestial light and nocturne oblivion became noticeably apparent once they were conversing in the middle of the ring, right down to Paige's spike barbed hair compared to Nova's majestic cascade. The Midnight Harlot ascertaining her own rigorous appraisal of the stalwart heroine once they were butting more than just their heads in the middle of the ring thanks to the heaving bloom between them. Nova's own perfume possessing a radiant purity within its own aromatic fragrance, possessing a virtuous essence matching the sentinel of justice herself. Whose unfaltering determination became noted and thoroughly appreciated by the debauched villianess, especially when confronted by the personification of voluptuous and hedonistic depravity. However, throughout Mistress' throughout assessment, she couldn't help but notice the slight fidgets and certain fickle gestures of a heroine whose stance somewhat faltered for a split second. Mistress Paige's veteran wrestling instincts decrying she dismiss these as inconsequential for the time being considering her concentration was better off centered upon the match at hand...for the time being.

Goosebumps trailed and spinal shivers became noticeable as Paige daydreamed upon the myriad of ways she could ravish and besmirch such a champion of unparalleled virtue~...sinful envisionings toyed with by Nova's whispered utterance before becoming an outright rebuke via the boot-treads shoving Mistress backward. "..." Paige silent aside from a faint gasp with her barreling tumble ending with the castoff dominatrix on one knee. The veiled curtain of her jagged locks masking her facials and therefore her intentions until she started arising at a glacial yet haunting pace akin to an ethereal apparition. Standing upright and flicking her hair behind her to showcase decadent elation through a salacious smile, hands grasping the sides of her face as she quivered in enraptured anticipation. "To think, such a righteous pillar of justice seeks my undoing, whatever am I to do?~...A Queen Of Corruption simply cannot abide such impudence. Groveling for mercy and pleading forgiveness as your queen's throne may yet absolve you. Should I be so generous~..." A snickered smile preempting a dashed attempt at a collar and elbow lockup, concerted strength assigned to attempting to usher the heroine to the turnbuckle behind her.

Mistress Paige’s dash met not submission, but resistance, solid, radiant, unyielding. Nova didn’t just brace; she rooted.

Their frames collided with a sharp clap that cracked through the arena, a spark of light meeting a surge of darkness. Paige’s heaving force pressed forward, but Nova stood her ground, boots grinding against the mat as her muscles corded beneath her suit. The heroine’s body moved like a wall of living starlight, her balance perfect, her stance grounded, every ounce of her strength flowing into the lockup.

For a heartbeat, it looked almost like an embrace, the dominatrix’s breath brushing her cheek, the sweet venom of her perfume coiling between them, her smile dripping with taunts. But Nova’s gaze was cold, unwavering, her crisp blue eyes meeting Paige’s with a burning steadiness that said more than words ever could.

"You mistake attentiveness for worship, Vile Villain," she said through clenched teeth, her tone low but cutting, her voice like a meteor slicing the quiet. "Your crown affords you nothing here within this ring."

Mistress Paige tried to drive her back, hips twisting, shoulders pressing, every ounce of corrupted elegance thrown into the push. But Nova might as well have been fused to the mat, immovable, her posture iron-straight even as her arms flexed against the villainess’s. The crowd’s noise rose to a crescendo as Paige’s smug grin might have begun to waver, her boots starting to slip against the canvas while Nova refused to give so much as an inch.

When Nova moved, it was like gravity had shifted. She rolled her shoulder forward, twisting her body and dragging Paige’s arm down into a tight pivot. The motion was clean, controlled, a burst of power honed through discipline, not rage. She spun, attempting to drag Paige off-center and using her own momentum against her, sending the Midnight Harlot spilling forward with an arm drag that looked almost effortless.

The heroine’s body flowed through the movement, hair flashing warmly under the lights, her expression one of calm determination rather than triumph. She didn’t gloat, didn’t taunt, she simply stood, chest rising and falling, one gloved hand raised slightly as if daring Paige to try again.

"You claim to be royalty," Nova said, her breath even, eyes sharp. "But I’ve met queens before. And you’re just another shadow looking for a light to hide behind."

