Speak or Suffer - Armando "Army" Rodriguez vs. Iya Zakharov

[RockRye]

I Quit Match - Continued from From Russia, with Malice
The winning competitor must force their opponent to declare "I Quit" into a live mic.

Iya relished the idea of an I Quit match. It wasn’t just about winning; it was about the humiliation of hearing those words spill from someone else’s mouth. A win like that carried weight. And someone who could make her say those words would have served as one of the best fights of her life. If she could make a man like Army, with all his muscles, say it, that would mean something. It would prove she wasn’t here just to look pretty or intimidating; she was the real deal. And more importantly, it would light a fire under the higher-ups who seemed to think she was more suited to calendars than main events.

Her sharp eyes flicked over him again as the terms of the match sank in. His initial confusion morphed into something closer to smug satisfaction. Good. He wasn’t a coward, then. There was no thrill in breaking someone who didn’t have the guts to try. This one had guts, or at least he thought he did.

As he stepped closer, Iya tilted her head slightly, watching him with the same detached curiosity one might give to a strange bug crawling too close. He was bold enough to enter her space, which she supposed she could respect, even if it grated on her nerves. Then, his head bumped hers. Normally, she didn’t care for that kind of unsolicited touch, unless she was in an entirely different mood, but today, she decided to indulge. She leaned into it, her lips curving into a grin that was equal parts mischievous and menacing.

And of course, he said something daring. Iya’s grin widened, her teeth flashing like a predator catching the scent of blood.

“You know,” she said, her tone conspiratorial, like she was letting him in on a secret, “lots have said that to me.” Her hand reached out, patting him on the chest with exaggerated gentleness, her dark gaze locked on his. “It's funny. You all sound so confident, and then I make you cry.”

The last word rolled off her tongue like a dark promise, and she leaned back just enough to give him room to absorb it. The crowd buzzed with anticipation, the tension between them crackling like electricity, as the referee rushed down, apparently with a blessing to start the match, and tried to simultaneously fumble for one of the dropped mics and get between the two of them at the same time, failing both. Iya stepped back from Army just far enough to whip her hair and bop the ref lightly on the head with her palm. "Hurry up."

[BlackAkuma]

While Army had slipped increasingly into the wrestling style of things with his time in Japan, he was still bred and born with boxing, and more than a few things carried over from the two sports. A big thing was how you conducted yourself before the bell rang, when you and your opponent were sizing each other up. He’d won a good few matches off intimidation alone - come at a guy the right way, rile him up or put him down, and you could blow his confidence, break him down without throwing a single punch. He’d breezed through a couple of fights that would’ve been rough going otherwise just by getting into the guy’s head.

That was what he was going for when he butted heads with Iya, trying to see if this uber-bitch act was something he could see through, if it was just a coating he could. From the looks of it…no. She pushed back, looking as ready for this war as he was.

Good. Good. He was coming back to wrestling with a real fight.

He rubbed the spot where she patted, pretending it hurt, then backed off to his corner with a smirk. ”We’ll see, we’ll see.” He could’ve thrown taunts back and forth with her all day, but he figured the time for that mainly had passed. They could trashtalk more after the bell rang, when they started swinging.

Speaking of…how should he approach this?

Army got in a few quick stretches in the corner, considering his options as the referee prepared to kick things off. He’d only just met Iya, didn’t know shit about her. She seemed strong for her size, more than he’d expect from her weight class. A powerhouse? Maybe. Didn’t mean she could throw him around. Would she get tricky, try to outwrestle him? He’d been out of the squared circle for a while, she might have a good shot at that.

Smart thing would’ve been to start this off slow and steady, get her measure, and treat it like the first round of a 12-rounder—just use it to gain data.

But that wouldn’t be the fun thing, though. So…

The moment the bell rang, Army came charging out of his corner, full steam ahead. Fists up and tight, feet shuffling, he weaved from side to side as he closed the distance, changing his angle every other second to make a moving target. He lashed out the moment he was close enough. He lashed out with a right cross aimed at her face, one of his best punches, curious to see how she’d take a heavy shot.

Looking to set the tone.

[RockRye]

The referee, catching the sharpness in Iya’s glare and the icy finality in her tone, scrambled somehow harder, managing to nab a microphone for the purpose of the match and summon the ring announcer. A few seconds later, the declaration of the match was made, and the crowd’s buzz shifted to an anticipatory roar.

