The Book of Lucia, Chapter III - Sister Lucia (c) vs. Madeline Christiansen for the LAW Hentai Championshp

[BlackAkuma]

Sister Lucia was starting to truly loathe this woman. Granted, there was no world in which Madelin - an unashamed heathen, a proud temptress, a seducer of wayward souls - would be friends with one such as her. But she suspected that, even if she had not been chosen for this divine task, and the English Rose hadn't stood athwart her path, she would’ve still found the whore detestible.

It was those eyes. Yes, she hated so many things about the woman, with her haughty attitude and her purile japes, but something about those eyes was positively infuriating. The way they drew attention demanded it. The way they looked her with not a shred of seriousness. That mocking glare, that condescending gaze.

It was all much too much for Sister Lucia, and as she writhed beneath the larger woman, she wished for nothing less than to shut those eyes and smash the face they were attached. Sadly, such goals were currently out of reach.

”A reaction of the body, nothing more.” She scoffed at Madeline’s accusation, dismissing her as she once again mounted her. [color=#80000BF]”I merely…wait.”[/color] She shook her head as the woman’s chest began to descend upon her face. ”No, no, no, not again, not-”

Again, Sister Lucia found her face between Madeline’s breasts, though this time she was at least able to breathe. Consciousness was a mixed blessing, as it meant that she had to endure this woman’s acrid scent in her nostrils and see those eyes - those damned eyes - gazing down at her.

She tried to struggle, but Madeline had strength, size, and leverage on her side, using them all to keep Sister Lucia’s hands pinned as surely as if they were iron manacles. It was infuriating enough all by itself.

But then…then came the grinding.

A shudder ran through Sister Lucia at the first press, an involuntary motion, a betrayal from her body. It was slow at first, so small it could’ve been dismissed as accidental if not for the woman’s nature. But then came another, and another. Without even thinking, her own hips rose to meet it, seeking out pleasure without her leave.

Sister Lucia closed her eyes and tried to blot out the pleasure, tried to shield her mind from this woman’s wicked spells, but it was an increasingly futile gesture. With no escape, no reprieve, she found herself at the challenger’s mercy, and all she could do was defiantly resist what they both knew was coming.

From within the confines of Madeline’s chest, Sister Lucia screamed in pure rage.

[Lightman]

“Shhhhh.”

Madeline silenced Lucia mid-protest simply by lowering herself that little bit further, soft flesh pressing over the nun’s mouth once again and reducing the rest of her indignation to muffled frustration. The brunette rather liked the sight beneath her. Lucia’s face remained partially visible between the curves of her chest, just enough for those fierce blue eyes to peer outward with equal parts outrage and something far less righteous. There it was again, beneath all the fury. That flicker. That dangerous warmth the blonde kept trying so desperately to bury beneath scripture and insults.

Cute, in its own way.

Madeline could even see the moments Lucia attempted to shut her eyes entirely, as though darkness might somehow spare her from what her own body was beginning to admit. It would not. Both of them understood that much already. One did not arch beneath another woman’s thigh from mere biological reflex alone. Not like this. Not with such an instinctive hunger threaded through the movement.

The Englishwoman continued at an unhurried pace. Her thigh glided steadily between Lucia’s legs, bare skin brushing and pressing with measured precision against the trapped blonde’s centre. There was patience in the motion. Deliberate consistency. Madeline knew perfectly well how the body responded to repetition, to mounting anticipation, to the slow erosion of resistance through sensation rather than force.

Sure enough, Lucia’s hips betrayed her soon after. The first hesitant rise earned a quiet gleam from Madeline’s emerald eyes. The second made her smile. “There. That is honesty.”

Her wrists remained pinned securely overhead while Madeline shifted her weight just enough to keep the champion firmly trapped beneath her. Every adjustment came naturally to the brunette. Tiny redistributions of pressure prevented Lucia from finding leverage anywhere beneath her body. The woman could struggle all she wished. Madeline controlled the centre line entirely now.

Another muffled scream reached her chest. Madeline answered it with a low hush near Lucia’s ear, her lips barely grazing warm skin as she leaned down further. “You fight this harder than you fight the match itself.” She whispered. “Interesting priorities for a champion.”

