L.A.W. - League of Anime Wrestling

Of course Akane was there. She didn't have a match on the card, so why wouldn't she be?

But Severin took heart. He had Keira watching his back out here. That said, he still didn't like that look on Tia's face. Simple savvy told him what she was going for when she slid out of the ring. But he wouldn't make his move right away. Let's see what she pulls out; maybe he could baseball slide it right into her face and finally wipe that smile off of it.

And then she showed her choice to the world. Looked like somebody had already chosen it earlier tonight. And it had worked as well for them as she had intended it would for her.

Keira was among the many who gasped at the sight of the barbed wire bat, but none were as afraid for Severin as she was. He's an honorable man, but he also has good sense. She knew that he was probably thinking it already, but still felt the need to yell out to him, "Fuck that! Get a weapon!" She just needed to make sure it had been said.

Already ahead of you, ain't gotta tell me twice...

Keira sprung right onto her feet, much to the chagrin of the woman sitting right behind her. "Hey!" But one hard look from had quieted any further protest. The goth's hands damn near had a death grip on the guard rail as she looked on, eying Tia like a fucking hawk as Severin searched for something to defend himself with.

Steel chair? Too slow; he wouldn't even touch it. Kendo stick? Felt too light in his hand. He didn't trust it to endure contact for long.

Severin knew that he'd only have so long to find something. Either the next thing he sees or the very next after it.

Sledgehammer? No. Too much riding on one end of the weapon. So it's gonna have to be...

...Another baseball bat. No barbed wire, but it's plenty dangerous on its own, still. With his choice in hand, he climbed back inside of the ring, not even thinking twice about the honor he's supposed to have as the Face in this thing. If his opponent isn't going to fight fair, fuck it. He'll return that energy.

"Alright, then, you wanna duel, let's duel!" He'd throw in some theatrics of his own, twirling the bat in his hand before finally standing ready.

Tia twirled her barbed wire bat in a wide, deliberate arc, the rusted metal slicing through the warm coastal air of Għadira Bay. The crowd pressed against the outer fencing of the hellish steel structure, watching with bated breath as Tia circled, eyes glued on Severin.

Her boots thudded against the steel-reinforced flooring outside the ring, echoing inside the cell like a war drum. She scraped the barbed wire across the side of the cell wall, screeching metal against metal as sparks flared. No barricades. No barriers. Just cold, unforgiving steel.

She would eventually enter back inside the ring to meet up with Black Severin...Then came the sudden charge.

"Raaaggghhh!"

she roared

She aimed low, swinging hard and fast — not to hit flesh, but to hook Severin’s bat. If the barbed wire coiled and caught, she'd rip it free from his hands and leave him wide open for a follow-up strike.

One clash. One trap. That’s all she needed.

The adrenaline was rising, setting Severin's heart to racing before Tia even got back inside the ring. Exactly the effect she was looking for, he was sure. If you were to ask him right now, he wouldn't be able to honestly say that he didn't feel any fear here, as brave a front as he was putting on here. It was clear that the powers that be wanted him gone, and Tia was their chosen tool to achieve that goal.

He beckoned her inside. If the worst comes to pass, he was going to go down swinging.

Tia wasted no time, letting out a roar before she charged. And time slowed. Just enough for him to know where he needed to move his bat to keep that barbed wire away from his flesh. And what was to be a wrestling match turned into a duel straight out of Star Wars. One where she held the advantage, with the wire hooking into the bat, threatening to yank it right out of his hands.

He took to a more evasive defense, to the best of his ability; barbed wasn't going to do much to slow something that was made to be swung. The crowd was loving this. Hell In a Cell, with blood looking to be shed within the first moments of the bell ringing. Not that he'd really noticed, trying to stay alive as he was. He picked his shots, waiting for a swing to miss before he loosed his power shots. But she wasn't the target. Not immediately. They had the same goal.

Well, either that, or effectively rendering her stationary: One swing nearly took his head off, and it came so close on the lean back, still. He could feel the wire cutting through the air, looking for his face. Any lower, and it might've murdered his goatee.

But he saw an opportunity there, following the whiff.

Severin raised his bat like he was about to swing for the fences. Get her guard up, and use her kneecap to play mobster with for a moment. Such was the impromptu plan...until goddamn it, she swung low too and got the wire hooked into his bat again. Real good this time: It was like "hook sword, meet broadsword."

Left him with nothing but the sight of his weapon flying into the cage outside the ring. A second swing came. Wild, fast, and more dangerous than the rest. With him having been pulled off balance, it felt like the only thing he could do without getting fucked up was throw himself into a backward roll. But he wouldn't get away without the wire finally getting its taste of him, slicing into his side. The wound wasn't deep, but he was still in a bad spot. Backed into a corner, literally, without a weapon.

Tia stood tall with the barbed bat in her hands like a battle-hardened gladiator in a steel arena. A twisted grin formed on her face as she watched Severin scramble backward, clutching at his wounded side. Blood. That was the first drop—and it was hers. The crowd roared at the sight of it, and Tia raised the bat into the air, twirling it slowly like a predator savoring the fear in her prey.

Her boot stomped with deliberate force, step by step as she stalked closer. Her eyes never left him. Not once.

“Oi, what’s the matter?”

she barked out with that unmistakable Aussie bite,

“Where’s all that honor now, huh?”

Then she hoisted the bat above her head. It was a full, two-handed swing, her whole body twisting into it. The barbs gleamed. The wind-up was long, powerful, and—clearly—telegraphed. It was made to hurt, maybe even kill, but made just slow enough to send a message: she wanted him to see it coming.