Karen Gale vs Mateo Salinas

[Underdoggo]

As far as botches went, that hadn't been the worst Karen had done. That didn't make it any less embarassing, though, nor did it make her thigh her any less. She bit her bottom lip, suppressing a grunt of pain as as she rolled. She managed to get back up to her knees again, and pushed upright, trying to get up and get moving before--

Her neck and side were grabbed, and suddenly she was pulled up, her leg feeling a bit wobbly now that she was forced to put weight on it. Before she could counter, she was whipped towards the ropes, forced into a run by the movement. Rebounding off the ropes, Karen came back hard; she tried to raise an arm, but Mateo was one step ahead, dropping low and driving a knee into her already hurting thigh.

White hot pain exploded through her leg. She could not suppress a cry of pain this time as she went toppling onto her front, all of her momentum transforming into a clumsy crash as she clutched her thigh, temporarily immobilized by the agony...

[Parker]

Karen hit the mat hard, her body flipping over the point of impact before sprawling flat on her back, arms clutching instinctively at her thigh. The strike had landed clean, exactly where he’d aimed. Mateo stood by for a moment, shaking out his leg, his chest heaving as he brought his air intake back to where it needed to be. The dull ache in his leg pulsed from the force of the impact, but seeing her down made it worth every ounce of it.

He straightened up slowly, making his way to her, eyes fixed of that leg she nursed. The crowd’s noise dimmed behind the rushing sound of his own breathing. No time to gloat. Not yet. He had to keep the pressure rolling before she could gather herself.

"Vamos, levántate..." he murmured under his breath, not as an invitation, but as a challenge he didn’t intend to let her answer.

He stepped forward, dropped to one knee beside her, and seized the same leg he’d just hit, one hand around the ankle, the other at the base of her thigh. Her boot twitched in his grip, but he already had her locked. With a rough yank, he attempted to lift the limb and tucked it beneath his arm before threading it up and over the back of his neck.

Her knee wound bend sharply across his shoulder.

Mateo’s body coiled tight as he shifted his stance, rising slowly, the strain evident in the taut lines of his arms and shoulders. Karen’s torso lifted with him, bent at an awkward angle, her head hanging toward the mat while her trapped leg stayed stretched over his shoulder.

The crowd’s reaction swelled, that mix of awe and sympathy reserved for a well-applied hold. Mateo planted his feet wide, leaning back slightly to tighten the torque.

The stretch muffler wasn’t about flash; it was about control. Each subtle shift of his posture deepened the pull, his bicep grinding against the inside of her thigh as he adjusted. Her leg trembled under the tension. His own breath grew rough, sweat tracing the line of his jaw.

"Don’t quit on me now," he said between breaths, his tone somewhere between challenge and command. "You wanted the fight, here it is."

He dipped his knees again, then straightened with a slow, deliberate wrench that forced her knee and hip to bend against their own line. The mat creaked under his boots as he found his balance, the crowd chanting louder now as he held her aloft, the hold perfectly locked in.

[Underdoggo]

Damn it, this was not going well: Karen's thigh was hurting, and she was now in a vulnerable position on her side, curled up in a way that left her vulnerable. A less scrupulous opponent would have taken that opportunity to start kicking at her exposed back, or hammering her hurting thigh some more, or even aim something like an elbow drop that way. The fact that Mateo wasn't doing any of those things simply made Karen that much more wary as she clenched her teeth, clutching her hurting leg. She rolled over onto her knees, trying to crawl towards the ropes...

Her injured leg was grabbed, causing her to gasp. The next thing she knew, her leg was wrenched up and bent backwards-- more backwards than it was supporsed to go-- along the length of Mateo's shoulder as he suddenly twisted her around into a perfectly executed stretch muffler.

"EEEYAAAAAAH!" The shriek escaped Karen's lips before she realized it. Her spine was flooding with agony as her leg muscles felt like they were being stretched to their limit. Her face and chest ended up forced down further against the mat by the movement as Mateo tested her flexibility to her limits, bending her almost into a perfect C-shape, her yellow leotard seeming to cling to her fit body as she was stretched to her limits.

She bit back further cries of pain; instead, with a muffled whimper of agony, she dog one elbow into the mat, and then the other, and tried to crawl towards the ropes, her spine and leg feeling like they were popping now under the pressure...

