-Victory Conditions-
In order to win, a wrestler must first force an orgasm out of their opponent, then fully incapacitate them with ropes, which can be found around the ring.
-Victory Stipulations-
The winner will either stay or become LAW HENTAI CHAMPION.
It would be Madeline Christiansen’s first title shot.
Only here, in LAW. That distinction mattered more than she cared to admit aloud. Her life had been threaded with championship moments long before she ever set foot beneath these lights. She could still recall the coarse feel of the mat beneath her bare feet at her first Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu finals in Manchester, the tight choke she had locked in with stubborn precision, and the sharp exhale of her opponent when the tap finally came. Years before, there had been the intercollegiate wrestling circuit, where she had clawed her way through brackets with a scholar’s discipline and a predator’s patience. Even beyond that, smaller promotions had offered her gold, each victory another petal added to the rose she had cultivated. Yet none of them carried the same weight as this. Because all roads, no matter how winding, had led her here.
She had watched LAW long before she had ever dared to imagine herself in its ring. Late nights, dim lights, the glow of a screen reflecting in keen green eyes as she studied every movement, every triumph, every fall. There had been something intoxicating about it. Not just the competition, but the spectacle. The legacy. The promise that if one was bold enough, strong enough, one could carve one's name into something that would endure. To stand now on the precipice of that dream, to feel it within reach, sent a quiet tremor through her chest.
But the title itself was only part of it. Madeline was not blind to what this match represented. The championship she sought had become something else entirely, twisted into a symbol of something gaudy and unsettling. Sister Lucia had seen to that. Madeline had watched the H-1 Climax unfold with a measured gaze, absorbing every moment of that woman’s rise. There had been controversy, whispers, and outright condemnation from many corners. Yet the result remained unchanged. Lucia had won.
And then she had reshaped the prize in her own image, with a name both gaudy and frankly preposterous.
Madeline’s lips pressed into a thin line at the thought. It was not simply about claiming gold. It was about reclaiming something that had been dragged into the grasp of fanaticism. The division itself felt altered, as though it had been held hostage by a doctrine that thrived on spectacle over substance. That could not stand.
Still, the path to this moment had not been as direct as she might have preferred. The detour had come in the form of Sister Chastity.
An encounter she had not welcomed at first; while initially vexed by the delay, Madeline now found she harboured no lingering resentment. And in hindsight, she can't ignore its impact. The match had drawn eyes. More than most of her previous outings combined. It had been violent, unpredictable, and at times unfathomably erotic. Even now, there were moments when she could swear she felt the ghost of that crushing hold around her ribs, the memory of breath stolen and bones strained.
Chastity had been formidable. Unstable, certainly, but formidable all the same.
Madeline exhaled slowly, rolling her shoulders as if to cast off the lingering sensation. Chastity, and Prudence for that matter, were not meant to interfere tonight. The rules had been made clear. Yet rules had not exactly proven to be sacred in Lucia’s circle. The events of the H-1 Climax had shown that much.
So she would remain vigilant. She had to. There was too much at stake to allow herself the luxury of complacency. Expectations pressed in from all sides. The audience, the locker room, even those who would never say her name aloud, were watching. Waiting. Hoping that someone would step forward and challenge what Lucia had established. Madeline intended to be that someone. Not out of obligation, but because she believed she could be.
A sharp knock broke through her thoughts. She turned her head slightly, eyes settling on the stagehand who offered a brief nod. No words were necessary. The message was clear enough.
It was time.
Madeline rose without haste, smoothing a hand over her attire before making her way towards the entrance. Each step felt deliberate, grounded. The familiar path through the gorilla position seemed different tonight, heavier somehow, charged with anticipation. The noise of the arena swelled as she neared the curtain, a living thing that pulsed and roared beyond the barrier. Then she stepped through. And the light consumed her at once.
Magenta and silver cascaded across the stage in a dazzling display, far more elaborate than her usual entrance. It painted the arena in vivid colours, transforming the space into something almost dreamlike. From above, a gentle rain of rose petals fell, their deep fuchsia hues catching the light as they drifted downward in slow, graceful arcs.
The reaction was immediate. A surge of sound rolled over her, cheers rising in a wave that seemed to shake the very air. Madeline did not rush to meet it. Instead, she allowed herself a moment at the top of the ramp, standing tall, letting the spectacle breathe. Her emerald gaze swept across the sea of faces before her, calm and assured.