The thigh between Lucia’s legs picked up slightly in pace afterwards. Not enough to become frantic. Just enough for the change to feel undeniable. Each pass dragged firmer than before, teasing more insistently against the blonde’s rising reactions while Madeline calmly observed every tiny betrayal crossing Lucia’s body.

“How you speak endlessly about corruption…” Madeline continued, voice smooth as silk. “About temptation. About sinners and falsehoods.” A faint breath of amusement escaped her. “Yet the moment your body is honest, you treat it like an enemy.” Her fingers tightened lightly around Lucia’s wrists. “Perhaps that is why you are…struggling to perform tonight. You are too busy pretending to be above desire instead of understanding it.”

Lucia’s hips rose again despite herself. Madeline felt it immediately. A satisfied hum slipped from the brunette as she lowered her head once more, allowing her voice to settle intimately beside the nun’s ear while the crowd noise blurred into distant static around them. “No one else needs to know.” The English Rose said quietly. “You may taste them if you like. Lick to your heart’s content. Feel free to enjoy. Just between us.”

Her smile deepened against Lucia’s skin. “I promise not to tell your congregation.”

[BlackAkuma]

The longer this went on, the harder Madeline was to resist, as Sister Lucia found herself sinking into the woman’s miasma. Her nose being free to breathe was the worst part, she decided. Aside from it meaning that she couldn't feign unconsciousness again, it almost meant that she had to inhale every scent this whore sent her way, drowning herself in her foe’s fumes. There was something about her natural perfume that made her fine hairs stand at attention, the sweat, mixed with the subtle hints of roses…

No, no, that was only in her imagination. But that was how the Devil worked, was it not? Taking roots in fantasies, watering them like weeds in a garden, until they were impossible to strip away. Even now, as she shut her eyes tight, such filthy images worked their way into her mind, such degrading notions, that they set the stomach to turn and ground her teeth tight together.

And this heat! This infernal heat!

It was infuriating, even more so with Madelin whispering her vile poisons. It was not simply the words she spoke but the hubris behind them, as if she had no single concern in the world, as if she regarded Sister Lucia as no true threat, no true champion. Dismissive, disrespectful, she longed to make the slattern regret those words. If only she could get up, if only she could fight, if only-

Another moan came out as Madeline’s thigh rubbed against her sweltering sex, sending lightning through her spine. Sister Lucia’s brow furrowed as this succubus tempted her and made offerings, as if she could be made to give into such carnal cravings. Defiant, she shook her head, as much as she could within the confines. She would not surrender, she would not so easily bend.

But then her tongue came out. A quick, teasing lick, followed by another. Sister Lucia’s eyes widened as the foul muscle moved of its own accord, disobeying her commands and tasting of Madeline’s flesh. It slipped along the skin, circled around it, even made its way beneath the fabric to the tender center beneath. Her lips were moving, too, kissing at the flesh, suckling it, even nibbling.

It was as if some dread hand was working her body, a puppet on invisible strings. Surely, this was an assault from the foulest pit, making Sister Lucia partake of the flesh that she certainly wanted no part of. Sister Lucia moaned - a moan of desperation, not of lust, clearly - as her body moved of its own accord, forcing her to fill on the woman’s offerings. An indulgence beyond her control.

Powerless to stop it, she did her best to keep her mind clear as the pleasure threatened to consume her like flames in the grass, rapidly spreading and leaving ruin in their wake. Through it all, she focused and kept a calm center - Satan may have taken temporary dominion over her body, but so long as her mind remained pure, she would not be tainted, even as she felt the warmth growing between her legs.

[Lightman]

Madeline could feel the moment Lucia’s resistance finally betrayed her. At first, it had only been those tentative little licks, hesitant enough that another woman might have mistaken them for accidental contact. Madeline knew better. She felt every careful drag of the tongue against heated skin, every trembling kiss pressed into the curve of her breast while the “champion” remained trapped beneath her. The contrast amused the Briton immensely. Those ceruleans carried outrage and disbelief, yet Lucia’s body answered with unmistakable hunger. Such fierce denial paired with such eager surrender. It was almost adorable.

