Alena Stepanova vs. Spectre

[Monsy]

As Alena's eyes focused in on Spectre's, a shudder ran through her body. It shouldn't have happened this way. It had no right to happen this way. She'd come so close to victory - to finally bringing the Spectre down in front of the world - only to have it all snatched away from her at the last moment. This was supposed to be justice served - and yet, it would only go down in history as one of Spectre's greatest lows, taking the people's comeuppance away from them. For just a moment, Alena's eyelid twitched, and her face paled. For just a moment, she felt something unfamiliar to her - something that had never held her back before. Fear.

And in that moment of weakness, Spectre struck. With a groan, Alena found herself pulled around to face the crowd, slumping lower to the mat beneath her opponent. And then, the redhead grabbed her by the cheeks - and lifted her head higher, forcing her to look into the crowd. Her twitching eyes wandered over all the people she'd promised she'd deliver justice to. All the people she'd failed. That knowledge hurt her more than the stabbing pain in the inside of her cheeks ever could. It made her shudder, sucking in a breath and holding it there in her lungs - too afraid even to exhale.

But then, the next thing out of Spectre's mouth shook Alena back to her senses. Spectre wanted her to admit defeat - to tell the world she had been bested. And Alena's pride was far too great for that. She might have let Spectre beat her, but she couldn't let her have this! Snorting a gout of hot air through her nose, the grappler shook her head as much as she could in the current position. She spat at the ground. This was the one thing she couldn't let Spectre get away with. And she uttered one word in her native language, soft and sharp - but no matter if they were fluent or not, everyone would understand what she'd said.

"Nyet."

[Monsy]

Soooo—ghh.
Moments like these are worth drooling a little for. At this distance she can feel, sense, and practically taste Alena’s best emotion slipping at each stalled breath. She knew when someone was afraid just by touch. The tremors, subtle, almost gentle. Her fear theory had a texture component. Soft, pliable skin, trying to play nice so her fist didn’t smack it, bruise it, hurt it. Then the smell, it would recede, her own taking predominance. The odour of submission and fright was one that tries to hide from the threat. But not to her, she was evolved to find it, seek it out, then gnaw.

Alena could shake all she wants and her position was the same. This little cunt was rattling against the iron bars of her newly formed cage. Spectre didn’t react. She simply waited for the words she wanted.

“Tch.” Though she may not be Russian, knowing that word was part of just knowing Russia existed. It was easy as hearing no in her own tongue. A little notch in her told her to just move past it. Soon, she'd be barking the truth.

“I hear someone is worried about you back home. In Russia. And I have juuuust the thing to make them worry a little more.”

Her tone was hush, although it was clearly on the verge of cackling at her idea. She took Alena’s hair in one fist, withdrew her fingers from her maw, then postured into a stance. A boot was placed on their crown, then before the referee could start prying at the count of 4, Spectre released and curbstomped Alena’s head straight into the canvas. A customized variant of one her patent finishers:

.

[Monsy]

By all means, Alena was already finished. The Spectre had taken her down - the surging momentum that had carried her forward, toward a finish and an incredible comeback, had now been cut in its tracks, bringing her to a screeching halt. Now she was flat on her back, vulnerable, looking up at the masked foe who was glaring into her eyes from above. When Alena felt that gaze narrow, she could feel the spite and the malice in it. She knew that Spectre was determined to conquer and dominate her. But she wasn't going to let herself be intimidated that easily. If Alena was going to go down, she was going to go down fighting.

Unfortunately for Alena, defiant as she might have been, she was already past the point of being able to fight back physically. And it was going to get a lot worse.

Alena winced as she felt Spectre's fingers bury into her hair, tugging up at her scalp. She hissed under her breath, her face contorting into a pained scowl. But when Spectre planted her foot against her head, and stomped straight down, any sensation was well out the window. Alena's head swung straight downward with the sound of a crack, and when it crashed into the mat beneath her, her vision blurred and went dark, lit only by the swirling stars she was seeing. It bounced up, only to fall back down again a moment later. Her toned midsection caved inward as a hoarse breath was driven from her lungs. Moments later, the rest of her body went limp, and her limbs fell around her in a daze.