She wore confidence as easily as she wore her gown and gear. The attire itself was a refined evolution of her signature look. The magenta rose at its centre drew the eye at once, a bold emblem set against darker tones that clung to her form with precise elegance. Thin straps traced across her upper body, offering contrast to the strength evident in every line of muscle. Her midriff was left partially exposed, a subtle reminder of both grace and power intertwined. Her hair fell freely down her back, catching the light with each subtle movement.
When her music swelled, she lifted a hand to her lips and sent a kiss out into the crowd. It was playful, but there was something resolute beneath it.
Then she turned, beginning her descent.
Each step carried her closer to the ring, petals shifting beneath her feet with a soft, almost delicate crunch. The grandeur of the moment was not lost on her, yet she remained composed, every movement measured, every breath controlled. This was where she belonged. At ringside, she paused briefly before ascending the apron, one hand brushing against the ropes as she slipped through them with fluid ease. The canvas welcomed her once more, familiar and grounding.
Madeline crossed to her corner, turning to face the entrance. And there she waited. Calm on the surface, though beneath it all, something burned steadily. Anticipation. Determination. Perhaps even a hint of defiance.
Her first title shot in LAW. And soon, the woman who held that title would have to answer her.
The lights went out around the stadium, blanketing it in darkness, while white lights flickered all around, shimmering and shining as the music thumped. A heavy, rumbling bass, so hard that it made the teeth chatter and weakened the knees. It was almost enough to drown out the vitriol from the crowd, but not quite - their boos and jeers vibrated over the noise, a rumbling hum that seemed to herald Sister Lucia’s arrival wherever she went.
”This is the dress I want to be buried in…
Leave the rings, I might need them…
Unholy water, take a sip
This! Is my church outfit.”
And she was here. Sister Lucia emerged at the top of the ramp in all her
, holding the Bible Belt high and proud. Her glittering prize sparkled in the darkness, a glowing beacon in the gloom. The woman herself was alone for once and not flanked by her lieutenants, but if that caused her any concern, it wasn’t showing on her face. Madeline had won their absence, fairly and squarely, and her reward would be a match where her two most trusted sisters were not present. It would not make a difference, however.
This match was Sister Lucia’s to win. This belt was hers to hold.
”Life is a commercial for death
Anger is something I worked to manifest
Life is a commercial for death
And you're hypnotized by the advertisement…”
She made her way down to the ring with a bounce in her step, skipping along to the music, without the smallest concern or care, even as the audience rained hate her way. A few in the crowd even tried to throw some popcorn at her, but she deftly avoided the salty assaults and kept her pace, moving with a glad heart. Their jeers stood no chance of dampening her mood; nothing they could do would ever bring her down.
”I'll dress to the nines, show up on time
You can wear whatever you like
Dress to the nines, show up on time
You can wear whatever you like…”
She came up the steps, the Bible Belt on her shoulder, and it was only then that she finally paused her and demeanor dropped. Then, when she caught sight of Madeline, poised at the other side of the ring. It wasn’t the woman herself that unnerved her, no. She had seen her before, up close and personal, so she was no surprise to her, even in her admittedly fetching outfit.
No, what truly took Sister Lucia aback was that look in her eyes. It was a far cry from the woman she had locked eyes with in the concession area, back when the challenge was first made. There was a fierce focus there, a resolve in those gleaming eyes that she misliked. It wasn’t the look Sister Lucia expected from a challenger. Not from the underdog. It was the look of someone who truly believed she could win.
Perhaps more distressingly, it reminded her of Sister Chastity’s match with her, how the brunette had utterly demolished her lieutenant and left her a sweaty, mewling mess. The Austrian had been so thoroughly ravaged that she couldn't even leave the room of her own accord. Prudence had to come and bring her back to the car in a bridal carry, which Sister Chastity likely enjoyed more than she let on. If Sister Lucia found herself in a similar place, if Madeline got on top of her…
She pushed the thought away, as far as the east was from the west. With a dismissive flick of her hair, she stepped through the ropes and found her smile again, skipping towards the center of the ring as her music died down.
She leaned over and gave Madeline the most condescending slow clap she could manage. ”Congratulations on defeating Sister Chastity. It made for an…amusing exhibition, I’ll grant you that.” Sister Lucia straightened back up, as the ring announcer and the referee made their way into the ring behind her. ”But be under no delusions. Though they are not here in body or mind, my sisters are with me in spirit.”
