L.A.W. - League of Anime Wrestling

Her brows furrowed at his response. “...”

She wanted to say something, but her internal code didn’t want to speak. Suppressed it. Instead, she wanted to hurt him that much more. So she scanned him quickly, up and down and found his back. More importantly, the coat that was on it. She leaned down with her foot on his head, grabbed the hemline of the coat, then pulled it up.

She got off his head. She stepped back.
Back and back. She yanked on his coat to come free off his back. And if she succeeded in that, she’d throw his coat away, stomp towards him around to his back, take her black-painted nails, put them right on his shoulder-blades, then RAKE all ten fingers down his back in one swift motion.

Oscar felt his beloved vest be removed from his body and flung away- earning a massive set of boos from the crowd as the Barbarian Prince's famous piece of ring gear was removed from him. Losing the vest was the least of Oscar's worries though. When Spectre used her long, pointy nails to rake his back with both hands, the horrid pain that hit Oscar made him arch his back and for the first time in the figh, let out a horrible SCREAM of sheer agony! Despite trying to be defiant, there was no way Oscar could keep his mouth shut any longer. This shit HURT- and Oscar made that clear as his eyes watered more and his scream broke the hearts of many audience members...

After the nails made their mark and he screamed, she felt tingly. A rush of fulfillment that made her small hands clench. The rows of breaking hearts fed it too. Full buckets that were beginning to overpour. They just needed a little tipping point, didn’t they? Spectre almost smiled, letting him wail and writhe, following him with her methodical steps. She came around to his front, tall, hand on her hip. Then she squatted down to him, picked up his face in her dainty hands that cupped around his cheeks.

“I told you you’d squeal.”

Her head turned to the crowd.

“Look at them.”

She raised her hand and slapped him across the face, then more forcefully tried directing his gaze towards the front-rowers. She re-positioned herself to stand near his shoulder, but continued to look at his face to watch every tiny detail.

“You’ve made them cry too.”

Oscar felt Spectre grab ahold of his striped cheeks and hold his face in her hand before being slapped across the face. The suffering he was feeling plain as day on his face as she showed him off to the crowd- more importantly, his fans. Oscar looked out at the sea of people and spotted some looking emotional at his current state while some continued to scream their heads off for him to keep going. Oscar looked like he was in serious pain and was becoming emotional as tears pricked at his eyes... which at first glance might be mistaken as Oscar breaking emotionally from what was going on when the truth was, it was anything but that.

While Spectre was focused on Oscar’s face, the Barbarian Prince would ball up his fist on the canvas as he felt a second wind overtake him- simply refusing to give in to the distress Spectre wanted to put Oscar through as rather than cracking and surrendering to the pain, Oscar felt his resolve ignite as he stared out at the audience. With his knuckles turning white, the Barbarian Prince would attempt to catch Spectre off guard by spinning around and delivering a massive Haymarker into the spot Spectre seemed the weakest at: her stomach!

The feeling of winning continued to surge through her fingertips. She couldn’t help but smile underneath. On the side that she could, that is. The air changed around her. She can almost feel the end coming soon. It was in her bones, and her joints and muscles, sore and tired. But she was confident that she was winning the race. That he would be the first to hit zero.

Especially at this pace.
“…”
She squinted. Her eye twitched. He suddenly became a bit hard to read. Nothing visible changed. It was like he was suddenly numb. The crowd was too loud and his face too stone to get a read. And so—

A massive fist slammed into her gut—a sickening thud of knuckles, muscle, sweat and flab created a wet lip-smack. A shallow crater of soft flesh formed around the knuckles. Her body keeled over. She spat. Her eyes bugged out, glitched. Then she was off her feet and hit her back in a heap. Her lungs were raisins. She was gasping and biting her tongue. She felt on fire—a cattle prod just touched her core.

She pulled both knees up, clawed her stomach and the mat and arched her back. Then she crossed both arms over her abdomen and began to toss and turn back and forth on the ground, silently screaming. Little did she know, yet, the punch broke a fist-shaped hole in her latex.

