Alena Stepanova vs. Spectre

[CaptainL]

"Like hell...that'll happen-!" Alena hissed through her teeth, her eyes narrowing into a baleful glare as her brow furrowed. Spectre was testing the limits of her endurance, clawing at her scalp even as Alena squeezed her arm tight around her throat. Her body was tensed up so tightly, every muscle was rigid and her skin was glistening with sweat. Every so often, those tight muscles pinched at the nerves beneath, sending a ripple of pain through the Russian grappler's system. But Alena wasn't going to let that stop her. She wasn't even going to let it slow her down. If Spectre was demanding that she give up, it was only stoking her resolve to fight on even harder. She wasn't going to stop - not until Spectre made her! And so far, nothing she had done had been good enough!

In fact, Alena was only going to bring more hurt to the Spectre, as she threw her legs around her waist and clamped down hard, now compressing her airways from two different directions! The crowd roared with cheers - it seemed as though she was now closer than ever before to bringing Spectre down! But the masked woman proved just as tenacious as her opponent - and she would soon shove her hand into her face, before her fingers curled into claws that raked downward at Alena's cheeks!

A yelp broke the air as Alena jerked her head backward, flinching away from the pain that shot through her nerves. Her legs fell from around Spectre's waist, and her grip on her throat grew just a little lighter. She rasped out a few gasps. But Alena wasn't going to fall still for long - certainly not long enough to give Spectre the chance to take advantage of her! She tossed her head, shaking away the cobwebs as her teeth clenched in a grimace. No, this was only getting started!

Alena jumped back to her feet - and she kept her grip on Spectre's throat to bring her up with her. If she could do that, she'd pull Spectre forward so that she was bent over, enough so for her to rain down knee after knee against her chest as she bludgeoned her with her signature move, the Trans-Siberian Railway! With every knee that landed, the fans began to cheer louder and louder - and at the end of it all, Alena would shove back at Spectre's shoulders to try and force her away toward the corner, before she kicked up her leg for a superkick aimed right at her jaw!

Spoiler

[Monsy]

A good rake to the face and her breathing was half-restored.

Spectre felt her sides now burning with aches like she endured some over-exerting workout. Nevertheless, being choked had a way of distracting that. It was through a straw that her oxygen flowed through. The muscles there still noticeably contracted to the point she felt her brain become a vampire, and her vision was being vacuumed into nothing. But as Alena shifted her hips from underneath, got them under her torso and pushed up, Spectre gripped the forearm dragging her with two. One on the wrist, the other touching the fingers. This would supply the leverage. And be her safest bet.

Wrong.

"MMGH!" "NNGH!" "NNGH!!" "NNNGHHH!!" The virus's teeth clenched but she was losing spit with these rib-cracking strikes, pounding off her ribcage directly against bone and modest breast. Her throat turned raspy, dry and starting to strain on her vocal chords. Her lip-bitten hollers came out garbled in autotune and vibrated to the tune of the real voice underneath. Louder and louder the ground went. Spectre's arms, even when jutted out, was hardly sufficient to make her size work. The knees plowed right through her hands and found another home. "K-kuh.."

Then, with Spectre's shoulders veering back, a loud CRACK of a whip pinged Alena's foot directly off the material of Spectre's mask, sending her teetering back step by step, stiff and straight, but with her head gazing at the ceiling and her eyes slipping towards her skull, seeing gadgets and gizmos flutter over like a halo. The centre portion over her mouth caved in three pieces. The part covering her chin fell exposed. There was almost an exposed head-shape, but the mask on the sides stayed too intact. And underneath was still covered in a fabric that concealed her lower-face.

She slumped into the corner, arms fell towards her sides, her head rolled back to sit awkwardly on-top the top turnbuckle.