Sister Lucia pressed a hand to her chest and breathed deep, before she handed the belt over to the referee. She took a moment to stare at it, as if she’d handed the woman some strange alien artifact, then when about her business. “You will not be leaving this ring victorious, Madeline, so I do hope you enjoy your time with Sister Chastity, and this match as well. They will be the last hentai matches you’ll have in this company. Believe that.”
Madeline watched in silence as the lights died. Darkness swallowed the arena whole, save for those flickering white strobes that cut through the void like fractured lightning. The bass rolled through the space with an almost physical force, a deep and invasive tremor that pressed against her chest and lingered in her bones. It was theatrical. Overwrought, even. Yet undeniably effective in the way it demanded attention.
Her gaze remained fixed on the stage. Then Sister Lucia appeared, like a macabre deity.
Madeline’s eyes narrowed, not in anger, but in quiet appraisal. The champion carried herself with an unsettling ease, that manic buoyancy untouched by the hostility pouring down from the crowd. The belt rested on her shoulder like a sacred relic, gleaming beneath the fractured light, yet to Madeline it looked less like a prize and more like a distortion of one.
Her attention drifted briefly upward. The coif, the framing, the silhouette it created. The suggestion of horns was unmistakable. How fitting, she thought.
She did not move from her corner as Lucia made her descent. There was no need. No posturing, no attempt to match spectacle with spectacle. Madeline simply watched, composed and unflinching, as the woman skipped and danced her way to the ring, as though she were untouched by consequence. It was almost impressive. Almost.
By the time Lucia reached the steps, Madeline had already drawn her own conclusions. And then the champion saw her. Madeline did not soften her gaze. She allowed Lucia to take it in fully: that unwavering focus, that certainty which had replaced the earlier curiosity from their first encounter. Her stance showed no hesitation, nary a trace of doubt. Only intent.
When the slow clap came, Madeline’s brow arched ever so slightly. So she had been watching. Though that was to be expected. The mention of Sister Chastity drew a faint, knowing smile to her lips. Not one of warmth, but of quiet amusement. She tilted her head just enough to regard Lucia more directly, her voice measured when she finally spoke. “Ah. So you did see it.” There was a pause, deliberate.
Madeline’s eyes flickered briefly over Lucia’s form, as though searching for something unseen beneath the surface. “Tell me, how is she? I do hope she made it out of there. When I left her, she was babbling about something constantly, though I can't seem to make out of what's been said…” The question hung in the air, light in tone, yet carrying a weight that needed no elaboration. The audience understood. Lucia certainly did.
“As in, they’re not here to put your leadership into question again?” she continued, her voice smoothing into something almost conversational. A subtle nod to their earlier exchange, to that first encounter where words had danced more than actions. She'd let Lucia continue on, until a particular word stood out to her the most.
“Will?” Madeline stepped forward then.
Her robe trailed behind her, the fabric whispering across the canvas as a few stray petals clung and followed in her wake. Each step closed the distance with quiet authority, unhurried yet undeniable. She did not rush to meet Lucia at the centre; she instead circled just enough to draw closer on her own terms.
“Since you have proved that you have seen that match, I must ask…” she said, her tone sharpening just a fraction. “…What did Sister Chastity say after I challenged her faith?”
Another step.
“I must fail. She seemed quite certain of that.” A soft breath left her, almost a laugh, though devoid of humour. “And yet here I am. Still standing. Still advancing.” Madeline came to a stop just short of Lucia, close enough now that there was no need to raise her voice. “And you say this will be my last match of this kind. Not must.”
Her eyes locked onto Lucia’s, unblinking. “How curious.”
There was something colder beneath her composure now, something that edged her words with quiet steel.“Is your faith not as strong as that of your own sisters?” she asked, the question delivered without haste, each syllable precise. “Or I suppose...subordinates would be the correct term?”
Another heartbeat passed. Madeline’s expression did not change, but there was a shift in her presence, a subtle tightening, as though the moment itself had drawn a line between them.
“You have already seen what I can do, so I won’t waste precious time on that.” She continued, her voice lowering slightly. “What happened to Chastity was only a fraction.” She let that settle, let it linger. Madeline straightened just a touch, her shoulders squaring as she held her ground.
