L.A.W. - League of Anime Wrestling

This was Turning Point. The next supercard event in LAW's schedule. A match of this magnitude demanded a special entrance worthy of the grand stage - and Luke Cranston was all about the showmanship and the spectacle. As a former bodybuilder, showing off was in his blood, and he wanted to impress the masses wherever he went. He was going to make sure his entrance tonight would be one to remember - and for a supercard, he was prepared to go above and beyond!

"Coming first to the ring, from Staunton, Virginia! Standing at 6'5, weighing in at 230 pounds, the American Hercules, LUKE CRANSTON!!"

It was time for Luke to make his arrival - and while he usually turned heads with his sheer size, this entrance would take things a step further. As soon as the announcer called Luke's name, the stage was bathed in a golden light, and triumphant music blared from the speakers. Then the curtains parted - and Luke took a few steps onto the stage. For this show, he had decided to make his entrance dressed the part of his namesake - the cape he usually wore for his entrance had been replaced by a lion skin, complete with the beast's snarling head posed as a hood, while he carried a heavy club in his hands. The fans could only look on in awe. Backed by a golden glow, Luke may as well have seemed like a demigod in the flesh! As usual, Flora Biscoletti, Luke's wife and valet, was following close at his side, waving to the fans as she passed. As he made his way to the ramp, he spread his arms wide, taking in all the cheers and applause sounding around him. He had truly received a hero's welcome.

But if Luke was being heralded as a hero, it wasn't just for his entrance. Just a few weeks before, Luke had announced a challenge to one of LAW's most notorious names - the woman known only as Spectre. The mysterious redhead had established herself as a dominant presence, tearing through the competition in several matches to date, and no one seemed to be able to stand up to her. Her name was one that struck fear into everyone's hearts. It seemed unthinkable that anyone would voluntarily step into the ring with her - but Luke had no qualms. He was going to try! He had volunteered to be the one to take Spectre down, and he had chosen this event to do it. Only time would tell if he could succeed - but from the looks of it, he had no doubts in himself!

Coming to the ring apron, Luke leaned in to throw his arm around Flora, pulling her against his chest and kissing her on the lips - and then, hoisting her off the ground and into his arms with his raw power alone! He set her on the apron, where she held down the ropes for him to step inside. There, Luke passed her his club and lion skin before taking a moment to stretch, stepping toward the center of the ring. It was time for him to face the challenge head-on!

Luke Cranston

Flora Biscoletti

Once Luke was at the centre of the ring, the script was abducted by immediate darkness. Lights cut out all at once. A rising tide of white noise buzzed in the absence of commentator-ship and the whistles of crowd noise poisoned the space in every way Spectre could imagine. The ranks became a skyline of flashing lenses.

“Luke.” Spectre said, her voice coming from every angle and direction with flame suddenly rising from the ring posts at her syllable. A purple spotlight flicked to life over the Titantron, giving it a cone of clear view, showing the back of a robust metallic command chair, silver, black and widening in a tall V. The thin purple mist floating around the seat whirled. She turned around, though, more like swung her leg that couldn’t reach and let physics give her a 180. Dot was curled on her lap like a cat, knees brought in, facing the camera with a ‘Zzz…’ graphic animated across her screen.

The Malevolent Virus

Spectre was in full-gear nonetheless, masked and brimming with a collected smirk as she watched her reflection in Dot’s visor. “You’re just in time.” She said, giving Dot’s helmet a soft stroke. “I have a surprise for you, Punchmeat.”

Luke had meticulously crafted this entrance to build himself up. He was, of course, a former bodybuilder, and he was far from the most modest of people - if this was his chance to show off to the world on the grand stage, he wasn't going to pass that up. But there was more to it than mere egotism. He had to present himself as the man who could beat the Spectre - he had to look as confident as he felt.

Luke knew he was up against a tall order in issuing his challenge to one of the most feared women on the LAW roster. Every time she took to the ring, Spectre seemed to commandeer the very promotion itself as a means toward furthering her agenda, whatever that was. She struck from the shadows, unleashing every depravity she could think of, and then slipped away before justice could be served. Not even the law could stop her, no matter how many lines she crossed - she had every resource at her disposal to evade punishment for her deeds. It seemed like it would take the act of a demigod to stop her. But if that was the case, Luke was going to be the demigod who would take down the Spectre once and for all.

Even still, though, Spectre was one step ahead of the game. When the lights cut and the noise blared, even Luke, prepared as he was, took a step back, gritting his teeth. Then, Spectre's image came up on the screen. She had put just as much effort into her own entrance, and it was one that set her up as just as powerful. She was poised as something more like a supervillain than a wrestler now - in the minds of everyone watching, she just as might as well have been one. But it all spoke to how brazen she truly was. Spectre could do as she willed, and LAW could do nothing to stop her. There was no doubt about it - she was in control now. Not Luke, not LAW, and not anyone else.