The crowd erupted, half in awe, half in anticipation, as Nova straightened, every inch of her radiating that same steady, luminous resolve. The kind of strength that seemed like it couldn’t be seduced, swayed, or broken.

Few could say they've had the rarefied and privileged opportunity to observe a bonafide master of their craft at work. And yet tonight the audience in attendance was being gifted with not one, but two virtuoso representatives seamlessly depicting the eternal dichotomies and universal truths of light and darkness. An incorruptible and dauntless sentinel standing watch in righteous protection of the defenseless innocents. All against a torrential tsunami of malice incarnate and whose perverse depravity besmirches whatever her malicious tendrils seize upon within their beguiling clutches. And as if in furtherance of the metaphor entailing what transpires when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object, the ultimate answer was showcased as an odd yet appropriate synergistic stalemate. Muscled flared and breaths exchanged given their close proximity, a maniacal smile etched upon Paige's facials as she siphoned whatever strength she could muster into the protracted collar and elbow lockup. A faint swell of their busts as the Midnight Harlot solidified her own lurching stance with shoulders rolled and fully expecting Nova's posture to eventually begin faltering like a flower wilting from lack of sunshine. Much to her chagrin, however, the exact opposite seemed to be the lamentable case as audiences rallied behind the heroine's seemingly insurmountable resilience.

Paige gnashing her teeth in accursed frustration from the abject lack of headway when the vaudevillian yelped from the abrupt overturning of her stance, one of her seized arms utilized as the yanked fulcrum in the pitched arm drag. Pure fluidity in its application that showcased the heroine's resolute strength and culminating with a tumultuous splat of the floored villainess against the canvas. A puffed exhalation and shimmy to her breasts once her back made quaked contact, arms outstretched as Paige flapped her lips in begrudging acceptance that Nova had succeeded in making her appear quite foolish by discarding the villainess like so much disposable garbage. Nova saying more than words ever could merely by standing upright as a pillar of justice in towering condemnation of the apparently outmatched mistress. "Mnn...And what of you? Perchance you may be the light, capable of extinguishing my shadow? A Queen Of Light, ceaseless as the dawn. Reigning over us detestable scoundrels in purified worship at your feet..." Paige whispered as she ascended at a tepid pace beside Nova's righteous stance, seemingly servile and subservient but with one hand trailing the heroine's powerful thigh. Wafting breathes caressed Nova's sweetspot and midsection until the Mistress stood upright with Azure irises linked to her foe's...breaking free of her own trance to smile maliciously and attempt a cocked back punt kick absolutely smashing her foe’s crotch.

Nova stood tall, almost regal in her defiance, the embodiment of light forged into flesh. The harsh glow of the arena lights kissed the sheen along her collarbone, tracing the lines of effort and resolve carved into her frame. Her chest rose with slow, disciplined breaths, her eyes fixed on the serpentine shadow before her. Mistress Paige’s words slithered through the air like foul incense, sweet, poisonous, and indulgent, each syllable dripping with false reverence.

The Midnight Harlot drew close, Nova’s gaze narrowed. Her devilish hands adorned with polished nails and theatrical intent, trailed up Nova’s thigh as if it were a sacred act of desecration. The crowd leaned in, breath caught between awe and anticipation. Nova’s expression hardened, not flustered, but disgusted. A faint flare of her nostrils, the twitch of her jaw, the electric tension across her shoulders, she was every inch the sentinel restraining herself from smiting a pest.

"I am no tyrant or queen. I am a servant to the light and the people," she said coldly, the words ringing like tempered glass. When Paige lingered, and her touch ventured higher, the contact earned her a sharp, audible snort. Nova took a deliberate half step back, shaking her leg with curt disdain, as though jostling loose an inconvenient line of toilet paper from her boot. Her chin tilted, her expression carved from pure superiority.

"But you… Filth clings, no matter how fine the silk-"

The heroine’s rebuke never finished. Paige’s smile sharpened and in a cruel flash of motion, and pain erupted like lightning. The villain’s punt shot upward between Nova’s legs with sickening precision, a dirty, desperate ambush disguised in her pandering. The impact took the larger woman briefly off the canvas before dropping down to bowed quivering legs.