“But what is about to transpire in this ring…” she said, each word carrying a quiet certainty. “…will compel you to reconsider this ridiculous crusade seriously. The pageantry. The posturing. This…walk you insist on maintaining…” A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips. “And you will be forced to abandon this misguided fight against the inevitable.”
Madeline leaned in just enough for the words to feel personal, meant for Lucia alone, despite the roaring crowd around them. “Of that…you must fail.”
That smile. Sister Lucia didn’t like that smile, either. It popped up across Madelien’s face when Sister Chastity was mentioned, and the reaction it created was not at all wanted. It struck her as the smile of a woman who knew something everyone else did not, who had her own little joke that only she was in on - or so she thought.
If she looked to unnerve Sister Lucia with that gaze, she would fail. At the least, she wasn’t about to betray such emotions before the match even began. She waved off Madeline’s observation with a tired sigh. ”Of course I watched that fetid display - what sort of champion would I be if I did scout my opponent? It was not an unimpressive victory, I will concede, though I suspect you benefitted from Sister Chastity’s good grace. Her fondness for you took away her edge.”
A bit of an exaggeration, and she knew it. Sister Lucia had yet to meet a beautiful woman who Sister Chastity wasn’t immediately fond of, after all, and that had never stopped her from crushing them to pieces before. If anything, it encouraged her.
”If you must know, she is doing well, if a little…under the weather.” Sister Lucia coughed to clear her throat. ”She asked me to say ‘hello’, by the way. So there.”
At the insinuation of insubordination, Sister Lucia tensed and bristled - it was a thought that had made its way into her head a few times over the past few days, of how Sister Chastity had imposed her will over the proceedings and superseded her. It was a lapse that she wasn’t going to let happen again, and she was about to make that clear when Madeline boldly made her way forward.
Sister Lucia stood and looked own, eyes locked on her opponent, as she made her speech, and what a speech it was. Measured, precise, confident. If Sister Lucia did not know better, she would’ve thought the woman had practiced it beforehand. Most likely, these were ideas that had been rolling around in that pretty head of hers for some time, and she was just now giving voice to them.
Boasts. Threats. Promises. Madeline did lack for confidence, and she showed it with her demeanor and words. There was a regal presence to her, Sister Lucia would concede, and for a moment it was hard to tell who was challenger and who was champion between them. But she would not be cowed by this stalwart approach, and Sister Lucia held her ground with a steely gaze, waiting until the gasconade was finished before she retorted.
”Such bravado. You’re sure of yourself, I will give you that - a pity that courage couldn't aid you in the tournament. Perhaps if it did, you would be the champion right now, and I would be the one challenging you. What a different world that would be, wouldn’t it?” She chirped with her brightest smile, as she sought to poke at that wound as long as she could.
”Confidence born of ignorance. You speak prettily, but your words are as hollow as your future.” It was her turn to step forward now, directly closing the space between her and the large woman. ”My crusade does not end today, slattern - no, this is the day it begins. I ran through everyone who sought to stand between me and this title, and now that I have it, I will run through everyone who seeks to take it from me.”
Sister Lucia rose off her heels, just high enough to press her forehead against Madeline’s, the iron cross on her coif digging into the woman’s skin. “I will tear this entire disgusting division down around this company’s head, brick by brick, and you? You will be the first stone to fall. You question my faith? In a few minutes, you will be tied up, on your back, soaking in your own juices, and sobbing as all your hopes are turned to ash. Then, and only then, will you know how strong my faith is.”
The crowd couldn't make out what they were saying exactly, but they hardly needed to - the looks between them spoke volumes, the tension so thick it was almost a palpable thing. As the champion and challenger face off, the
stepped in between them with a sheepish wave.
”Okay, so, I know you guys are doing your whole standoff…thing. But I do need to announce this match so we can start, so…”
Last edited by BlackAkuma on Tue May 05, 2026 3:02 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Madeline lifted her hand without breaking eye contact with the champion. Her index finger came to rest gently against the announcer’s lips, a quiet and effortless gesture that halted the woman mid-breath. A dismissive gesture, but a simple command, given without words.