[Parker]

Mateo’s breathing was deep, controlled, measured in rhythm with the tension running through every fiber of his body. His stance was solid, boots planted wide on the canvas, one knee bent just enough to keep his center of gravity low as he bore down on Karen’s trapped leg. The muscles in his arms and shoulders stood out sharply under the light as he held her in position, his grip locked, like ironwork forged around her limb.

Her cries told him everything, where the pressure was building, how much give was left in the joint, when the body was resisting and when it was simply surviving. He didn’t relish it. He read it. That was the difference.

Karen’s leg trembled in his hold, the strain clear in every line of muscle that flexed against his shoulder. Sweat glistened along the curve of her thigh, and when she tried to drag herself toward the ropes, Mateo adjusted with her fluid in his positioning and regis in his execution. She was making headway, a hold like this was taxing enough to maintain so he couldn't put his efforts to stopping her, just making it far more torturous. A journey to her freedom.

“Careful…” he muttered under his breath, though whether it was meant for her or himself, no one could tell. His jaw was set tight, teeth gritted as he shifted his grip slightly higher on her shin, locking it against his shoulder for better leverage. “It only gets worse."

Then he flexed.

The adjustment was subtle, but devastating. A pulse of strength rolled through his frame as he straightened, lifting her leg just a few inches higher and pulling her body taut like a bowstring. The movement made his biceps tighten, veins visible under the strain, and it forced a ragged sound from Karen’s throat, half defiance, half raw pain.

Mateo’s stance rocked with the effort, his boots squeaking faintly against the mat as he fought to maintain balance while keeping the pressure exact. Too much and it would break her. Too little and it would lose meaning.

“C’mon, Karen…” he said quietly, voice low, not mocking but weighted. “…show me how much you’ve got left.”

The words weren’t cruel, they were measured, almost encouraging, spoken by a man who treated the ring like a test of will as much as strength. His eyes stayed on her the whole time, reading every movement, every twitch of resistance, ready to shift if she countered, ready to push again if she didn’t. He drew in one more breath through his nose, the tension radiating through his arms as he wrenched back again, just a little tighter, his body a coiled machine of precision and pressure.

[Underdoggo]

Karen was panting hard now as Mateo expertly hyperextended her leg across his shoulder. Everything about this stretch muffler hold seemed to be maximizing the pain in her leg every possible way: her knee felt like it was about to explode. Her leg tendons felt like they were going to rip. Her ankle felt like it was being dislocated completely the wrong way. It was taking a lot of her willpower to push her elbows and palms against the mat, taking deep, pained gasps as she crawled, closer and closer to the ropes...

And then, true to Mateo's word, it got worse.

The Mexican torqued Karen's trapped leg tighter, sending a spike of fresh agony jolting through her leg. Despite herself, she was now screaming hoarsely.

"AAAAAAAAGH!" Her head was buried against the mat as the pain threatened to overwhelm her. From a distance and on the titantron, the contrasts between the two wrestlers was well illustrated: Karen, her silver-haired head buried against the mat, her dark skin now glossy with sweat, her mostly bare back muscles tensed with agony, her lower and upper body curving upwards and backwards around Mateo's shoulder, her free leg dangling uselessly while her trapped leg was arched to a visibly painful degree. Mateo, calm as he dismantled this Maori powerhouse, his fit upper body shining with sweat as well, a cool, collected expression on his face as he kept Karen under control.

The ref dropped down, asking Karen if she gave up. "NOO!" she snapped, shaking her head, droplets of sweat spraying as she shook. Half gasping and half sobbing, she dug her elbows into the mat and resumed the craw, inch by painful inch. Around them, her fans were chanting, encouraging her to crawl for the ropes.

And then, with a yelled lunge, she extended an arm, narrowly hooking her fingers over the bottom rope.

[Parker]

Mateo felt the rope break the instant her fingers hooked it, the faint tremor of resistance through Karen’s body, the referee’s barked command, the crackle in the crowd as adrenaline flipped into relief. He held the stretch muffler for a single heartbeat longer, not malicious, but deliberate, ensuring the lesson sank into muscle and memory, then released her leg with a slow, controlled exhale.

Karen collapsed to the canvas like a bowstring finally unstrung. Mateo didn’t gloat. Didn’t rush her. He straightened slowly, chest rising and falling, sweat rolling down the defined lines of his torso, and gave her a small, almost respectful nod, the kind warriors trade when they know the other refused to break.

A look that said: Good. Now will you last the next time?

