L.A.W. - League of Anime Wrestling

The moment his legs locked into the figure-four around her head, Veronika froze—

A sharp inhale caught in her throat as the pressure set in. Her move. Her exact hold. And now she was trapped in it, bound, with no way to pry free.

Her body tensed hard against the mat, shoulders shifting, but there was no escape. The squeeze tightened, compressing around her neck and jaw, forcing her head at an awkward angle. A strained breath slipped out as her composure cracked just a bit—panic flickering behind her eyes.

“...No…”

Her chest rose quicker now, breaths shortening as the pressure built. With her wrists tied, she couldn’t even reach to relieve it—completely stuck.

And then—

Everything faded.

Her body slackened all at once.

Veronika dropped back flat against the mat, back-first, limbs falling open and still. Arms lay out at her sides, wrists still bound, fingers loose. Her legs rested slightly apart, unmoving.

Only the slow rise and fall of her chest remained.

Out cold again...

And that was three. She was out.

Army gave Veronika a quick squeeze after it was clear she was out, just to be 100% sure, then dropped the move and let the woman go, easing her head back to the at afterwards. With that, he’d finally evened the score against her, but he had to say it was an odd sensation. Knocking her out had evened the scales.

Still felt a little hollow, somehow. Like there was something more that he should be feeling, some sense of accomplishment. It wasn’t like he’d done anything wrong, exactly. He’d gotten back against a person who did shit to him, perfectly standard wrestling stuff. Still, as he stood there, looking over her sleeping form, he couldn't help but feel a little…

Army brushed it off, pushing that gunk to the back of his mind. Stuff to be processed for another day. For now, he was content to give her a little nudge with his foot and stroll out of the room. Veronika would be as pissed as a cut snake when she woke, but he didn’t have to be around for that.

Veronika didn’t move.

Her body remained exactly where it had fallen—flat on her back, limbs spread and still, wrists bound, chest rising in slow, steady rhythm. Hair fanned out beneath her head, framing a face now completely slack, all that fire and fury momentarily extinguished.

Silence filled the stretch room.

But beneath that stillness…something lingered.

Even unconscious, her fingers twitched faintly once—barely noticeable. A small, involuntary motion. Then stillness again.

Her breathing remained calm…too calm.

Because somewhere deep beneath the surface, past the haze of forced sleep, something was already stirring. Not fear. Not confusion.

Memory.

His voice. His hands. The holds.

The humiliation.

It settled in quietly…like embers waiting for air.

And when she woke—

There would be no hesitation.

No games.

Only vengeance...