Her emerald gaze never left Sister Lucia. There was no outward display of anger, no visible crack in her composure, nor a flare of irritation at the insults cast her way. The aristocratic upbringing had instilled in her the invaluable art of keeping one’s cards close to the chest, a skill that served her well in moments such as these. Control was power. And it was everything, in moments like this.
Lucia’s words lingered in the air, sharp and theatrical, laden with intent. Madeline listened to them all, weighed them, and found them wanting. There was truth in some corners, certainly. She had lost the tournament. That much could not be denied. Yet there was no shame in that loss. Not when it had come at the hands of Natasha, not when it had been earned through a contest that demanded everything she had to give. Madeline did not flinch from that memory. If anything, she carried it with a quiet pride.
Lucia’s path…well, that needed no revisiting. It had been seen. Witnessed. Debated in every corner where voices gathered. Madeline did not need to speak on it. The silence said more than enough.
Lucia’s earlier jibes, though intended as provocative, felt hollow. And she can’t help but think about Sister Chastity. For all her instability, for all the madness that coloured her actions, there had been a foundation beneath it. A conviction that, however warped, felt tangible. Their exchanges had held weight. Substance. Lucia’s words, however elaborate, felt far more fragile. They sounded grand. They aimed high. Yet beneath the flourish, Madeline heard something hollow.
The champion’s words about her own supposed enduring faith, and Madeline’s inevitable downfall, were met with an unreadable expression. The pressure of the crucifix against her forehead was a minor discomfort, a physical manifestation of Lucia’s fervent certainty. But certainty, Madeline knew, was not always synonymous with truth. She took a slow, deliberate breath, allowing Lucia’s fervent declaration to wash over her without yielding an inch. She let her finger remain where it was, silencing the ring for just a moment longer.
“You will reap what you sow.” The words were simple. Delivered plainly. Yet there was something in the way she said them, something steady and unyielding, that gave them weight far beyond their brevity. Madeline’s eyes held Lucia’s, unblinking. “And when this all collapses beneath you…” she continued, her tone dipping ever so slightly, “…you will find yourself where all charlatans do.”
A faint shift passed through her gaze then. For the briefest instant, something darker flickered beneath the surface. Something colder. Sharper. A glimpse of what lay beneath the polished exterior, there and gone in a heartbeat.
“Forgotten.”
The smile never left her lips.
Madeline withdrew her hand at last, the pressure on the announcer’s lips lifting as though it had never been there at all. Only then did she turn her head slightly, acknowledging the woman beside her with the barest inclination. “You may proceed.”
The announcer drew in a breath, clearly relieved, and stepped forward with renewed urgency. Her voice carried out across the arena, cutting through the lingering tension.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled to be a Binding of Issac Match, and it is for the LAW Hentai Championship!”
A swell of noise rose from the crowd.
“And introducing first, the challenger… from London, England… standing at five feet eleven inches tall… weighing in at one hundred and fifty-six pounds…”
Madeline stood tall, her posture flawless, her expression composed.
“The English Rose… MADELINE CHRISTIANSEN!”
The reaction was immediate and thunderous. Madeline did not move to acknowledge it right away. She let the sound wash over her, the cascade of approbation, letting it build and crest, before finally allowing herself a subtle turn of the head. Madeline took a deep breath, the subtle scent of rose petals mingling with the metallic tang of adrenaline. Her gaze swept across the audience once more, measured and assured, before returning to Lucia, this self-appointed saviour of a puritanical crusade.
The moment had arrived. And she was ready to claim it.
The announcer made a squeak as Madeline’s finger found her lips, silencing her and ending any further interruptions. It was all well and good for Sister Lucia, who was in no rush to start the match. Let the masses wait, and the advertisers squirm.
Madeline was the taller woman between them, by no small amount, and that difference was clearly seen as the two women butted heads. Sister Lucia did not fail to notice it, either, as she stared up into those glowing eyes that Sister Chastity had so reverently spoken of, but she was not going to be cowed by it. Goliath, too, had been a giant, and a well-placed rock was all that David needed to fell him. Sister Lucia had quite a bit more than a rock.
Beneath that glow, though, she caught sight of something more dangerous, a flicker beneath the proper veneer. Sister Lucia did not know what to make of it just yet, but there was no sense in worrying about such things. In a few minutes, she would know exactly what sort of woman she was dealing with.