There were still a few fans calling out to Alena - urging her to get back up; to keep fighting. Surely the Grand Duchess would still have something else shored up in her that could turn the tide. But the majority were only able to stare in shocked silence. Alena had seemed ready to deliver the killing blow - but it seemed that fortune would not be on her side.

[Monsy]

Oooh, yes. They'd call. Little vocal chords. From here, they were dots, specks of open gum and yellowed teeth, an imperfect wrinkle and the tinge of rage as their necks tented and veined.

SPLAT. And the deed was done. Spectre concluded this match in her mind, so let her boot stay on Alena's ginger locks. Her ankle ground against the scalp, twisting, wondering what a oil dynasty's head must feel like. It was one of only two times she stepped on royalty, and the tingles she felt soared up the whole limb. She felt a tightness in her gut, a fluttering in her chest, an unease in her throat as it skipped, hopped and jumped into quiet cackling.

She took a bit longer, combed her hair back with two hands, then put the toes of her boot under Alena's shoulder to lift, tipping them over onto her back. Her cheeks warmed to a light pink seeing life's absence. Something on her tongue felt dry, yet everywhere else was salivating. She rolled it back, got it wet, then tongue clicked and sighed.

"Hm~hm~hm~"

Self-satisfied, she re-applied her foot to their cheek and pressed down with her weight so Alena's opposite cheek smushed into the mat to look towards the audience. The refere came down, raised their hand the highest they could, then smacked the mat.

"ONE!"

[Monsy]

Alena wasn't out, technically. By the strictest sense of the word, she was still conscious. She still breathed. Her eyes still fluttered. But her body was limp. Her muscles were sore and heavy, and no matter how hard she tried she couldn't convince them to move. Her hands balled into fists, the tendons in her wrists straining, but those fists couldn't grab for anything, or swing for anything, or push herself back up. For all intents and purposes, Alena was helpless. And Spectre knew it.

She was taking her time, savoring every moment of her dominance. She knew she'd be able to get away with it - that Alena wouldn't be able to jump back up and cut her off in her tracks with one well-placed blow. Yes, the Russian girl's face contorted into a scowl as Spectre's heel ground against her hair, but she couldn't do anything about that. Her strength was sapped. All she knew was that Spectre was delighting at breaking the one thing Alena had vowed never to let go of. Her pride.

And in that moment, Alena might well have been at her lowest. She had come this far to stand up to the Spectre, and to cut off the serpent's head then and there. She had been riding that high, chasing that dream. But now, as Spectre brought her foot down against her cheek, all Alena could do was to stare out at all the faces in the crowd - all the people she knew she had let down. Her teeth locked in a grimace, and her breaths quickened, her heart fluttering in her chest. Her eyes narrowed, squeezing tight. She didn't want to look at this. She didn't want to admit that it was real. But it _was_ real. And Spectre had dealt the final blow.

"TWO! THREE!!"

The moment Alena heard that final call, she could feel the bile rise in her throat. Goosebumps pricked up all down her back and her neck. She had lost before, yes. But she had never quite felt the sting of defeat like this. Right when she needed to win more than any other time...she couldn't.

[Monsy]

The crowd's breath was stolen. Neither the result they wanted, the result they hoped for, and the result they found to taste like clumps of old milk. Gag-worthy. Disgusting. It made their eyes steel, brows furrowed into glares, and their mouths opened to hollar. Boos. Loud boos that could almost penetrate her ear protection. She had them in her palm in the same way Alena is now.

"Hm~Hm~" Spectre stared at them for a little while after the bell, letting it marinate, build, to rub salt in the insult that they were feeling deep in their inverted guts. After enough time, roughly fifteen seconds, she stepped off and snatched Alena's hair once again. She pulled her up, used her boot to flick Alena's arms between her outstretched legs. Then, dropping to one knee with a grip on Alena's shorts, she pulled her hips upward and simultaneously put her face down. Once in position, the hands were grabbed and tugged through, then the legs folded over in an X. Paradise Lock!