He rose to his full height, backing away from her, not doing her the disrespect of turning his back despite her current state. She was still a threat, regardless if he had wounded her. Mateo let the crowd see him breathe, see the slight stretch in his neck, see the work in his own body. Then he swept his arm outward, palm open, urging the audience to rise with him.

The arena surged, claps, whistles, chants swelling as Mateo strode to the far ropes, pressing a forearm across the top rope as he leaned into them. He bounced on the balls of his feet, keeping loose, keeping ready, each soft spring in his stance a reminder that his legs were untouched, fresh, coiled steel, while hers had just tasted the anvil.

He didn’t stalk her. He waited.

Let her pull herself up, using the ropes, the bruised leg trembling under her, breath ragged, fire still burning in her eyes despite the punishment. Mateo watched her rise, head slightly tilted, not mocking, measuring.

She was fair game again the moment she stood without rope support. When she did, he pushed off the ropes smoothly, rolling his shoulders as he closed the distance, hand rising to invite a fresh lock-up rather than a cheap attack.

Testing her honor.
Testing her pride.
Testing that leg.

A quiet murmur, barely audible over the crowd, slipped from him as he lifted his hands toward hers:

“Let’s see what you stand on now… the pun wasn’t intended “

[Underdoggo]

For a few seconds, Karen's hand clung to the bottom rope as Mateo maintained the hold, and she seemed frozen in place-- leg arched upward and backward at a wrong angle, brown skin glistening with sweat, yellow leotard practically clinging to her form, white-crowned head staring looking back at her foe with a mixture of bewilderment, pain, and frustration-- and then, finally, Mateo released her. The audience burst into applause at Karen's incredibly tenacity; the Maori girl didn't immediately share their enthusiasm as she curled up into a ball, clutching her hurting leg, panting hard for breath as her eyes screwed shut in pain.

Still clinging to the rope, she began to hoist herself up, first propping herself up to her hands and knees, and then to the middle rope. She braced herself, anticipating an attack by Mateo. Instead, the Mexican was standing there, calmly, hand raised invitingly for a new lockup.

Karen's eye twitched at his bad joke. This fucking guy...

"You," she managed to say through panted breaths, "are something else, you know that?" She eyed Mateo carefully for any dirty tricks-- dirty tricks that she was becoming increasingly convinced he was incapable of-- and then flung herself forward against the Mexican, accepting his lockup aggressively as she lunged against him, practically throwing her whole body against him as she tried to force him back. With her leg hurting as much as it was, she doubted she could simply stand against him for that long, so she had to make use of momentum and weight where she could...

[Parker]

Karen hit him like a storm, arms snapping into his and shoulders crashing together but this time Mateo caught her clean. Boots planted, spine braced, he met her force head-on and stayed put, the ring vibrating beneath their locked frames but not giving him an inch. Her forearms trembled against his frame. His fingers tightened as they clamped down, knuckles whitening.

Muscles bunched across Mateo’s back and shoulders, the glisten of sweat catching arena light as he ground forward, chest out, body locked in like it was seized into place. The sound of their hot ragged breath mingled, as he pushed in with straining arms. His own exhale shuddered through clenched teeth as his lower back flared, a brief hitch, a grunt, but he bit down and pushed through the pain.

Their boots scraped the canvas. Bodies twisted, shoulders straining. He did everything he could to keep them moving in small angles and steps, looking to a point of failure in her form or her battered leg to give out. Mateo sank his hips lower, a wrestler’s stance, thighs flexing as he shifted weight and slowly tried to force her backwards, not by jerking wildly but through unrelenting pressure. Their faces were inches apart, eyes locked, chests rising and falling each grinding second of the struggle.

And still, he didn’t take the cheap shot. No stomp to the leg, no sudden sweep. Just a controlled crush of will and power, making her body decide to fall on its own.

“I choose to take that as a compliment…” he breathed, voice low, intimate. “...you've been keeping me on my toes. I couldn't ask for more.”

He rolled his shoulders forward, arms flexing tighter, his weight slowly folding over her, trying to compress her posture and make her spine bow. Mateo leaned in harder, their foreheads nearly brushing.

[Underdoggo]

Karen grunted as she slammed home against Mateo's washboard abs. She had hoped that her sheer impact would be enough, that she would be able to carry him onwards into the corner post or else football tackle him to the mat-- anything to at least regain an advantage. But Mateo, to his increasing credit, instead managed to catch her, cinching her in a tight grapple, and all of her momentum washed away at that moment like a wave against an unyielding cliff face.