Sister Lucia said nothing back as they parted ways, merely keeping her satisfied smile, a Cheshire grin. If this woman only knew, if she had even the faintest inkling of what was coming her way…oh, she hoped she had a good view of her face the moment she realized the title had slipped away from her grasp.
But that would come later. For now, she was content to step away and take her place, as the referee held the title high and the announcements began.
”And her opponent…”
As usual, the sheep began their bleating, but Sister Lucia paid them no mind. What were gnats to a giant?
”From Madrid, Spain, standing at five feet, nine inches and weighing 115 pounds, she is your LAW Hentai Champion!”
Sister Lucia spread her arms wide as a light shone down on her from above, bathing her in blinding glory.
”The anointed, the exalted, the venerated....SISTEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEER LUCIIIIIIIIIIIAAAAA!”
The crowd roared their disapproval as Sister Lucia spun about, making sure they all had a good view of her wondrous splendor. She breathed deep, closed her eyes to savor the moment, then turned back to her foe as the announcer made her way over to kick the match off. Sister Lucia stood with her eyes fixed ahead, locked on her opponent with an unwavering gaze. As the referee raised her hand, she slid into her stance, fists up and at the ready, prepared to pounce at a moment’s notice.
The bell rang.
…and Sister Lucia immediately dropped to her knees, clasped her hands together, lowered her head, and began praying. "Oh Lord, I humbly beseech thee, give me strength in the battle to come, stand behind me so that I will not fall..."
Madeline reached for the clasp at her shoulder and let the gown fall.
The fabric slipped from her frame in a smooth cascade, pooling at her feet before she nudged it aside with a measured step. The action was performed without flourish, and none was required. What remained spoke clearly enough. Lean muscle defined her form, each line honed through years of discipline and refinement. When she rolled her shoulders, there was a subtle flex beneath her skin, a quiet reminder of the strength coiled within. It was not for display. It simply was.
If Sister Lucia had truly studied her match with Chastity, then she would already understand what that strength meant. She persevered not solely through brute strength but through meticulous control, exactitude, and a readiness to venture past her comfort zone into a more demanding realm.
Madeline settled her stance as the introductions shifted.
Lucia’s name rang out across the arena with all the grandeur the woman seemed to demand, yet the response it drew was anything but reverent. The chorus of disapproval rose swiftly, loud and unrestrained, echoing from every corner. Madeline’s gaze flicked briefly toward the champion as she basked in it, arms wide, as though the reaction itself fed her. Of course it did. Why would it not, after the manner in which she had claimed that title?
Madeline said nothing. She simply adjusted her footing. Her posture lowered slightly, centre of gravity shifting with deliberate care. One foot angled forward, the other braced behind, knees soft and ready to spring. Her hands rose, not in a striking guard, but something more fluid, more adaptive. Fingers relaxed, poised to reach, to grasp, to control. It was the stance of a grappler first and foremost, shaped by years on the mat, where leverage and balance dictated victory far more than spectacle ever could. Patience, calculated, ready.
She watched Lucia closely as the bell rang.
And then… nothing. Lucia dropped to her knees.
For a moment, Madeline did not move at all, as though her body had simply chosen not to respond to what she was seeing. The words that followed, the prayer offered in earnest in the very centre of the ring, only deepened the absurdity of it.
A title match.
And this.
A faint breath left her, something just shy of a laugh, though it carried more disbelief than humour. There was a flicker of amusement in her eyes, quickly tempered by something more measured. It was not the first time she had seen such behaviour. Chastity had indulged in her own rituals, though at the very least, she had the awareness to do so before the contest began.
This, however, was something else entirely.
Madeline straightened slightly, her stance loosening but not abandoning its readiness. Her gaze drifted briefly toward the referee, her voice low enough that it would not carry far beyond. “You may wish to consider a penalty.” She murmured, tone calm and composed. “If she intends to continue with...this during the match.”
Her attention returned to Lucia almost immediately. There was no rush in her movements as she took a single step forward, closing the distance just enough to loom over the kneeling champion. The contrast between them was striking. One grounded in stillness, the other caught in fervent devotion. Madeline studied her for a moment. Then she spoke. “If you required more time, you should have taken it before the bell.” No malice coloured the words, but quiet certainty.
Her hands lowered slightly, but her posture remained ready, every part of her prepared for the moment this display would end and the real contest would begin.
You could feel the air being sucked out of the arena, as thousands of LAW fans drew their breaths and gasped. Some nervous laughs, here and there. A few sporadic cries. The occasional cough.