Nova’s breath caught in her throat, a strangled gasp escaping as she staggered back, hands shooting between her thighs, eyes wide and wet with pain. "Y-you menace," she croaked, with a twitch in her eye.

Given that Paige was certainly no slouch when it came to the physicality of her chosen profession, being overwhelmed in the contentious lockup was a vexing reminder that whatever strength she possessed as an actor would be a little advantage when it came to a test of strength. The Midnight's Harlot's depravity proving to be no match for the Cosmic Defender's virtuous luminescence. Such unbridled strength overpowering and casting aside the vile mistress with absolute ease, light's purity once again reigning true over the meager shadows quaking in fear. Paige worshiping at the immaculate altar that was the noble heroine, stricken in awe of such radiant regality as roaming caresses appreciated Nova's supple definition. Whispered words painting a portrait of how even Nova's righteous virtue can become twisted and defiled. Except this was all meant to be a shadowed veil meant to conceal her true malicious intentions and stark reminder that this match was still No Disqualifications. Paige dislodging her leg from betwixt Nova's sweet spot and smiling wholesomely at her.

"...Ara Ara...How unexpected. Is a paltry mask all it takes to shatter the confidence of such a pillar of perfection? A shimmering starlight, meant to serve as the shining beacon of hope for others to aspire to. Now with quaking knees and hands clutching her womanhood. Certainly an unbecoming position for such a valiant heroine of light~..." Mistress mused as she approached the backpedaling heroine with an alluring yet malicious gait, a predatorial hunter cornering it's weakened prey with a carnivorous menace. A luscious swivel of her tongue swathed over her tender lips in the precursor to abruptly reaching out for a dual clutched handful of Nova's flamingo pink locks. Tucking her adversary down to be arched over before finding the back of her head straddled in between some lush thighs, a downward plummet than creaming Nova's noble visage into the canvas. An experience repeated several times over in Paige's Demon's Kiss, a jiggled quiver to her sumptuous rump with each thrust that serviced the ogling eyes of the audience before swiveling over into a seated headscissors.

Nova staggered in the aftermath of the blow, breath caught tight in her throat. Her body still carried the shock, a tremor in her legs, a stiff hitch in her stance. She reached back blindly, fingertips searching for the ropes like they were could be the last solid thing in the world that could ground her in this moment. Pink strands of hair clung to her cheek, sweat beading at her temples, chest lifting in sharp, uneven pulls as she fought to center herself.

Paige didn’t give her the chance, delivering her monologue as strutted her down like a run way model from hell.

The Dark Dom glided forward like a shadow with purpose, her heeled boots cutting a confident rhythm across the canvas. Her hand shot out, seizing Nova by the hair, not gently, yanking her head forward with a force that ripped a rough gasp from the heroine’s lips. Nova’s knees nearly buckled again with her unsteady base; she caught herself, boots scraping, shoulders tensing as instinct battled shock.

A heartbeat later, Paige dragged her head down and trapped it between her thighs. It left Nova bent at an ord angle, her plush posterior aloft as she was forced to lean against her captor for balance. She reached out for the mat only to have one arm drawn back, then the other leaving her suspended and wincing before what she knew came next even happened. When the hammer finally dropped, the ring rumbled with the impact.

The canvas rose to meet her face, her neck jolting, shoulders bouncing on impact. When her arms were let go they down along her sides with a dull thud, leaving her still with nothing but a muffled groan
Mistress Paige hoisted herself up, and with that came Nova’s upper body like a marionette dangling from only half her strings.

WHAM.

This time Nova's whole frame spasmed with each impact, the initial drop having pacified her enough that she seemed helpless for each subsequent slam.

WHAM.
WHAM.
WHAM.
WHAM.
WHAM.
WHAM.

Once Paige had her fill she rolled herself over in a clean and fluid motion only to have the heft of Nova’s dead weight follow sluggishly, like a thick liquid being poured over stairs she was flopped onto her back. Arms splayed to the side, legs spread, chest heaving as her cheeks were mashed and red crunches between Paige’s thighs. Her gaze was distant and dazed, having suffered repeated blows to the head unprotected, leaving her a ripe target to be squeezed.