"Nnnghh...ggggrrnnh!" she practically growled into his face as she pushed against him. Their eyes were locked, practically panting mere inches apart. This close she could see the fighting determination in his eyes, the iron will to win that hid behind that seemingly ever present kindness...

Damn it, stop getting lost in his eyes!

Karen felt herself inadvertendly blush even as the two grappled. The muscles in her back stood out as she poured all of her considerable might into this push...but her leg was protesting in pain, and it was becoming increasingly hard to remain standing against the firm counter-pressure of the Mexican.

"Tcchh....tchhh...."

She dropped to one knee, sweat rolling off her brow and biceps as she found herself, aggravatingly enough, being out-muscled by Mateo. Their foreheads met, and she was now panting hard against him, her biceps bulging against his as their arms remained interlocked. Slowly but surely she felt herself being pushed downward.

"RRRRRGH...not...fucking...likely!"

She shifted her grip at that moment, arms sliding down against Mateo's waist, face practically pressed against his chest...squeezing tightly, she would give vent to a loud cry and arch back, aiming to toss Mateo front-first down to the mat in a classic wrestling throw. The angle was too bad for her to do a proper suplex or DDT, and this wasn't going to hurt Mateo that hard, but it would at least give Karen the space she needed to roll over on top of his back, arms still around his waist...prepping for a proper suplex this time.

This was quickly turning into an amateur wrestling match, Karen thought, her mind flashing back to high school and all of those tight singlets...

[Parker]

Mateo’s boots squeaked across the mat as Karen drove into him, all fire and momentum. Her shoulder struck solidly into his core, he felt the impact, the strain ripple up through his ribs, but he refused to budge more than an inch. His arms coiled around her automatically, finding her hips, her shoulder, anything that would anchor her to him. When her body met his full on, the collision was like two storm fronts meeting mid-sky, force against force, neither willing to yield.

The crowd roared at the raw contest of strength, and for a moment, the sound faded into a dull hum as he focused on the woman in front of him. Karen’s breath hit his cheek in hot bursts; the scent of sweat and determination mixed between them. Their muscles locked and shifted, forearms pressing hard enough to make the veins along his biceps pulse under the strain.

"Still got gas in the tank," he muttered under his breath, not mocking, but almost admiring, as her face tilted just slightly upward, eyes blazing back at him. Her power was undeniable. But her leg… he could feel the tremor running through it, that brief falter every time she adjusted her stance. He pressed his weight forward deliberately, testing it.

She gritted her teeth and pushed again. Their foreheads met, slick with sweat, sliding slightly as both of them tried to force the other down. Mateo’s breath came out rough; his back ached from the effort, but he refused to give her even a hint of dominance. His thighs burned, the taut muscles working like coiled cables to hold his ground.

Then came the sudden shift. Her fingers slipped lower, circling his waist instead of his shoulders. The change in pressure made his eyes narrow, he knew that grip, that setup. "Tch!"

He didn’t have time to brace before she dropped her center of gravity. The mat rushed up as she twisted her hips and pulled him down with her, executing a clean lateral drop. For a flash, he was weightless, then his shoulder and side slammed into the canvas with a solid thud, the air bursting out of his lungs in a sharp gasp.

He rolled slightly with the impact, teeth clenched, the familiar sting spreading through his ribs. Karen’s motion didn’t stop; she flowed through the throw, swinging herself up and over, until she was draped over his back. He felt the heat of her body pressing against him, her arms snaking tight around his waist again.

"Heh… smooth," Mateo rasped, shifting his palms against the mat, planting his knees underneath him. The crowd buzzed again as they saw the shift, now it was her on top, hunting for position, and him grounded but not yet beaten.

He could feel her adjusting behind him, breath quick and heavy against his shoulder as she prepared for the next move. The grip tightened,a suplex setup, maybe? But Mateo grounded himself, spine curving, feeling every ounce of the fight in her arms.

"Gotta deadlift me on that leg? Tall order." he said through a breathless grin, half challenge, half warning. His fingers dug into the mat, body tense like a spring waiting for the next clash, the struggle between them far from finished. He reached an arm forward, stretching it out as far as he could. If she didn't act now, she’d find an elbow coming back towards her head in just a moment.