Before she sat, she had half a mind to pull down Alena's shorts as far as they needed to be: enough to show her ass to the crowds. Pictures. Videos. Livebroadcast. "Hell of a--shit. Mic's broken." Mumbled Spectre, having reached for a button under the front of her mask that was bashed. Although, never deterred, she took her seat on Alena's hips regardless to seal the Paradise Lock. She waited, then a ring official, young, new, and jittering, came to ringside and slide a microphone inside.

What exactly she'd do with it? Positively no damn clue. Alena burned her script and wounded her atmosphere by busting up her mask. Just what was to be done when they know you're just a human too? Not a machine. The Virus picked up the microphone, tossed it between her hands, then carefully tugged down her mouth cloth to speak, taking a deep breath and letting whatever rose be her truth. "Iiiiii told youuuuu. Hm~hm~hm~hm~fufufu-hahaHAHAhaha. Kudos to Stepanova for forcing me to find my voice. I had it saved for a surprise, but this little prodigy had big plans. Big plans indeed." She rested one boot on Alena's head, then crossed her leg over. A finger was raised, lecturing the crowd. "There is something about prodigies too. They pull a looooot of magic and pack it tightly in their heads, their legs, their arms, or even their hands. Then at some point there's one big... incident, that causes their entire kingdom to fall at once."

Then she stomped by Alena's head. "To prevent that, they stopped moves like these from happening in combat sports. Back of the head stuff. It messes with your brain stem, knocks it loose, and reduces you to something that's different. Their spark? Gone." She stomped by Alena's head. "Ambitions? Forget it." Another near-miss stomp. She started cackling. "Some of them don't even talk! Ohhh--it's such a fragile place here." Using her boot's toes, she started to rub the very spot she taunted of stomping. "How much of Alena's mojo do you think slips for each time I do it? I for one, really-really-REALLY want to know." And again, her boot was raised and the shadow hovered. Spectre met the crowd's eyes, asking them. "Ready?"

[Monsy]

It was bad enough that Alena had found herself in this predicament at all. If she was even in any position for Spectre to do this to her - to stand tall over her, gloating, with nary a fear of any repercussions - then it meant that she had lost, and that was a reality the Russian grappler was almost afraid to confront. Her teeth clenched and the bile rose in her throat just thinking of it. But what was even worse than the reality of her defeat was the predicament she found herself in now. Just beating Alena wasn't enough for Spectre. She had to make a show of it - to show the world how far the proud heiress had fallen.

That was why she had bent Alena into such a compromising position, folding her over and tangling her limbs beneath her. Suddenly Alena found herself trapped - every inch she tried to wriggle herself in the hopes of getting free fell short; she was only making the lock of her body even tighter. It was even worse when Spectre sat down on top of her, her weight pressing down against Alena's bare back and causing her to hiss and grimace as she sank lower into the mat. Here she was, reduced to being little more than furniture. Spectre didn't need to do this - she'd already won. And yet, just beating Alena wasn't enough. She still had to go the extra mile.

Even still, the grappler still held onto her defiance. She still kept a scowl on her face, her body stiff and rigid and her muscles trembling. Spectre might've broken her, but she wouldn't break her pride. At least, not until her boot planted against the mat just by her head. At that, for just a few fleeting seconds, Alena jolted in place, and her face paled, her eyes wide in shock. She knew full well what was at stake. All Spectre was talking about stomping on her head, ending her career - it was enough to give her pause. She had hoped to challenge the biggest names in LAW and prove herself to the wrestling world - but if Spectre had her way, that could well be cut short before it even had a chance to start.