”Do we…do we boo her?”
”This is so fucking weird.”
”This can’t be legal, right?”
Sister Lucia, for her part, paid the crowd as little mind as she ever did, as she knelt and communed with her Lord. It was important to put herself in the right sort of mindset, especially against an opponent like this. When Madeline brought her robe away and revealed her body, she was once again hit with that wave of warmth, as she remembered the way this woman had dominated her companion. She would need strength in this troubling time, to protect her from the witch’s foul spells.
The referee looked as confused as anyone. She raised her hand for a moment, almost as if to start a count, but thought better of it. Seemingly, she did not wish to be the first referee in history to disqualify someone for praying. Sister Lucia would just retain the belt if she did, so it would be especially silly. When Madeline whispered something her way, she merely shrugged. ”I mean…I’m pretty sure the rulebook doesn’t say anything about illegal prayer.”
Sister Lucia kept her pose steady as Madeline directed her jibes towards her, her eyes closed, not reacting. Not physically, at least.
”...and please forgive me for the humiliation I am about to inflict on this vile whore. She is nothing but an ignorant slattern, and you have chosen me as Your instrument to educate her…”
Another awkward moment passed, and the audience grew restless, prompting the referee to timidly inch her way. ”Uh…Lucia-san? LAW respects all religions and beliefs, but-”
”AMEN!”
Those two syllables would be the only warning Sister Lucia would give before she leaped up out of the praying stance as if she had springs under her boots, flying towards her opponent in a mad burst of speed. She flipped forward as she soared, her leaps swung through the air in a wide arc, and she attempted to bring them down right on her opponent’s head, looking to strike her out of the gate with a Rolling Koppu Kick.
Last edited by BlackAkuma on Tue May 05, 2026 6:41 pm, edited 2 times in total.
It wore the shape of prayer, borrowed the posture and the cadence, but there was something hollow beneath it. A performance. A distortion dressed in reverence meant as much for the audience as it did for Lucia herself. Madeline had seen belief before, in many forms, and this did not carry the same weight.
Still, the reality of the situation remained unchanged. Lucia was the champion. A disqualification, even if it were somehow enforced, would solve nothing. It would leave the title where it already rested, draped over the shoulder of the very woman Madeline intended to dethrone. And if there were penalties to be twisted or manipulated, Lucia had already proven herself more than willing to exploit such openings.
Madeline would not rely on that. She remained poised, her stance intact, her body loose yet primed. The arena around them shifted uneasily, the crowd caught between confusion and irritation, unsure whether to jeer or simply watch in disbelief. It created a strange atmosphere, one that might have unsettled a less composed competitor. Not her.
The words continued. Insults, veiled and otherwise, slipped into Lucia’s so-called prayer without restraint. The English Rose heard them all, each one as deliberate as the last, and dismissed them just as easily. There was no sting to them, no hook that found purchase. Petty attempts, perhaps meant to provoke, or to bait a reaction that would break her composure. Or perhaps they were simply all Lucia had.
Madeline’s expression did not change. If anything, her focus sharpened. There was a stillness to her now, not passive, but watchful. Every small shift in Lucia’s posture, every tightening of muscle beneath the act, was noted and measured. The longer it went on, the clearer it became that this was not merely theatre for its own sake.
And then it came.
“AMEN!” The word cracked through the air, sharp and sudden, and Lucia moved.
Madeline was already in motion. The explosive rise, the forward flip, the sweeping arc of the incoming strike, it all unfolded in a blur of speed. For a fraction of a second, it might have caught another opponent unprepared. The timing was crafted for that very purpose. But Madeline had never truly relaxed. Her arm came up instinctively, intercepting the blow before it could land cleanly. The impact reverberated through her limb, a sharp jolt that travelled from forearm to shoulder, forcing her to absorb the force rather than avoid it entirely.
Her feet slid against the canvas as she gave ground. One step, and then another. But she did not fall. Madeline steadied herself quickly, lowering her arm as the sting settled into a dull throb beneath the surface. Her eyes remained locked on Lucia, unshaken, unflinching, despite the abruptness of the attack.
“Were you praying that I’m a fool?” She said quietly, without anger in her tone, but recognising what took place. Her stance reformed in the same breath, tighter now, more deliberate.
