The Cocky and the Cruel: "Pretty Boy" Blake vs Esma Martin

[Weonna]

“NINE!”

Blake’s ears rang, but the number cut through.
He lunged, bloody fingers snapping around Esma’s aching leg.

A sharp tug—
Her foot ripped out from under her, skull cracking against the floor.
She yelped, recoiling against the post.

Blake wiped the blood streaming from his brow, hissed through split lips, and hauled himself upright.

“Not… ending like that.”

With a half-limp surge he yanked her closer, hooked an arm under her waist, and shoved her under the bottom rope.

Then he rolled in right behind her just as the ref’s hand hovered for the last Ten count!

The count reset.

Inside the ropes again—both battered, breathing hard—Blake pushed to his feet, one hand still pressed to the cut on his forehead, the other curling into a fist as he loomed over Esma.

The match wasn’t over yet.

[Dwrites]

After roughly being thrown into the ring Esma found herself looking up at the looming figure of Blake one hand still pressed against the cut on his forehead the other by his side curled into a fist. Esma glared at him as she with help from the ropes got up before pretending to look off to the side as if something caught her eye for a second before lunging at Blake with a backhanded chop.

[Weonna]

Blake stood tall, blood running down one side of his face, chest heaving, fist clenched. His eyes never left her as Esma dragged herself upright using the ropes, defiant even now.

She shot him a glare—and then, with a quick fake glance to the side, she lunged in with a sharp backhanded chop to his chest.

SMACK!

His body jolted slightly… but that was it.

He didn’t flinch.
Didn’t stagger.

He just stared down at her, chest reddened but unmoved.

“Cute.”


And then—his hand snapped forward.

THWACK!

Spoiler

A thunderous knife-edge chop lit up Esma’s chest, the sound echoing through the arena!

[Dwrites]

Esma let out a pained grunt as Blake’s hand connected and sent her down to the mat, mentally cursing herself for being stupid enough to willingly enter Blake’s striking range without a plan. Letting out a annoyed huff as she once again used the ropes to help her get to her feet before again going for another knife edge chop. This time however she would suddenly stop in the middle of the move before changing the target of her chop from his chest to his forehead.

[Weonna]

Blake watched Esma rise again—stubborn as ever, hand still on the ropes, breathing heavy, bruised but not backing down. He could see the frustration in her eyes… and something else—intent.

She came at him again, arm raised for another knife-edge chop.

Here we go again—

But then—

She stopped.

Mid-motion.

And before Blake could even blink, she redirected the strike upward—and her hand came down hard across his already bleeding forehead.

CRACK!

Pain flared white-hot across his skull. Blake staggered, both hands flying to his head as he clenched his jaw, breath hissing through his teeth.

“Ghh—DAMN IT!”

He backed up two steps, gripping his head, blood now flowing faster down the side of his face, dripping from his nose to his chest. The cut had reopened—worse than before.

He stood there for a moment, breathing sharp and heavy, clutching his forehead!

[Dwrites]

Esma didn’t give a damn about Blake’s forehead bleeding again all she cared about was winning and making sure Blake suffered. So when Blake backed up two steps Esma advanced two steps before delivering more knife edge chops to Blake’s chest and harsh words from her mouth to his ears “GO *SMACK* DOWN *SMACK* YOU *SMACK* BIG *SMACK* OAF!” followed by one more chop to Blake’s chest before Esma stopped to catch her breath.

[Weonna]

Blood ran down his face, soaking into his jawline, and dripping onto his chest—but Blake stayed upright.

Then came the chops.

Each strike lit up his chest, a fiery red handprint blooming over his skin as Esma let loose on him like she was trying to chop down a damn tree.

Blake’s body rocked with each blow, the force of them sending him stumbling back step by step until his back hit the ropes.

His chest was heaving, his face soaked in sweat and blood—but he was still on his feet.

He looked up slowly, through blood-slicked strands of hair, jaw tight, and let out a low, growling breath.

She’d landed every shot.

But he wasn’t down.

Not yet.

Not even close.

[Dwrites]

Esma breathed heavily in and out those chops may have damaged Blake but they also drained esma’s already depleted stamina leaving her winded. She knew she had to effectively manage her stamina if she wanted to win but seeing Blake was still standing after her barrage of chops just infuriated her enough for her to forget she was winded and attempt another barrage of chops though this time noticeably slower.

[Weonna]

She was still coming at him.

Even winded—still trying to chop him down.

Her arm raised again, slower this time, telegraphed. That’s when Blake snapped.

He lifted his forearm and blocked the chop cold, the slap echoing off his arm instead of his chest.

“No.”

He grabbed a handful of her hair with his free hand—

CRACK!

—and drilled a punch into her face. No flair. No setup. Just raw force.

Spoiler

Esma’s head would snap back from the blow if it landed.

And Blake wasn’t done.

THWACK!
Another punch—this time driving her back into the corner.

SMACK!
Another.

BOOM!
And another.

Spoiler

He leaned into her, fist cocked, teeth bared, chest heaving.

“I’ve had enough of your mouth… your games… your damn chops!”

His knuckles shook with rage, his eyes wide and wild with frustration, pain, and fire as he pinned her in the corner like a man finally letting everything boil over.

[Dwrites]

Esma was seeing stars after enduring Blake’s barrage of punches but that didn’t stop her from giving Blake a fiery retort “And I’ve had enough of your stupid face, your titanic ego and your goddamn fists!”. Esma would then spit on Blake’s face in defiance and trying to provoke Blake to attack again. If Blake attacked again esma would take the blow and fall to her knees acting like she collapsed from pain and exhaustion but it was a ploy to get close enough to Blake’s midsection so the referee couldn’t see the low blow Esma would perform once she got on her knees.