“There we are.”

A low purr rolled through her chest as Lucia’s tongue became bolder, sliding along sweat-damp flesh with increasing desperation. Madeline kept the sound quiet, hidden beneath the roar of the crowd and the scrape of bodies against canvas. She had no intention of exposing the nun completely. There was something far more delicious about this remaining between them alone. A private little confession stolen beneath the bright arena lights. Beneath them, her bare thigh maintained its slow glide between Lucia’s legs, coaxing warmth from the blonde in measured waves.

Then Lucia’s tongue slipped deeper. Madeline inhaled sharply through her nose as she felt the probing muscle disappear beneath fabric, tracing higher until at last it found the sensitive nub hidden there. A muted moan escaped her before she buried it beneath a long exhale, refusing to give the audience more than the faintest hint of what was occurring. Her eyes fluttered for only a second before reopening, emerald irises settling upon Lucia with renewed amusement.

“My~.” She whispered near the nun’s ear. “You truly were curious.”

Another slow suckle sent a pleasant shiver along her spine. Madeline allowed herself a small smile at that. For all Lucia’s sermons and outrage, the woman tasted her as though starved. Not rough now. Not angry. Greedy, perhaps, but almost reverent too. Madeline found herself strangely protective of the secret unfolding between them. The crowd saw domination. They saw humiliation. Only the two women involved understood how eagerly Sister Lucia had begun drinking from the poisoned cup she claimed to despise.

Her thigh gradually changed pace. The motion slowed little by little until the rubbing nearly ceased altogether, though the pressure itself only deepened. Muscle flexed beneath supple skin as Madeline pressed upward more firmly between Lucia’s legs, creating a steady pillar that refused to retreat. The same thighs that had nearly crushed the air from Lucia’s throat now nestled hard against her centre, forcing the blonde to feel every ounce of strength contained within them. Lucia’s growing heat did not escape her notice. Nor did the trembling breaths against her chest.

Madeline lowered her lips close to the nun’s ear again, voice dropping into something smoother, quieter. “We’ve gone far enough for me to guide you.” she said. “The rest of this journey, however, is entirely your choice. Seek out the end, however you so wish.”

One hand continued pinning both wrists overhead with infuriating ease. The other slowly drifted downward across Lucia’s body until slender fingers finally settled upon one breast. Madeline squeezed gently at first, savouring the softness hidden beneath the severe attire. Unlike Lucia’s earlier handling, there was no rough greed in the touch. Her palm massaged with patient familiarity, fingertips sliding beneath exposed underboob and under the bright fabric itself, exploring warm skin inch by inch.

“Such a lovely body, underneath all of this scripture.” Her thumb brushed teasingly across sensitive flesh while her thigh remained planted firmly between Lucia’s legs, unmoving now save for the occasional subtle flex that sent another pulse of pressure through the champion’s body.

[BlackAkuma]

Being a regular wrestler long before she had dipped her toes into the sick, festering pools of hentai, Sister Lucia had come to note the differences in crowds, in the way they acted during these matches. While she had little love for these masses who snubbed her attempts to save them, she could not help find their reactions curious and intriguing.

With standard matches or hardcore, they were boisterous and raucous, chanting along at every opportunity. Sometimes they seemed more interested in themselves than the match unfolding before them.

With hentai, however, they tended to be more disorganized, discordant. There was something inherently awkward about watching what was essentially porn in masse, in doing what was typically a private activity surrounded by thousands. They would grow quiet as the match dragged on, almost hauntingly so, only to erupt whenever a climax happened or the action grew intense.

Then there were moments like this, when one competitor was working the other over, with a climax in the works. You could hear the murmurs of anticipation, hear the whispers, and even the occasional gasp. It was amazing how so many people could grow quiet when they needed to be.

Sister Lucia wished they were louder. That way, she wouldn’t have to hear her own heartbeat, thrumming against her chest, nor would she have to hear her unwilling moans as they echoed into Madeline’s breast. And she certainly would’ve loved for them to drone out this woman’s taunts, as she lorded over her position.