Iya prowled back to her corner, her black leather attire creaking faintly as she moved. Her thick, muscular frame flexed and stretched with an almost unsettling precision, each motion deliberate, controlled, and hungry. She reached up and cracked her neck, the sound sharp enough to make the ringside crowd wince. Her shoulders rolled and crackled with the same eerie ease, her long blonde hair cascading like a curtain down her back as she tilted her head side to side.

She stretched, her arms and torso bending with feral intensity, her movements almost meditative. For a brief moment, she closed her eyes, breathing in deeply, as if centering herself in the chaos she was about to unleash. The crowd noise faded into a dull hum in her ears. This was it. This was what she needed. Too long without a match made her feel off, like too many pieces in her mind were shifting around, none of them in place. Wrestling was how she silenced the noise.

The bell rang, sharp and commanding, snapping her out of her thoughts. Her blue eyes opened, but they weren’t soft or dreamy despite her moment of serenity. They were piercing, feral, predatory. She dropped into a low, wide stance, her knees bent and her arms raised, hands loose like claws poised to strike. Every muscle in her body coiled with readiness, and her lips curled slightly into a smirk.

Across the ring, Army, or Armando, whatever the hell he wanted to be called, started moving. Like lightning. Greased lightning? His footwork was light, calculated, something like a boxer’s shuffle that spoke of confidence and maybe just a little cockiness. He was testing her, looking for a reaction or for her to take bait.

Too bad for him. Iya didn’t bite on much of anything.

She squatted lower, her boots grinding against the mat as she tracked his movements with sharp, unwavering eyes. He feinted once, twice, his arm raising like he was baiting her to strike. Iya didn’t flinch. She didn’t care if he hit her; the important thing was hitting him harder.

As his arm lifted, Iya moved.

She shot forward, her body a compact blur of motion. His fist bashed her ear, hard enough to make a lesser woman wail in pain and collapse on the spot, but she powered through it, her shoulder slamming into his midsection with enough force to drive the air from his lungs in a quasi-spear.

[BlackAkuma]

Even from across the ring, Army could see that look in her eyes, and damned if he didn’t like it. He’d seen it often, but not so much in the wrestling ring - in his experience, wrestlers, even the best ones, didn’t start fights that seriously. Made sense, wrestling was almost as much about impressing the audience as it was about coming away with the win, so matches began with a lot of playing to them.

Iya, though, had the sort of eyes he’d seen more than a few times in the boxing ring. Guys were hungry, aching for the fight. They had something to prove, and every match could determine the arc of your entire career. He didn't know if she could back up a single thing she was trying to sell, but if he had to just go off intensity? 10 out of 10.

But did she have the goods?

That question wouldn’t stay in the air much longer, as Army came in hard and fast, breaking into the sort of movements he’d honed for years back home, relying on his footwork. It was a good way to kick things off in a wrestling match - a lot of his opponents just did not expect someone to drive at them that hard from the opening bell. He’d score more easy hits than he could count with this sort of approach. Would it work on Iya, though? Well…

For starters, she didn't balk at his approach, keeping him locked down even as he wove his way in. She had what his father would’ve called ‘good eyes’, able to track an opponent well, the sort of thing you couldn't easily teach.

She got in range, he threw out one of his best, and she dodge it - sort of. Clipped in the ear. Not a solid hit, but that couldn't feel good, so she would likely back off and…

…keep coming at him like a freight train. Fuck.

Iya slammed into his stomach and forced Army to backpedal, his feet skipping along the canvas and nearly knocking over the referee. He slammed his feet down and stopped them from hitting the ropes, but it was a close call, and that blow had knocked out no small amount of wind. This woman was solid.

”Yeah, okay, c’mere!” Army slipped to the side, reached out, and wrapped his arms around her waist from above, pulling her in tight. He stepped around, pulling them away from the ropes, then fell backwards and attempted to lift Iya off the ground as he fell, attempting to release her at the apex and send her flying with a gutwrench suplex.

[RockRye]

The collision between Iya and Army sent a ripple through the ring that had the crowd erupting in a collective "Oooh!" The impact was brutal, with Iya's powerful, curvy frame hitting like a battering ram. It wasn’t a clean shot for either of them. She had aimed to drive through him, using her momentum to deflect the worst of his blow, but he had caught a little of her and she had caught a little of him. Yet as "little" of her as he had hit, the sharp pain igniting her ear was enough to make her footing falter.

She stumbled forward, her toes and palms skimming the mat as she fought to gather herself. She tried to straighten up, her piercing eyes glinting with a feral focus, ready to charge into him again. Yet before she could fully reset, Army was already advancing, showing no intention of letting her regroup.

