L.A.W. - League of Anime Wrestling

Gil swallowed hard as Voro stopped in her tracks, leaning down and grabbing her by her horn, she hated when that happened... "...W-what...?" Gil whined, her eyes met Voro's. She knew what she meant, but... Did she know exactly what she herself meant?

The only way to get out of this was to word this truthfully, but Gil wanted to keep fighting, but was she in any shape to do so? She was already in really rough shape, she wasn't sure her mobility was any good...

"...Please stop... Please stop kicking my ass..." Gil blushed, wanting to appease Voro... "...I can't... I'm not..." She swallowed hard. "...I'm not strong enough, I can't beat you, have mercy..." It was hard to tell if Gil really believed what she was saying, or if she was just trying to get Voro to quit. "...Can you let me go...?"

Only a villain would mock such an honest creature. All low, whining, picked up by their scruff and showing nothing but sincerity. The self-humiliation of it. Delicious. But you don’t mock honesty. After all, it only encourages lying. So, Vorona sighed, dipped her head and made a calm inhale and exhale.

“I understand. You’re heard, little one.” Then she tilted up to look at them. “But.” A finger touched Gil’s cheek, traced down, straight to the chin and tipped it towards Vorona’s masked face. Eye to eye. “Is that really how you ask?” A brow raised, comically, and her head tilted to look at Winter beyond them. “Winter! What did you think?”

Winter gave a thumbs down and blew raspberries in response.

“That’s correct.” Vorona touted, then, added extra weight to the heel planted on Gil’s hand.

“Can I let you go. Please.” A hand made an ok gesture, then accented her words by moving it around fluently like a conductor of an orchestra. “Try it like that.”

Gil shivered as Vorona's finger traced down her face, tipping her chin to lean her head back just ever so slightly. "...I-" Gil winced, the pressure onto her hand got to a point where it was inflicting a greater deal of pain and discomfort.

Gil had to play along, she couldn't spit in Voro's face now, it would only make matter that much worse. "...Y-yes ma'am..." Gil's voice shook as she swallowed hard, instructed to try again. "...Can you please let me go...?"

Gil's eyes didn't leave Voro's, whether or not Gil initially meant to submit, one look at her pleading eyes told Vorona everything she needed to hear, this wasn't the face of a woman willing to fight anymore.

This little one had the face of someone so unprepared for strife. Like a plastic knife, trying to cut into a steak of trepidation. She bent, and bent, until the fear of snapping caused a pause. A re-think, then, an acknowledgement of weakness.

She didn’t know the sincerity. Just that they were hurting, and wanted respite. Vorona, for her part, listened, quite closely, then nodded at their final plea. Correctly -- if she may add. She nodded again, idly. “That was very polite of you. Straight from the soul, with just enough self-pity.”

Vorona released them, and stepped two paces away from them to pick up the steel chair from earlier. When she turned around, she’d give her answer. “I’am afraid the answer is still no.”

Then -- she lifted the chair overhead and brought it down across their spine.

Gil had been broken down to beg for some mercy, and for a brief moment she was led to believe she might have earned some... Tough, it was very brief, Voro's compliment, no-matter how backhanded it was, made Gil sigh a bit in relief, embarrassing as it was, but that humiliation might have been preferable to most over what happened next...

Gil caught a chair across her back, forcing her to cripple from her knees down to being flat against the mat, she would writhe in it if she could bring herself to move without inflicting even greater pain!

"...Ah, ah... P-please...!" Gil begged, her hand weakly reached toward Voro. "...I'm sorry..."

"Sorry for what, exactly?"

She showered her reaching rival with an indifferent glance at first. If she can even call them that. After the chair shot, she was standing by Gil's shoulder, watching, judging and stalking the trembles in their assaulted back. The begging was just vexing. "Being a wilted flower?" She added, then walked towards their legs and stepped on their calf.

"The only one you should be sorry for, little one--" Having bent over and grabbing their foot, she unfolded the chair half-way into an X, then slotted the foot between the seat and back rest, then slid it further so the points of tension were her shin bone and thigh. Once she let that go, she finished her remark. "--Is yourself."

Then stomped the legs of the chair to violently close on the quadricep.