[CaptainL]

Alena was like a shark that had smelled blood in the water. She saw a hint of weakness in Spectre, still reeling from the whirlwind assault of the Trans-Siberian Railway, and she was eager to pounce on it - and with a sense of grace and composition that a painter could only have dreamed of, her foot cut through the air in an arc, throwing Spectre back against the corner! When her leg came back down to the mat, Alena flashed a confident grin, standing tall and flexing a bicep. The crowd burst into cheers at such a show of strength and defiance - especially against a foe as slippery as Spectre had proven herself to be. Alena had made one thing clear - she wasn't about to let Spectre get away from her. She was going to put an end to her reign of terror once and for all, and leave a solid reminder to everyone that Spectre's evil ways wouldn't be tolerated here!

But Alena wasn't done - far from it! She still had plenty more to say! With Spectre trapped in the corner, Alena was already gearing up to follow on her relentless assault! She bellowed out a battle cry, rushing in closer to keep Spectre pinned right where she was as she threw punches left and right, looking to bludgeon her from every direction, and never letting up to allow her even a second to breathe! The crowd was cheering louder and louder now - Alena was dishing out the beatdown everyone knew Spectre deserved, and that everyone had been waiting for!

But the Russian grappler had worn down her own stamina over the course of such a grueling match. When she had thrown herself at Spectre in a torrent of offense, her fiery spirit was blazing bright - but it would burn out just as quickly. As the fatigue began to set in to Alena's muscles, her motions began to slow, and her shoulders slumped under their own weight as she panted for breath. At last, her fists dropped from Spectre altogether, hanging there as her shoulders heaved with hoarse gasps and her brow dripped with sweat. Alena could only hope that Spectre was too dazed to counter now, because it not...

[Monsy]

Before Spectre’s senses had recalibrated, Alena was already on-top of her. “Hgg! Ugh! Agh! Oaf! Ogg!” Her body was tossed, turned, wobbled and buckled, saved only by the ropes and the rhythm of Alena’s fists knocking her wayward and opposite. Spectre experienced flashes of red, white and black. Ringing became a constant. Her jaw somehow numb as the plate busted in further, came loose and chipped. Sweat flew off her body. The knuckles made loud THUMPS as her flesh was minced, chopped and hammered into bruising.

“ARRGH!” One straight eye busted open a bruising cut.
“OUFF!!” Another to her chest knocked the wind from her again.
“BLRHHKK!!!” Then the one in the mouth caused chipped pieces to bite into the fabric directly covering the skin, making it prickly as it was uncomfortably moist and sweltering, but then battered twice by the alternate hand, hitting her true and clean on a jaw that shattered like glass, sending her head limp and tumbly, pinging back, forth, to and fro in an almost unhinged manner.
“PUH-WHA!!!!” Finally, after one to the sternum, crushing it, making her lean forward and crash against Alena with her chin on their shoulder, arms and back limp like she was melting to the floor, where a mere flick from falling over if Alena wasn’t holding her up.

When Alena stopped, she breathed with a slow draw. A weak gaze forward. But one of almost machine-like resilience. A rattled, but still executing purpose machine. She took one dainty finger, put it inside the now exposed face-mask around her chin and lips, then pulled the fabric down to expose her mouth. Her red gums showed in a scheming smile. Her tone was hush, intentional, struggling but clearly mocking as she asked…

“Ttttthat it, pppp-punchmeat?”

[Monsy]

Spectre had entrenched herself in LAW as something bigger than herself. She was a figure of fear that loomed tall across the whole promotion, casting a threatening presence. No one seemed to be able to oppose her, and it was as if reality bent to her will - ever time it seemed like someone could beat her, she never failed to pull out some hidden trick or trap. She seemed unshakeable. But none of that mattered to Alena. Alena was here to prove that, for all Spectre's theatrics had made her out to be, she wasn't invincible. And right now, it seemed like Alena was doing just that.

Every fist she threw against Spectre knocked her left and right, steering her back into the corner. With every crack that rang out, and every time Spectre's limp body was whipped this way and that, the fans broke out into louder and louder cheers. Alena was proving that Spectre could be hurt this way. And if she could be hurt, she could be bested!