Her reaction was immediate, swinging a hard shot at the side of his torso once she felt him above her. Her gloved fist collided with his muscles, but it might as well have been punching a boulder. His broad arms, thick with corded muscle, closed in around her waist, locking her midsection in a crushing clinch. Bent forward, her butt arched into the air, and her feet flailed as she clawed for leverage against his hold. She twisted, trying to slip free, but his grip only tightened, unyielding.

Before she could formulate a counter, he lifted her with frightening ease. Iya’s eyes squeezed shut as she braced for the inevitable pain, feeling the world tilt as he hoisted her overhead into a gutwrench suplex. Her body flew, and then the ring roared beneath her. The crash sent a tremor through the ropes, her back smacking the mat with a force that made the crowd wince. Iya’s momentum rolled her until her shoulder slammed into the ropes, finally stopping her. She hissed in Russian, her curses too sharp for the casual listener to decipher but perfectly clear in their intent.

Even with the brutal landing, Iya barely hesitated. A groan escaped her lips as she shifted, pulling her elbows under her to prop herself up. The hunger for violence burned brightly in her gaze, and she reached for the ropes to haul herself to her feet. She was already looking for more, even if she could barely get her feet beneath her.

[BlackAkuma]

First thing Army noticed when he lifted Iya up: She was heavy.

Not super heavy. He’d lifted up heavier dudes. Hell, he’d lifted up heavier women. But he couldn't recall anyone off hand having this much muscle under the skin, a tight and bulky body he wouldn’t have expected from the middleweight class. It wasn’t just the weight, but the way it was distributed through her body - she was thick, solid, like a human brick, not much give to speak off. Small wonder she’d knocked the wind out of him with that opening hit.

Not a problem, of course. Just meant it would take more than he’d expected to break her…but she would break. Anything breaks if you hit it hard enough.

Army was on a good path towards that goal, too, launching the first wrestling move of the match and sending her flying with it. He could’ve simply rolled to his feet after that, but with his first match in LAW, he had a desperate need to show off - he threw up his leg, tucked in, and rose to his feet with a swift kip-up, letting out a war cry as the audience applauded. He whipped his hair back and spun about to see Iya recovering near the ropes. Looking properly dazed, too. He could work with that.

Army bolted, dashing away from her towards the opposite side of the ring. He hit the ropes, bounced off, and came her way with added momentum in his heavy steps, making the ring rumble on approach. As soon as he was close enough, he brought his arm out, swung it forward, and attempted to nail her with a clothesline to the chest, attempting to knock her clean out of the ring.

[RockRye]

Iya may have risen to her feet, but even she, blood knight though she might be, recognized that standing wasn’t doing her much good at the moment. The way her body felt, her spine stiff, her chest heaving, and the dull, rattling ache in her skull from the suplex landing made it clear her footing was far from steady. Her blonde hair spilled across her face in loose, damp strands as she stumbled forward, one hand clutching at her neck.

She had been ready to write him off as just another stupid, buff braggart, someone whose strength was all show and no substance. And maybe he was that. But he was also a stupid, buff braggart with actual strength and skill, and that combination made him dangerous. Not in a way that scared her. No, this was exactly how Iya liked her opponents. Worth taking down.

As Army advanced, Iya gritted her teeth and tried to shake the fog out of her head. Her muscles ached, but she planted her boots firmly and stomped, flexing her legs and shoulders as she tried to compose herself. Her eyes burned with determination as she squared up, preparing to meet him head-on. She wasn’t about to back down now.

But what she hadn’t anticipated was his speed. For someone with that much muscle packed onto his frame, he moved deceptively fast. Before she could ready herself, his arm crashed into her chest with a clothesline that rattled her entire body. The impact sent her shoulders and head snapping back, her chest reverberating from the force of the blow.

The crowd gasped as the force of the hit propelled Iya backward, her body whipping onto the top rope. For a moment, it seemed inevitable that she’d go flying over, her momentum pitching her ass over tit as her legs flailed in the air.

The audience roared, some in awe, some anticipating her unceremonious spill to the outside. But just as her body seemed destined to topple, her hands shot out instinctively, clutching the ropes for dear life. The cheers morphed into a cacophony of support as she managed to hold herself up, her grip white-knuckled against the coarse cables.

Her survival, however, was a fleeting victory. Her body gave out in the next instant, dropping her into a crouch. She sagged heavily against the middle rope, her cheek resting against its tension as her arms draped limply over it. She sucked in ragged breaths, her chest rising and falling, having her moral victory and not much else.