She was being sucked into the pace, trapped under Madeline’s grinding, speeding towards the inevitable end. While an orgasm would not end the match, they would both see the significance of it, both from a strategic and a symbolic gesture. The first woman to get an orgasm on the champion - that would be a worthy title to hold, regardless of this match’s outcome. As such, Sister Lucia did her best to deny the woman, holding back even as her body ignored her commands.

For a moment, she thought she could ride out the tide, as Madeline's ministrations suspiciously slowed, leaving a void between them. Her body had been reaching a high, but without the gyrations, she was steadily coming down. She could endure.

That hope was dashed when her hips began to thrust forward at a feverish pace, as her body greedily sought out the pleasure that was being denied it. Sister Lucia shook her head, panicking, as a sweet release welled its way up inside her, a dam threatening to burst at any moment. She clenched her teeth, curled her toes, clenched her fist so tight that the skin reddened, but…but…

Sister Lucia came. Her body stiffened, bridged up so hard that she lifted Madeline upwards, and came all at once, spilling from her loins in quick, bursting gush. She went taut as a bowstring for a few seconds, then gave out all at once, sagging beneath the English Rose.

[Lightman]

Madeline had taken a calculated risk the moment she ceased the steady movement of her thigh. Unlike her more overt displays with others, with Lucia, Madeline had offered the champion the reins to write her own narrative, to author her own climax. With some opponents, denying stimulation at such a delicate point could have broken the momentum entirely. It might have allowed them to regain clarity, rebuild resistance, and claw their way back from the edge. Lucia, a zealot by nature, would surely resist such an obvious surrender to pleasure, particularly with a “temptress” like Madeline as the catalyst.

Lucia, however, had already betrayed too much. The frantic hunger hidden beneath every denial had become impossible to miss. The trembling tongue against Madeline’s skin, the involuntary arching of her hips, the desperate little sounds smothered into the brunette’s chest. All of it painted the same picture.

Lucia wanted release.

Not because Madeline forced it upon her, but because her own body had begun craving it with increasing desperation. For all the champion’s sermons and righteous fury, she was no different from anyone else who stepped into this division. Pride dressed it differently. Faith attempted to rename it. Yet beneath all the layers, desire remained desire. And Madeline knew she had her the moment Lucia’s hips began moving on their own.

The nun shook her head fiercely, golden strands clinging to flushed cheeks as if denial alone could somehow halt what was happening inside her body. Yet every thrust betrayed her further. She ground herself desperately against Madeline’s thigh, chasing the very pleasure she claimed to despise. Madeline offered almost nothing in return now. Only the pressure and presence. Lucia herself carried the rest of the journey forward.

Emerald eyes remained fixed upon her throughout it all. Madeline barely moved beyond maintaining her dominant position, wrists pinned securely overhead while her weight kept Lucia trapped beneath her. There was no need for further input from Madeline; Lucia was now actively seeking her own erotic destruction, a stark revelation for a woman who so adamantly preached purity.

And it was not long until the dam - like that curated image she tried to show to the masses - broke.

Lucia’s entire body arched upward beneath her, back bowing hard enough to lift Madeline slightly from the canvas as the champion finally broke apart under the lust she had fought so fiercely to suppress. A sharp gasp escaped Madeline as she felt the convulsion ripple through the smaller woman, felt every tremor and shudder travel upward through locked bodies. Lucia collapsed almost immediately afterwards, tension draining from her all at once as exhaustion overtook resistance.

For a moment, Madeline simply remained there above her. The crowd had erupted around them, yet it sounded strangely distant compared to the ragged breathing beneath her chest. Lucia looked utterly spent now, sprawled beneath the brunette with flushed skin and trembling limbs, stripped of all that furious momentum she had clung to earlier in the match. Madeline leaned down close enough for only Lucia to hear her.

“Your little secret is safe with me…fellow whore.”

The teasing lilt returned just slightly at the end. She finally sat upright, calmly adjusting her top where it had been tugged and displaced during the struggle. The fabric still clung damply against her skin. Madeline glanced downward briefly before dragging two fingers along her bare thigh, gathering some of the lingering evidence left there. Thoughtfully, she brought her fingers to her lips and tasted them with slow composure.

A faint hum of approval escaped her. “Mm. Delightful.”

