Laxia von Roswell vs. Sheila Morgan - Lightning in a Bottle

[BlackAkuma]

Sheila’s body was strong, tough, had a great well of stamina to work with, but even she had her limits, and as she bounced around the ring at full speed, she could feel herself nearing them. Her heart pounded so hard it hurt, taxing her with every step, and she was honestly starting to feel like her body could give out at any moment. The blunt force trauma, the bleeding, the dehydration, the repeated pounding she’d taken for the past ten or so minutes - it was all starting to culminate. She was on empty.

But it wouldn’t matter. In a few seconds, she would hit Laxia with another bat-out-of-hell tope suicida,she’d bring her down, drag her into the ring, finish her off with a Kitchen Sink, and then it was goodnight, Irene.

Sheila dropped down, flew through the ropes and-

Pain.

No thought, no prelude, no other feelings. Sheila couldn't even properly process what happened to her at first, as if her mind wasn’t used to dealing with this sort of extreme stimulus like this. There was just this insane, impossible pain in her face, a red mist and a white flash, and then she was falling, and then she was on the floor while the crowd was roaring around her.

It was only after she was on the ground, curling into the fetal position, that it all came together. Laxia hit her with a chair in the face while she was midflight. She’d jumped right into it, probably taking it in the face at about thirty miles an hour. By all rights, she should be unconscious. She sort of wished she was.

All she could do now was moan and rub her face and feebly kick her legs, as she vainly tried to deal with a shattered face.

[Letta]

CLANG - !

A heavy jolt shot through Laxia’s palm and up her arm as metal rang out. Her grip gave way. The steel chair clattered to the floor, and she drew her empty hand back, staggering a step. Sheila lay crumpled before her. Only moments ago, Laxia had been furious about being hit in the face. Now she had done the same to her opponent, with a chair, no less. The crowd roared. Laxia stood there, breathing hard. She had stopped her. The relentless onslaught had finally stopped, bringing a brief sense of release. But her relief was tempered by concern as she watched Sheila curl up with her hands over her face. Faint moans. Feeble movements of her legs. After flying face-first into a chair like that, there was no way she could have come through it unhurt.

Laxia’s lips parted, then closed again. No taunt came to mind. The match, however, was not over. She could not always fight with the elegance she wanted, especially in a match where anything could become a weapon. But that did not mean she had to let this madness continue indefinitely. As she looked down at Sheila, a sudden realization cut through her exhaustion. This was her chance. Not merely to regain control, but to end the match...! There was no need for another spectacular move to dazzle the crowd, or one more cutting remark for Sheila.

“Hah... hah...”

Laxia approached her opponent, trying to steady her breathing. Even those few steps made her back ache, but this time she did not stop. Kneeling beside Sheila, she took her shoulder with her good hand and rolled her onto her back. She straddled Sheila’s chest and settled her weight onto her. This time, she had no intention of sitting there and interrogating her. Laxia reached one arm behind her, hooked it beneath Sheila’s knee, and drew the leg up toward her. Her other arm followed beneath the opposite knee. With both arms hooked firmly beneath Sheila’s legs, she lifted them higher. Pain flared in her injured hand whenever her fingers tensed, but Laxia gritted her teeth and held on.

“Ref... count...!”

The referee was already beside them. Holding Sheila’s legs high, Laxia leaned forward. She kept her opponent folded up, using her weight to press both shoulders against the ringside floor. The referee crouched to check them, then raised a hand.

“1...!”

A palm slapped the floor. Laxia’s orange hair hung in tangled strands around her face, and a smear of blood stood out at the corner of her mouth. Her arms trembled slightly with the effort of maintaining the pin. Breathing hard, she looked down at Sheila beneath her.

[BlackAkuma]

”Nnh…you..mmmhfuck.”

Sheila’s brain was sort of a mess, even during the best of time, but right now it was certainly, incredibly, irreparably fucked. To say that chair shot had messed her her head up would be the understatement of the millennium. She was reasonably certain that she’d actually gone unconscious somewhere between the impact and the floor, totally knocked out for a second, and after the impact she was still in some weird space between the dreaming and waking words. It was like she should be out, but her brain was just too stupid to realize it yet.

Was she done? She felt like she was done. As she laid on the floor, she twitched and twisted like her body was in a death rattle, her nervous system utterly fried and ignoring all of her commands.

She was so out of it, in fact, that she was only vaguely aware of Laxia rolling her onto her back. If her eyes hadn't been open to see the lights overhead, she might not have even noticed, might not have even realized that Laxia had draped over her and was going for the pinfall.

”2…!”

But she was reasonably certain that would’ve woken her up, either way.

Sheila honestly had no idea how she managed to get her shoulders up. Maybe it was some kind of wrestling reflex, a Pavlovian thing brought on by years of kicking out at two. Maybe it was just sheer instinct, her body working on its own to follow her subconscious will. Or, maybe, she was just really stupid and stubborn and spiteful, and she felt like being a pain in Laxia’s cute ass for a little while longer.

How she did it wasn’t important. But she did do it. The millisecond before the referee’s hand hit the floor, Sheila spasmed up and raised a shoulder, saving herself and breaking the count.

After that, she flopped back down, closed her eyes and spoke with breathless words. ”Kiss…my ass.”