[BlackAkuma]

Some people thought of Army like a tank. He had a large body, was known for knocking heads, used a lot of power moves, and rarely dipped into anything anyone would call ‘high-flying’. He could take a lot of hits, run over his opponents, and was deep in the heavyweight class. He had hallmarks.

But he was also a boxer. And like any boxer worth his salt, he spent no small amount of his time running. Running in the morning. Running in the noonday sun. Running at night. The streets, the beach, the forests, until he couldn't run anymore. He wouldn’t be winning 100-yard dashes, sure, but he could build some speed when he needed to, and he was a big fan of Isaac Newton. Forces times mass times acceleration equals…

Iya wasn’t ready, he could see that on her face as he came rushing in, swung for the fences and sent her up, up, and…not over.

Army hopped back as Iya came flopping back down and dropped low, looking rocked but still standing...sort of. For all of about a second, before her legs gave out and she dropped to a crouch, gravity getting the better of her. She could take a hit, that was good to know, but nothing to worry about. His heavy artillery was enough to rock her, and he had a ton more to throw her way.

”Having a rough time?” Army backed away as she languished against the ropes. He brought his hands up and framed Iya with his fingers, taking aim with a wild grin. ”Let’s me just…”

As soon as he was at half-ring, her bolted forward again, once more closing the distance with a heavy charge. The moment he was in range, he leaped up, shot his legs out, and came her way with a low dropkick aimed at her chest, trying to knock her clear through the ropes - not something he usually did, but hell, she was low enough for him to land it easily, might as well try.

[RockRye]

Iya hated nothing more than the sound of her own ragged breathing. It wasn’t the pain; she could endure that. It wasn’t the ache in her limbs or the sting in her chest. It was the stillness that came with it, the moments when her body refused to obey, leaving her vulnerable and unmoving. Reclining against the middle rope, her knees mashed together and her shoulders slouched, she could hear every gasp and rasp of air she dragged into her lungs.

The crowd’s roar faded into background noise. All she could hear was her own labored breathing, a cruel reminder that she wasn’t moving, wasn’t fighting, wasn’t hitting something or bracing to be hit in return. Her blonde hair spilled into her face, sticking to her skin as she clung to the ropes for balance, her body not yet ready to respond to her commands.

She’d assumed he was just another big guy, an oversized brute with more brawn than brains. And maybe he was. But he was also skilled, agile, and relentless. She needed some of... whatever Michaela called it. Discretion.

For the moment, the seconds dragged on like hours, her muscles aching as she willed them to cooperate. Finally, her body started to shift, her hands tightening around the ropes as she began to pull herself up. Her knees trembled as she forced herself upright, every inch of movement a battle against the leaden weight of her own limbs.

And then she saw him.

Army was coming back toward her, his movements deliberate and focused. He was going to try to finish her off while she was still struggling to stand. Her breath hitched as realization dawned. He was going to kick her, wasn’t he?

Iya’s slack jaw tightened, her ragged breaths sharpening into a hiss as her lips curled into a snarl. Weak eyes lit up with a fresh fire, defiance surging through her veins as she saw him leap. She didn’t need her legs for what came next.

Timing was everything.

Just as Army committed to the leap, Iya let her body go slack, collapsing sideways onto the apron. Her weight dragged the middle rope down with her, transforming what should have been a devastating blow into a clear miss. The crowd gasped as Army sailed through the air, the middle rope no longer there to catch him.

[BlackAkuma]

220 pounds.

Give or take. Now that he wasn’t actively boxing Army didn’t keep track of his weight too often, but he knew his own body well enough to say, with some certainty, that he was likely hovering around that weight these days. He wasn’t watching what he ate anymore than usual, and that was typically what he hovered around when he wasn’t trying too hard.

That was solid weight, too. No small amount to be throwing around the ring at high speeds. So, when he came barreling at Iya from across the ring, picking up speed with every step, he knew exactly what would happen when he connected with the dropkick. The Russian was about to go for a ride.

He locked on, leaped up, shot his legs out, and-

Gone.

”Fuck-” That was about all Army had the time to exclaim as he found his target suddenly missing, leaving him nothing but empty air to dropkick. He flew through the ropes and, on reflex, grabbed the ones above him as he passed. Big mistake, there. It stopped his descent, sure, but it also whipped him down and slammed the small of his back against the edge of the ring, sending a shock up and down his spine.

He came down on his feet and stumbled forward, needing a few seconds before finding footing. He straightened up slowly and reached behind his back, giving it a good rub as he turned around and waited for the fallout - he’d only just met Iya, but he got the impression she wasnt’t the sort of person to let a window like this close easily.