Then, with graceful ease, Madeline rose from atop the prostrate champion. She stepped away at an unhurried pace, though not before the underside of her bare foot brushed teasingly across Lucia’s cheek in passing. “Up.” The touch was light, almost playful, yet no less condescending for it. By the time Madeline turned back around, she already stood poised and composed once more, emerald eyes watching the exhausted champion carefully. “I allowed you a moment to indulge yourself.” she said evenly. “But now I expect more from you, something worthy of a champion.” Her smile sharpened just slightly.

[BlackAkuma]

In a way, the orgasm was a good thing, Sister Lucia realized. After all, it was inevitable, wasn’t it? As fast as she was, with her skills, there was no way that she would be able to avoid Madeline forever in an enclosed ring. Wrestling required contact, hentai wrestling more than anything, and sooner or later she would have to grapple with the bigger woman and put herself in range of those dangerous charms. Madeline would get her within her clutches.

So, now, the inevitable had come to pass. Which only left one question: what was she going to do about it?

Thankfully the good thing about an orgasm was the way it created a sort of clarity in the aftermath. As the devilish current ran through her, it brought with it shame, but also a calming wind. Thoughts came easier, focus was sharper. The raging winds of her mind were quelled into a gentler breeze, and when Madeline whispered her taunt, she did not respond. She breathed, deep and long, and felt the air course through her veins, before she finally sat up.

But Madeline was not her focus. Instead, her gaze went to the audience. They were mocking her, of course, snickering and pointing and laughing her way, making jokes that she didn’t bother translating. She ignored them - instead, her focus was on a certain section, certain shapes in the shadows.

She still had her options. She still had her trump card. If she brought the fight outside, made the appropriate moves, then…

‘Something worthy of a champion.’

Sister Lucia’s face wrinkled when Madeline’s words sounded in her head. It wasn’t just what she’d said, but the way she’d said it, in that snotty cadence she was coming to so utterly loathe. The way she spoke, as if to lecture her on the way a champion was supposed to comport herself, as if she had something to prove to her. Madeline was the challenger, not her. She was the underdog.

She stood and ran a finger along the spot where her foot had touched, then finally affixed Madeline with her frigid gaze. That silly little smile on her face? Oh, it would simply not do, and she had the remedy for it. The English Rose might not take Sister Lucia seriously, but if she believed that was all there was to her, she was wrong. Sister Lucia had given her chances. Sister Luci had fought with dignity and decorum.

Perhaps, then, she needed a little less Sister Lucia and a touch more Lucielle Peregrino.

”Very well.”

Up came her fists, tight and ready. Her head lowered, just a little, enough to make her awkward target for the taller Madeline. She bounced, toes tapping on the canvas, staying light and loose with a steady rhythm. Left, right, left, right, left, right, left, left, left-

Sister Lucia broke right, darting to the side as she closed the distance, before she rushed in headlong, dashing into Madeline’s range. Her punches came out again, sharp jabs, fired off in quick succession. There was no poking and prodding this time, no playing with the distance. She punched and advanced, trying to force Madeline back and create space.

She would fill that space immediately. As soon as the jabs were done flying, Sister Lucia leaped straight up, raised her leg in a flash, and tried to ram her knee into Madeline’s face, a crushing blow with her weight and momentum behind it.

[Lightman]

Champions carried a certain obligation. That was the belief held by the English Rose. Over the years, Madeline had observed countless champions of all kinds. Technical prodigies. Brutal powerhouses. Arrogant tyrants who ruled through fear and beloved heroines who fought with honour until the final bell. Different styles, different personalities, different methods of imposing themselves upon a division. Yet beneath all of it sat one common truth. A champion was meant to feel difficult to overcome. They were supposed to embody the peak of the craft they represented.

So far, Sister Lucia had not entirely managed that.

To be fair, Madeline understood part of the reason why. Much of the match had unfolded on the canvas, where grappling instincts, positional control, and physical leverage heavily favoured the Englishwoman. Lucia possessed speed and precision standing upright, but once entangled, once forced into prolonged exchanges of pressure and control, the gaps between them became harder to ignore. Madeline had recognised that early and exploited it without hesitation. That was not cruelty. That was wrestling. Still, for a first title defence, she expected more.