At last, Alena's relentless torrent of offense came to a halt. She stood there, panting a few times; her shoulders rose and fell, and the sweat on her skin glistened under the spotlights. She had worked herself up into a fervor, and her muscles were still burning from the exertion...but Spectre looked far worse for wear. She dangled from Alena's shoulder, bruised and battered, hanging in the air as though a stiff breeze could bring her down. And when she pulled down at her mask through its broken guard, that seemed to be proof enough. That mask had slipped. Alena had shattered Spectre's image - and now the whole world could see that she was just a weak, soft, vulnerable human being.

But even so, Spectre was going to fight the truth to the end. Even when she was staring down a stone-cold glare from the Russian grappler, her smug demeanor didn't waver. She was as confident as ever, all but daring Alena to hit her. But for as bold as her words were, the stutter and lilt in her tired voice betrayed the truth. Alena wouldn't fall for her tricks. And she'd demonstrate as much, grabbing at the back of her head by her hair and pulling it to force her to look her dead in the eye with a stare that seemed to look straight through her.

"No...but this is!" With her free hand, Alena drew back a fist now, prepared to slam it straight into Spectre's face!

[Monsy]

Her muscles felt raw like seaweed hanging off her bones. She grew more aware of those bones—sore, stiff, and hot. Leaning against Alena, she can feel her knees want to bend and her legs fold till she collapsed. But she held on, for reasons that she was more machine—a slice of will to harm Alena again. The thought kept her yearning—salivating, and eager for the opportunity. She wasn’t sure whether her own speed would contend. Stamina was low, but she felt Alena’s waning too. Her aches were much more recent—she hadn’t the time to adjust from that flurry.

Pick the moment

And with a little slice of encouragement, Alena went to punch her lights out. The crowd, at the edge of their seat, saw only a puppet being wailed on. But at the moment that fist would’ve broken her face, her head leaned, the knuckles bashing her face plates that were still intact around her jaw and lower cheek. It glided past her, scraping an ear-guard.

Then…

Spectre wrapped her arms around Alena, pulled her close, body to body and stomach to stomach, then heaved and leaned with her upper body to pull Alena off balance, turn them around and use her minuscule body weight to smush Alena against the turnbuckle pads.

Her knee lifted suddenly. She tried to make it look like a raised clinch knee—but her intentions were pre-planned. She went straight for the groin with full force!

[Monsy]

This would be it. Alena had Spectre right where she wanted her - now, it was up to her to land the killing blow. She had fought long and hard, and the Spectre's tricks had forced her to fight an uphill battle at times, but all the same, Alena had committed to it. She wasn't going to allow herself to let Spectre get away with all she'd done. She bore the bruises and aches and pains of the match herself - she had worked herself near to the breaking point. But all that would be well worth it, if it meant she got to be the one to finish Spectre once and for all. Her fist flew. As soon as it landed, she thought, it would all pay off.

But that fist never landed. It went through the air with speed that she almost shouldn't have been able to summon in her state - but right before it made contact, Spectre swerved aside, and Alena's fist only met the turnbuckle pad.

In those few split-seconds, her eyes went wide. Everything ground to a halt as the reality set in. Like the air was let out of a band, the roaring cheers of the crowd abruptly went silent the moment everyone saw the final blow wouldn't land. Justice wouldn't be served. It shouldn't have been possible. Spectre couldn't have been that fast. But those split-seconds were all the Spectre needed to turn everything around.

It went faster than Alena could keep track of. The next thing she knew, she was spun around, pressing her back against the corner - and then, Spectre's knee shot upward, landing right against the Russian grappler's groin! Crying out in pain, Alena dropped to her knees. Her whole body locked up and went numb, and she grabbed at her crotch to try and shield herself. But when a burning numbness pounded through her whole body, causing her to hiss through her clenched teeth, there wasn't much more she could do about it. In the span of a few short seconds, the tables had turned. This was Spectre's fight now!

[Monsy]

After the low-blow, Spectre felt strain bubble to the surface. She plunged into a feeling of warm exhaustion, then stumbled to the side after Alena fell. Her under arm caught the top rope as she sagged—knees folded in, thighs into one, her shoulders dipped as her torso partially dangled.

