***
Match Type: Ultimate Conquest Match
Match Rules
The "Ultimate Conquest" match is a heavily submissions-based contest with Hentai allowed to an extent, and an unrestrained Loser Gets Fucked Stipulation.
- Pinfalls accomplish nothing. They will not be counted.
- Genital penetration is not allowed. All other Hentai maneuvers are fair game.
- Non-verbal submissions and orgasms will lead to a penalty period, of one and two minutes, respectively. During these penalty periods, the competitor who scored the submission/orgasm will be allowed to do anything within the rules that they wish in an attempt to force a verbal submission. The opponent will not be allowed to resist.
- A verbal submission, whether within or outside of the penalty period, will end the match, with the competitor who surrenders being subjected to the Loser Gets Fucked stipulation.
- Pinfalls accomplish nothing. They will not be counted.
- Genital penetration is not allowed. All other Hentai maneuvers are fair game.
- Non-verbal submissions and orgasms will lead to a penalty period, of one and two minutes, respectively. During these penalty periods, the competitor who scored the submission/orgasm will be allowed to do anything within the rules that they wish in an attempt to force a verbal submission. The opponent will not be allowed to resist.
- A verbal submission, whether within or outside of the penalty period, will end the match, with the competitor who surrenders being subjected to the Loser Gets Fucked stipulation.
Optional Objective
A monetary bonus will provided to either or both competitors if they choose to wear easily removable attire.
***
A mystery opponent, eh? Sure, had the name: Vicky Maddox. But that was all he knew, and it was all he could find. Given his issues with management, that was good cause for concern for him. 
It could be nothing. She could just be a new face in the business. And the psychopathic types tend to be established coming in, anyway. There's a sizable chunk of LAW's fanbase that's into that kind of spectacle, where a match is less of a contest and more a presentation of destruction. Of the mind and body both. Of will. Of dignity. Spirit. All stamped and snuffed out live, in living color, in front of millions. And the ones who do the stamping and snuffing have usually been doing it for years already, with a degree of pride that the criminals they would've been if they weren't under the combat wrestling umbrella could only dream of.
But the chances weren't zero, especially for a marked man. If there was ever a time to bring in one of those surprise hires, a match like this would be it.
"Ei, como estás?"
That feminine voice was coming from down the hall to his right. Sounded familiar, but his memory failed to connect a face to it. He turned his head, and...Oh.
"Lepo? Alicia Lepo." He met her with a friendly smile, a sudden, but accurate accent, and a handshake. "He estado bien. ¿Y tú?"
The Spanish rolled off of his tongue with a native's ease. Wrong language, but it was close enough to her Portuguese for her to be able to follow.
"Tudo bem, mas vou melhorar quando começar a trabalhar a sério."
He couldn't say the same about her response. Lost, he furrowed his brow. For just a couple seconds before his purple eyes lit up. "Oh! Portuguese." He laughed with the realization. "My bad."
"No worries. It's nice to meet a guy who knows the difference."
Honestly? Lucielle just wanted to see if he remembered anything she'd taught him about the language. He wasn't a tough student at all: He was already fluent in Spanish when they met, a natural outcome of curiosity and having a best friend who came up in a household where it was spoken almost exclusively. That fluency had given him some decent footing to start with, and he was driven to impress her. It curled her lips up a little higher, made her smile brighter. Terrell had interpreted that as that mixture of relief and intrigue, something like meeting somebody wearing a Korn t-shirt who can actually hold a conversation about how the band's specific voice speaks to the listener.
And so, Severin would nod with his understanding. "What's up?"
"A heads-up: This girl you're facing, Vicky Maddox? She's a scrapper. Comes from the underground. I'd keep my dukes up, if I were you."
Okay. He's got questions now. Starting with, "How do you know about her?"
"Let's just say I have my sources."
"Ah. Playing mysterious, are we?"
"That's rich, coming from the masked man."
That was a good point. He could manage nothing but an acquiescent tilt of the head.
"Speaking of "rich", congratulations on that big win."
"Thanks. Can you at least tell me why you're giving me this heads-up?"
Alicia let that question hang in the air for a beat. Weighed the pros and cons of leaving him to ruminate or coming clean. Or how much she should say in the case of the latter. In the end, she decided that it wouldn't hurt the game she'd started if she fed him a couple more crumbs.
"Like I said, I'm a wrestler. And I'm interested in other wrestler's stories."
"Right. Yet, something's telling me you're not gonna be in the habit of doing people favors like this."
It may have ended with a period, but that was still enough to bring him to his quota of questions, Alicia had decided.
"Keep those dukes up, Severin. See you around."
It was something right out of a movie, this whole "sexy, mysterious benefactor" thing she's pulling. Right down to the sway in her hips when she walked away. He could see what she was trying to do.
"Thanks!" Still a great ass, but he wouldn't let his gaze linger for too long. He'd give her that, though.
Alright. The darkened arena would be illuminated by it: On the screens, a bright 3D plasma ball that contained a swirling miasma of vibrant purples, pinks, and blues (with a red warning note for flashing lights in the corner). Each drone would trigger another explosion of light within it, electronic shockwaves that radiated for just a second before it faded, only for the next to spark it back to life. White lightning would flash in the background. The arena proper would be lit up with flickering purple strobe lights, in the same manner would be. Smoke would obscure the stage.
The masked man would step through the smoke, the purple lining and effects of his gear -- the emblem on the sleeve of his jacket (a domino mask enveloped in electricity), the contacts, the highlights in his hair -- glowing int he darkness that had been beaten back just enough to reveal his shape, but not his features. Not until a few seconds before the beat came in; that's when the spotlights started flashing. He stood in place, hood up, allowing a camerawoman working the stage the time to come in for a close-up shot that would be displayed on the jumbotron above for the viewing pleasure of those in the nosebleeds, and perhaps his opponent too. Starting at his booted feet, and slowing to a crawl when it reached his chiseled abs and traveled to his chest, eliciting some appreciative hooting and hollering from the ladies, and even some of the fellas.
A crooking pointer finger gestured for the camera to be risen, up to a playful grin.
"The following contest is an Ultimate Conquest match! And introducing first, standing at five feet and eight inches and weighing in at one hundred and eighty-five pounds...! From Milwaukee, Wisconsin...! Blaaaaaack! Seeeeveriiiin!"
He peeled his hood back and started on the way down to the ring, clapping any hands that were held out for him. With a few running steps, he slid beneath the bottom rope, then kipping up into a three-point landing. Timed just right with the build-up to the beat drop, his hood flying back into place for maximum style. He held the pose. Waited for the second pulse in the build-up, then threw his head back, flipping the hood back off his head, and his dreads from his face so he could make eye contact with the camera outside of the ring. And then some footwork to set up the move that's become a staple of his entrances in the arena: The windmill.
The drop finally hit, and the strobes made the place look a lot more like a dance club. Some people were even busting a move, to varying degrees of success.
To match the amped up energy the arena had taken on, Severin transitioned to eventually finishing up with a sweet to make his way back onto his feet. He slid his jacket off, brought it around to his side, and tossed it over into the crowd before turning to the stage.
Portuguese to English Translation
"Ei, como estás?" -- "Hey, how are you?"
"Tudo bem, mas vou melhorar quando começar a trabalhar a sério." -- "I'm fine. I'll be better once I start doing some real work."
"Tudo bem, mas vou melhorar quando começar a trabalhar a sério." -- "I'm fine. I'll be better once I start doing some real work."
Spanish to English Translation
"He estado bien. ¿Y tú?" -- "I'm doing fine. And you?"