"You wouldn't dare-!" she snapped - but there was a waver in her voice; a moment's hesitation. And when another stomp landed just inches from her head, a yelp escaped Alena's throat. She regretted that immediately. With it, she knew, she had signed her dignity away. Spectre had forced her to confront an end to her dreams - an end to her life as she knew it. In the face of that, Alena had truly felt fear. And with that, the mask of boldness and invulnerability she'd so carefully built up began to slip.

[Monsy]

Spectre's eyes must've dilated when she heard that yelp. Her cheeks burned bright right after. Her smile? Irritably huge under the confines. It felt as though she had been given a million dollars after a lifetime of broken proverty. She raised her hand over her head and beckoned something from the sky in a manner all could clearly see.

Then she got off by leaning towards the floor and placing a hand down, crawling over to stroke the through Alena's ginger tress with her latex-gloved palm. Soft, but sweaty. "After seeing this? You're right.." She whispered in a personal tone for only Alena's ears. "I want to do you sooo, so much worse now." And with a guiding hand on Alena's chin, she attempted to make her look at a descending hook from the rafters. A spotlight flicked on right above it, aiming down, making it the centre of attention. At the same time, smoke ruptured from the top of the ring-posts. It started spilling into the ring and onto ringside, rolling over like a gathering dust storm.

"Any guess what happens next?"

[Monsy]

Almost a second after Alena cried out in fear, her body locked up and she swallowed a gulp of hot bile. She was better than this, she told herself. She might have been a rich high-society girl, but she wasn't supposed to be some simpering, fainting princess who didn't know how to handle herself in the real world. She was supposed to be a tough, capable champion - she was supposed to be able to break herself out of whatever danger she found herself in! Yet now, she had let her true feelings show through. And to Spectre, that was music to her ears. That was proof she had gotten the Grand Duchess of the Octagon's composure to break. She knew it, and she wasn't about to forget it.

Alena's teeth clenched in a grimace, and she tried to shake that thought out of her head. She couldn't concede any battle, and that included the battle of wits she was embroiled in now. Yet, as she looked all around her, she could see whatever mechanisms Spectre had designed springing to life. She saw the lights shine down from above, and she raised an eyebrow - and when the smoke began to billow from the posts, she looked left and right with a gasp. Just what was Spectre capable of - and what was she going to do? That was a thought that loomed over her, an ever-present threat she couldn't ignore.

But the bodyguards standing by at ringside weren't going to sit idly by. They saw that their client was in danger - and no amount of smoke and mirrors was going to slow them down. Forging ahead, they charged into the rising smoke. After what Spectre had said, it was clear that this was far more than a mere wrestling match. This could well be a matter of life and death - and they weren't going to take their chances.

[Monsy]

Disclaimer

Content warning as this is less standard wrestling genre and more my attempt at psychedelic chicanery.

While the attention was on the ring itself and the moving knights across the chessboard coming for their Queen, above, her hook and cable descended towards a corner. It came down hastily, just in-front of the turnbuckle pads and Spectre dragged Alena towards it. "I'll give you a hint. It happens far, far away." Reaching over, she grabbed the hem of Alena's cropped-top and ran the cold steel through the bottom and out the collar so she was hooked on. Spectre hopped onto one rope, then up and onto the hook itself, grabbing hold of the cable and stretching out her hand to the approaching security guards--the sign to lift-off! Their hands were too late to catch her ankles.

"And now, my reward." She spoke breathily to herself. Down below, the smoke turned from white to purple, releasing a panicogenic fear gas she called Nocturne. By the notes she received from Dot, the summary experience was that it makes you feel like the most scared and pathetic loser in the world with evil spirits coming to ruin your life for it. Induces panic, involuntary shivering and anxiety. World appears slightly darker with growing shadows. Highly likely to become psychoactive beyond micro-doses. And with the Chem student's... lordship over his own vices, she learned two things.

A couple months ago:

A Chemistry Student was finishing his obligation to supply Dot with fear gas. One gas cylinder of Nocturne that they wheeled to a small pick-up. "When your boss tries this.. Not that there's a guarantee. Just if you want a good prank. Tell them if they can envision a horror monster, it'll balance out and they'll come out really brave."