Which was why her earlier words had not been merely mockery. Beneath the teasing cadence sat genuine disappointment. Madeline wanted a champion who pushed her. Forced her to adapt. Someone worthy of carrying the division upon their shoulders. Not the other way around.

And judging by the look now crossing Lucia’s face, the message had finally sunk in.

Madeline watched the nun rise carefully from the canvas, saw the hatred sharpen behind pale eyes as fists came up tight beneath her chin. The movement immediately felt different. Gone was some of the frantic indignation from earlier exchanges. Lucia’s stance narrowed. Her footing grew lighter. More deliberate. Every bounce upon the balls of her feet carried intent.

The brunette adjusted her own posture accordingly, shoulders relaxed while emerald eyes tracked every subtle shift in balance. Lucia looked less like a preacher now and more like what she truly was beneath all the sermons and fury.

A fighter.

Lucia burst sideways first, darting off at an angle before suddenly driving inward with sharp jabs fired in quick succession. Madeline’s hands came up instinctively, palms intercepting the first few strikes, though the impact still carried enough sting to snap lightly through her guard. Fast. Far faster than before. Lucia’s punches were no longer exploratory. They sought openings with purpose, forcing Madeline to react rather than dictate.

One jab slipped close enough to graze her cheek. Another struck hr forearm with a crack that drew a pleased little smile from the Englishwoman instead of irritation.

“There you are.”

Lucia continued advancing relentlessly, each strike herding the taller woman backwards while the crowd’s energy began to rise once more around them. Madeline yielded ground for only a moment, reading the cadence of Lucia’s approach, noting the tightening shoulders and sudden shift of weight immediately before the leap came.

The knee launched upward like a spear. Madeline barely managed to catch it across both forearms before impact thundered through her guard. Bone collided painfully against bone, forcing her boots to scrape hard against the mat as she stumbled backwards several steps from the sheer force behind it. The strike possessed genuine malice now. Real commitment.

Interesting.

Most wrestlers in that position would have continued retreating until the ropes trapped them or the corner swallowed their movement entirely. Madeline chose otherwise. The instant her footing stabilised, she pivoted sharply to the side, slipping out from the direct line Lucia wanted while relying upon crisp footwork to reset the engagement before confinement became possible. Her eyes never left the champion once.

And there, finally, Madeline felt it. It wasn’t annoyance or amusement. And it is certainly not fear. It was excitement.

Lucia’s attacks carried none of the earlier theatrics now. No grandstanding sermons. No desperate attempts to provoke outrage. She simply wanted to fight. To hurt. To prove herself through force rather than rhetoric. The aggression flooding from her felt raw and focused in a way the match had lacked until this very moment.

Madeline’s smile deepened. That’s more like a champion.

[BlackAkuma]

Pressure. Pressure. Pressure

That was the word that kept repeating in Sister Lucia’s mind as she brought her offense into Madeline’s range, daring to engage with the bigger woman head-on. Her opponent had size, but she was giant. Tall, but not overly built. Pound for, she would wager they weren’t even that far apart, if at all. While the woman was not slow, certainly, it was not her best area. Her thick, fulsome body was meant for many things - pleasure, grappling, weighing down her opponent while she tied them in knots and melted their minds. But it was not a body made for speed. Not like hers.

So, in she came, rattling off a barrage of blows, pressing forward with every step. Again, that pressure - she knew that, if an opening presented itself, this woman would move in, seize her, and hurl her to the ground as she’d done twice before. But that sort of grappling took time, took positioning, and her blows allowed none of.

A punch there, a punch here, a punch there. Some were harder than others, some went to her chest while others flew for her face, but they all served a purpose, trying to find a way through her foe’s defenses. She was doing a good job of blocking them for the most part, but there was only so much she could do with two arms. One would get through, one would find its mark, and then-

Ah. There.

A punch sliced at Madeline’s cheek. Not much, just a little touch, but a clear sign that this woman wasn’t untouchable, that she would find her mark eventually if she kept this pace. Through it all, her opponent kept her insufferable smile, visually taunting her despite being on the backfoot.