Then she pulled the fabric mask underneath down further, then a loose plate that was around her nose, which was bloody and had congested. A red stain on her philtrum going into her plain upper lip. “I’ll give you one thing. You have hands.” Then she cackled, now free to breathe, and free to express her hurt as she chose. “But you don’t watch your ass.”

Then she reached for Alena’s hair, grabbed a fistful. The referee admonished, wished to check on Alena and verify the rule break. Spectre moved to put herself between then, yanked, bent over again and spanked Alena’s on the buttocks—with all the might of vapours still left in the viral tank.

“Move. Centre-ring.”

And she’d begin to walk them. The hair was pulled, raised as high as it go—to make it clear to this cesspit that this was her fight. They booed. The referee counted. “One! … Two!”

And if Alena hadn’t fought out of it, they’d surely reach close to five, surely have made some progress towards the centre. But the demand wasn’t one that could be satisfied. She frowned, let go before her disqualification, then put her boot to Alena’s ass and shoved it, trying to force an embarrassing face plant.

“Move.”

[Monsy]

Everything had been working so well for Alena - so well, up until this very moment. But in those scant few seconds, everything she had worked so hard to achieve could be snatched away from her. She was posed to deliver the coup de grace. Her fist was balled tightly and hurtling straight toward Spectre, aimed right for her jaw. She thought it would all work out. She thought that the house of cards Spectre had built through her reign of terror was about to come crashing down.

But Alena hadn't counted on Spectre's reflexes being quick enough to catch her fist as it sprung toward her. It came so sudden, so unexpected, that for a moment, the Russian grappler was left stunned, her eyes wide in shock. And just a second later, Spectre's knee stabbed upward into her groin. A searing pain shot though her, and her stance crumbled, her knees bowing as she collapsed to her knees. Her teeth were locked in a grimace, her eyes squeezed shut. It was already shameful enough, to Alena, that she was down on her knees against a foe she had so pledged to take down.

But that still wasn't enough. Spectre wanted more.

As Spectre's hand cracked across her rear, Alena's hips bucked upward and she let out a yelp. She looked back at Spectre from the corner of her eye, managing a rage-fueled hiss. But another jerk back on her hair forced her spine to bend into an arc, and turned her head to the ceiling - just before Spectre shoved her back against the mat, and caused her to fall onto her face. This wasn't supposed to be how it happened at all. This was a blow to Alena's dignity - Spectre was making sure she could take no pride in this moment that had come so close to triumph. And when Alena lived to cement her name as that of a great fighter, that was a dagger that was aimed right at her heart. Much as she hated it, though, Alena couldn't do anything about it - the stabbing pan that shot through her body was a reminder of that. Grumbling, she could only grip the mat, dragging herself an inch forward. But she still looked back over her shoulder at Spectre with eyes that burned with nothing short of pure disdain. She had to get even. One way or another.

[Monsy]

Nevertheless, Spectre's frame was starving for this respite. Her shoulders shook. They rattled in her exhaling. She was machinery, rusty, with untwisting bolts that had fused into the frame by some stationary luck. If she fell at this point, then her arms would tremble feel the pressure of an overworked industrial equipment.

At the same time, holding Alena's hair for those few moments was exhilarating. She kept imagining her hair grip for a leash, the leash attached to their neck, time limits all forgotten so they could take a stroll down Shibuya. There was sooooo many options to ponder after that, so much she just didn't have time. Alena, the good punch-meat that she was becoming, had taken what was close enough to centre-ring for Spectre to step in... step on their hand.

She leaned over on an angle towards their far shoulder, across the shoulder-blades diagonally so her hands could reach. Both sides of Alena's face was grabbed. One palm cupped the cheek and rested her fingers on the chin and jawline, tugging it up to face forward at the stands. The left grabbed the opposite side, except took two fingers and tried to hook them inside Alena's mouth, get into her cheek and pull it towards the side.

Spectre's mouth, with its shattered mask and unfiltered voice, spoke to Alena's ear with an unrelenting smugness under a stable pitch. "Anything you want to say for yourself before, yanno? I'm just one move away from finishing you off... You should tell them... Who the real fighter is. Tell them."