End.

"Everyone please remain calm and in orderly fashion with regards to the safety of your fellow audience members. For your safety we are going to evacuate the building but we ask you don't leave the property. Please do not return to the lower bowl. I repeat, do not go near the ring. Authorities are on their way."

The smoke spread rapidly through the fog machines on stage also blowing full throttle, swallowing the closest sections. At first there's a glow that makes you melt. Their knees go weak and confusion blocks their next words for a second. The high comes first: strong, vivid, like tasting depression from a liquor bottle. T-shirts covered their mouths while many put on facemasks. Many stayed in place and just as many moved away from the spread. Tiny canisters rigged under seats hissed and released more Nocturne, closing the gaps to remain unexposed. Involuntary shivering was next. All at once or gradual depending on exposure, resulting in inconsistent waves that came with a sudden SPIKE of an onsetting panic attack. A litany of expressions developed, with nothing being universal than the paranoia and shifty eyes they gave their neighbour. Just about half-way up as Spectre watched this circus, she finger-snapped to cue a full takeover of iconography on Titantron, banners and lights turned to purple. Everything went purple. Her logo flashed from screens and a special spotlight cast their emblem on the ring and swallowed it.

"It's Spectre!" One audience member shouts, then domes another fan with their fist. "Here! Get her!" Shouted from somewhere else. Accusation of being the Virus exponentially grew to levels that no small portion of the crowd became victims themselves and were pleading their safety to what they thought to be her thugs or her directly, imprinted vividly on the likeness of their aggressor. They rebuked each other, insulted, cried, froze, swung at and ran with equal portions running pale. Momentary incarnations swung with barbed-wire wrapped crowbars when they turned around, creating jumps before realizing it wasn't real. They'd feel her hands grab at their throats or suddenly thrust to jab their eyes, kick their groin or a hair from putting brass knuckles in their belly before nothing happened but touches of phantom pain. They'd cover their eyes because she was manifesting under seats, around corners, in the ring, on the stage, beside them, stalking them with eyes that conveyed intent. Every incarnation had something wrong with it. A touch of inhuman—something that's not supposed to be that way.

Flocks of people started running towards doors and trickles became full streams of dysfunctional chickens, slamming against each other, causing just as many to run away than they did join the moving train. Many took to vaulting chairs, resulting in more tangling, falls, more shouting, cursing, shoving, kicking, throwing food or self until the rabble was consuming the stadium no matter where you stood. Even as Spectre & Alena reached reached the catwalk, every few seconds was a congregated cacophony of misery kissing her ears. Spectre stepped onto the railing and squatted. Dot manifested on her opposite side holding a giant hammer and humming Daisy Bell in distorted autotune, then watched their victim who twitched and still had the audacity to look around.

Spectre pointed lazily. "That's awake."
First came a: "No she's not." Then a...

BONK! From Dot's comedically large hammer slamming into Russian facial bones. Dot then swung her hammer down, leaning leaning towards the bottom of the handle as Spectre sat on the rail. The crowds pulled them like baked pie in a window. It felt like everything. Right. Just. Like she deserved this. She took one proud breath and crossed her arms. "Sweet mercy on a pike, this is better than crack." She bit her bottom lip and started kicking her legs rapidly, leaning to and fro as she pulled out her most villainous south French accent belonging to a deluded witch in a castle under siege by an equally stupid mob. "Look at vou, my sweet grOWNdlings. Such sad faces. Vorry not, cause Mama's here to vift vou from rock bottom. Mama will treat vou right, so just hand over vour necks, take a gift and crawl in my lap so I can smother vou in vour slEEP. Blah-bla-blah ba-blah-bla, bleeegh." She swung her legs over and got on the walkway, tunnel visioning the exit and beginning stride. "Moving on."

They left, Alena in tow over Dot's shoulder.

A countdown appeared on the Titantron with a QR code right underneath.

1:30:00
... 1:29:59
... 1:29:58
... 1:29:57
... 1:29:56