Spoiler

Good God, but Spectre REALLY did not like getting hit in the stomach like that. But with the punch bringing some devastating damage to Spectre, the crowd exploded at the sight of Oscar fighting back! With the crowd's energy hyping Oscar up, the cut and bruised Barbarian would force himself to his feet and approach the downed heel- attempting to grab onto her and lift her high over his head for a gorilla press. Despite the size difference in the Teo fighters, Oscar's arms and legs trembled and his breathing was hard and labored. Oscar was exhausted and hurt- but forced himself to keep going for the sake of his fans as the crowd cheered at his feat of strength Despite everything Spectre had done to him. Oscar wasn't just going to leave Spectre up there, however, as after showing her off for a few seconds Oscar would SLAM Spectre down from the gorilla press- making her crash stomach-first over his knee if he was successful! To add onto that, Oscar tightly clutched Spectre's head and legs and pulled down to ensure his knee went as deep into her core as it could possibly go!

In just about two seconds, her strength felt like it halved. Her body fought against wanting to curl up into a protective ball. She wanted to keep holding her precious place. Both hands were clawing into it. Obsessively scratching it with her finger-pads. Scraping with the nails. They curled bunches of torn latex, filling the gaps in her digits as he neared over the sounds of loud--LOUD audience members. When she was grabbed, she came to her feet with a clambering step.

She was hoisted like a raised wooden board. Stiff. From her head to her legs, put together and across the hands raising her high. One hand was going to the grip closest to her face. The ring was much-much smaller. And she could sense something worse than a slam was going to happen. She shook her head violently to being shown off, starting to feel a growl underneath, as if to shout—

STOP IT.

—And down she went.

She tried to hold it. There was a moment of sinking inside before she felt it. But when it did, she let rip a dying scream.

“Gyyyyaaagghhh!” As the air rushed out. The latex hole grew. The knee drove so deep she felt the other side of her spine. She was bent over him like a U-shape. Her eyes went huge, then faded and began to flicker, trying to stay open amidst heavy eyelids. The world was white for a second. There was a sensory overload in her gut. She couldn’t word it. Her body heat must’ve doubled—everything felt sweaty and gross. Tingled. Burned. Fluttered. Knotted. She didn’t raise her hands or tuck her knees in afterward. She was crumpled, limp, panting and sweating. Droplets fell off her mangy hairline.

Drip… Drip… Drip… Drip…

With one swift motion, Oscar slammed Spectre HARD down onto his knee in what some might call one of the most brutal moves he had ever executed on an opponent in his career! Was such brutality necessary? Considering the cruelty and suffering Spectre had put the fan-favorite wrestler through along with the roar of the crowd, the answer is teetering toward a maybe. After curving the heel in a U-shape, Oscar would push Spectre off of his knee and flop forward to land on her body- not even having the energy to lower himself properly onto his opponent. All the Barbarian Prince had left in his tank was used to hook Spectre's leg as he tried to go for the pin- wanting to put an end to this gruling match as the ref slid in to start the count!

"ONE!!"
"TWO!!"

Oscar was like a weighted blanket.

A very… very… very robust weighted blanket for someone of her size. She found it difficult to breathe underneath him. And her body was hopelessly stuck when he pulled her leg up for a pin. Calf folded over his hand as his grip was able to fit the whole under-side of her lithe thigh muscle. It was pulled until she felt a small stretch in her hamstring and her knee was kissing ribs far off to the side. Her waist would lift if it weren’t being held flat.

The crowd counted along.

Spectre tried and tried with her eyes swimming inside her head, but commanding mentally. Her muscles just burned. Her hooked leg managed to twitch. She slid her elbows close to herself. Tried again. Mmmmmmmmmmphhhghhhhh!

F--Fff…

DAMMIT. FUCK.

One arm was stuck underneath her by him, but one was free. She squinted at it, commanded it with great effort to lift up off the ground. It rattled with exhaustion as Spectre’s blurry gaze peeped at Oscar. Her hand reached, then went to scratch him on one side of his face. Her hooked leg made a kick in tandem.

Then if that was enough. The pin would be broken.

“THR--! Two!” The referee’s hand was a hair from the ground. They held up their index and middle finger. “Two!”

As Spectre turned on her belly. Whimpering, she was crawling away. She kicked her legs at the ground, heaved her upper torso up and pushed on the ground with one arm. The other was across her stomach. Now a naked bruise, shining underneath the arena lights. The crowd booed.

Just when it looked like Oscar was going to put Spectre away for the night, the masked woman retaliated by scratching the side of his face- taking advantage of the cheap shot to escape the pin! Oscar howled in pain- perhaps with frustration too- as he rolled to his side and clutched his cheek as he looked devastated. Oscar put his heart and soul into those last few hits- but it didn't work... no- Spectre pulled a fast one on him. She was trying to crawl away but Oscar could barely move- only being able to roll onto his front and pant as he struggled to push himself up...