Luke Cranston vs Spectre — Fighting the Odds

[Monsy]

Vorona glowered. Such incessant smug. So sure of himself. The pissant! “Nn-not in the ssssslightest.” Said her, straining to release her venom. She felt large hands grip her sides, squeezing and taking the colour from her face. When she looked down, she saw the mat rapidly descending away. Her gut flipped. Her head was captured by thick reinforced concrete in a round shape, grinding her face, muffling her groaning. She kicked and kicked — trying to find a limit to him somewhere, trying to establish the ‘how’ when it came to escaping him. “U-Unhand m-me you brr—!”

Wait!—

“HUGH!” The ring-reverberating thud was more forceful than half the slams she endured. Her breath left her in a hollering gasp as her face gaped at once. The crowds awed, then let out a short cheer. Her torso rebounded off the mat so she sat partially upright, then went down again. She curled her toes, put them into the mat, then lifted her hips directly off the mat to nurse her hurting back. Her face screwed into distress, shaking her head and biting back the curse she had.

[CaptainL]

Yes, Luke tended to let his success go to his head, and he had a bit of an ego. But considering his opponents were offering absolutely nothing resembling a threat right now, he felt as though he could afford to indulge! No matter how loudly Vorona protested as he hauled her up into the air, it wasn't going to slow him down. He already had set his mind on sending Vorona on a collision course - and she was the unwilling projectile, as he slammed her straight down into the mat!

It was as though a thunderclap went off in the middle of the ring - that was how loudly and how forcefully Vorona struck the canvas! Plenty of fans had to wince and look away - but plenty more were eager to cheer Luke on. He had been put up against a seemingly insurmountable task in conquering an entire gauntlet of opponents, and yet, he was dominating the competition with ease, as though it didn't even demand any effort of him whatsoever! When Vorona went down, the impact had nearly left a crater in the surface beneath her - and Luke, by contrast, would jump back up as though it was nothing, lifting two proudly flexed biceps to the sky to bask in the cheers of the crowd. He wanted to show the world he could dominate his opponents without even trying - even in a match that should well have been theirs!

If that hadn't been proven enough with the collision course Luke had effortlessly sent Vorona on, it was the next move he made that would really set the stage. He lowered himself down onto one knee, pressing the other against Vorona's gut. From there he'd lean forward, forcing his sheer bulk against his opponent's midsection. He was looking to squeeze the life out of her through nary any move of his own - just by using his own body weight!

[Monsy]

“Ssssuch ffffsss-facetious bluster!” Vorona croaked from the ground, hissing and still holding a hand onto her back. His jump, flex, then the delighted cheers that came with it—delighted to see a brute work her over. She felt something hollow form in her stomach as she rested back on her elbows, then tried to scurry back as his looming shadow was dropping down. “Graceless trash! I want nothing to do with your sim-PLISTIC!—”

When she saw the knee, she audibly gasped. Just what was the word being caught on her tongue?

“A-auuuuugggck!!… augg…” Ah, well. Too late.

The knee covered a large swath of her belly, then sunk deep. His weight pushed it deeper, burying itself to deform her luscious, now bruising and sweating skin. Seams tore into the lines of the remaining latex, caught underneath his fist. The pain exponentially grew from like a nauseating weight, to an unbearable sting, then a blunt stabbing she couldn’t describe, then pure, slow, agonizing suffocation.

The noise she made was a yelp.

The more he placed his weight, the more her legs shook as she couldn’t think to process it any other way. Her knees lifted up, touched, shivered and then she started scraping the mat with her heels. Her hands pushed on his knee. Her face started to twist, stopped blinking, contorted and sweat beads.

“What’s the matter, Vorona? You’re throwing my script for a whirl here.” Spectre’s eye twitched as she held a stiff face. “No. You’re just holding out on me. You have a big—BIG surprise for them.”
“…”
“Anytime!”

But the artist hardly thought of anything.

She was gasping for air non-stop, choking and making short gurgling noises as a bruise now was forming all around where he placed the knee. She kicked, desperately tried to push—then started to cry her eyeliner down her cheeks as she threw her head back, eyes rolled towards her forehead, back arched as she dripped spit from her mouth corners, teeth gnashed and unable to compose even a single thought about how she looked. Instead, there was only one message: T-this c-can’t be right! B-Being c-crushed by a s-simple man!!

Although her racing heart, her sizzling senses and her burning throat were all telling the opposite story. The only solace being the taste of her black ichor now filling her mouth from the capsule she half-accidentally chomped on. She just needed any moment to think of any concept of a new 'strategy' that Luke had already demolished four seconds in.

[Monsy]

This thread is concluded.