Together, it was more than enough to spur her forward, making her more determined to land that sacred strike and lay Madeline out. When she launched herself in the air, she had hoped her flying knee would be the coup de grace, and it might very well have been, had not her foe got her arms up in time. Bone met bone, but not the bones she craved to strike, as they crashed into her forearms.

Close. So close.

Sister Lucia’s feet had only touched the canvas for a fraction of a second before she was off again, chasing after Madeline as they neared the ropes. The Englishwoman had good ring awareness, showing foresight by dancing out of the way. She was trying to get herself back to the center of the room, back to open space.

”Absolutely not!”

Sister Lucia followed her pivot, then leaped towards her new direction, anticipating the path as she moved. As she flew, she raised her leg, swung wide, and lashed out with a roundhouse kick aimed at Madeline’s ample hip. She brought it lower and swung it again, following with another sharp strike aimed at her thighs. Trying to knock Madeline back in the direction she’d just come, trying to corral her. To slice the ring in half.

There would be no going around her, she refused it. If Madeline wanted out, she had to go through.

[Lightman]

It's interesting how The Sisterhood had a way of subverting Madeline’s expectations.

When they had first met in LAW, the Briton had regarded them as little more than a theatrical nuisance. Prudence had been blunt and humourless, Chastity an unreadable contradiction wrapped in silk and sin, and Lucia a woman seemingly held together by doctrine and stubbornness alone. Together, they looked less like conquerors and more like a travelling sermon that had wandered into the wrong building. Madeline had expected noise, outrage, and sanctimony. What she had not expected was substance.

Combat had a way of stripping pretence away from people. Bodies could not lie the way mouths did. The instant flesh collided, and pressure mounted, truth revealed itself. Chastity had shown that first. Beneath the languid smiles and strange serenity existed monstrous physicality, frightening technique hidden beneath soft curves and gentle touches. Madeline still remembered how naturally the woman moved on the ground, how her grappling instincts rivalled her own in ways few women ever had. One day, perhaps, she would truly test that mystery properly in that category.

And Lucia was beginning to reveal her own truth now. Striking. Focused aggression sharpened into something dangerous.

Madeline could see it clearly as Lucia pursued her across the ring with almost feverish determination. The nun no longer moved like a woman who wanted to preach. She moved like a fighter who had finally accepted that she needed to hurt someone. The punches had already begun to sharpen earlier, carrying sting and intent behind them, but now the kicks followed with equal conviction. One smacked hard against Madeline’s hip, jolting solidly through muscle and bone. The next cracked against her thigh with a harsh snap that forced the Englishwoman to steady her footing immediately.

Those were good strikes. Very good strikes.

Lucia understood distance far better on her feet than she did entangled on the mat. Madeline recognised the strategy almost immediately as she adjusted her base, absorbing the impacts without surrendering her balance. Lucia was cutting the ring apart piece by piece, denying angles, forcing decisions. Either Madeline would be backed towards the ropes, or she would have to drive directly through the champion herself. There would be no leisurely circling now.

A smile slowly crept across Madeline’s lips. Gone was Lucia. Here was this fighter before her. Not the preacher. Not the self-righteous martyr. Just the woman beneath all of it.

Lucia pursued again, posture tight and aggressive, her feet carrying her forward with that relentless pressure. Madeline gave ground for half a step before suddenly shifting her weight forward instead. Her shoulders dipped slightly, hips lowering with practised precision as though she intended to burst directly into a takedown. The motion was clean enough to sell immediately, resembling the beginning of a single-leg shot aimed at Lucia’s lead side.

But it was bait. Madeline knew exactly what such movement tended to invite from strikers. Knees. Uppercuts. Sprawling pressure. Something reactive and immediate. And if Lucia bit upon it, even for an instant, then Madeline intended to use that reaction against her.

The brunette’s emerald eyes never left the blonde for even a second as she moved. Every twitch mattered. Every adjustment of balance. If Lucia committed to striking downward or intercepting the approach, Madeline would look to slip past the line entirely rather than complete the grab itself, using the feinted entry to bypass Lucia’s guard and escape the corral she was constructing.