At the sight of such a threatening presence, Flora hung back. Her face went pale, and she held a hand to her mouth as her whole body shook and trembled. Even still, the bodybuilder wasn't about to let himself be intimidated. His fist balled tight at his side as he stepped closer, puffing out his chest and fixing a glare at Spectre. The bigger she was building herself up to be, he thought, the more spectacular her fall would prove.

"Surprises? Bring them on, I say. In case you haven't noticed, I didn't exactly come all this way to disappoint anyone. Whatever you've got to throw at me, I'm game!"

“Good, because I wasn’t offering a choice.”

With her free hand, she opened the panel on her arm-rest and pressed a button, administering shocks to her temporary collared slaves of the evening that pushed out a large tarped spinny wheel onto stage, their faces twisted up, knees shaking and looking out breath. “You're making me wait.” Another button press. Another yelp into their mouth piece so everyone could hear the price of not appeasing. Frankly, it was about five percent that and another ninety-five in just reveling in pressing such a shiny button. The noise, the click, then the sound it produces. Pure coke to her ears, her loins and her fluttering exposed tummy.

The stagehands recovered, pulling the cloak and revealing a game-show wheel with triangle sections, prongs and a flapper at the top to declare the selection, flipping between anything from standard, to hardcore, multifall, sexfights, toils in mud, in a parking lot, FCA, submission and right towards a section labelled ‘Last One Standing.’ The wheel slowed, passing by a sliver that was black and held a chrome skull as its label.

When the wheel just looked like it was about to land on LWS, it reversed direction. Slowly, ever slowly, ticking back the selections until it landed perfect in Spectre’s own slot. The handlers peeled off the section, read the back and tried to muster the strength to talk into the microphone with a burning throat, “T-T--T-...” They choked up, summoning another shock to bring them down to their knees, with the other two hands grabbing them by the arms to drag them backstage. “Tonight!” Spectre picked up, “Is my involuntary gift. Thanks to my partner here, I got to every one of the stagehands, making this show mine from the start. Unfortunately for me, however, I’m a little preoccupied with my cat.”

Spectre’s smile creeped with laughter about to break out. She felt it in her toes, her hands, her spine, shaking one of her arms and making her smile twitch. After pressing another button on her panel, she spoke. “Keep on eye on your wife, Luke. You never know when she might.. vanish.” With entrance music beginning to hit the speaker. Spectre’s video feed began to fade towards nothing. A maniacal laughter fed through the speakers.

"Try and last!"

Overlaying the ominous challenge that now awaited him:

.

Luke had done his best to stand in defiance against Spectre - to prove that no matter how threatening and imposing she wanted to set herself up as, it wouldn't shake his confidence that he could be the one to take her down. Even still, when the stagehands carted the wheel of stipulations into the ring, even he had to step back with a wince. Spectre had truly spared no expense when it came to making a statement - both in terms of how elaborate her theatrics could be, and in the cruelty and depravity she was capable of. Spectre's malice was nothing new to LAW viewers, of course, but she always seemed to outdo herself when it came to just how far she was willing to go to express it.

Still, the wheel had to spin. And when it seemed to slow down as it came toward Last One Standing, Luke raised an eyebrow with close intent. This would actually work to his favor - considering how readily he eclipsed Spectre in strength and size, he would surely be able to knock her out with little effort, and he had the endurance to last against her best attempts to do the same. A smug smile came to his face. If that was where the pointer would land, then Spectre would have spent all this effort only for it all to blow up in her face! She'd handed him an easy victory!

But Luke realized just a moment later that he should've known things wouldn't be that easy. Just when it seemed like Luke would get what he was after, the wheel suddenly ticked backward - and at that, Luke let out a gasp! Spectre would always be in control, no matter how things looked from the outside. And she would make that readily apparent now.

The stagehands began to read from the slot, and Luke took a step closer to them. "What is it? What does it say?" He needed answers, after all - he needed to know what sort of fight he was going into! But before he could get what he was after, another shock sounded, and the stagehands fell. Luke hissed through his teeth as he stepped back. Spectre, he knew, was in control here. Furthermore, from what Spectre was saying, it would appear things were more complicated than they appeared...

"Partner? What are you on about!? Just give me a straight answer already!" the former bodybuilder shouted at the screen. Even Flora was confused - though her eyes went wide as Spectre made a warning. "Er...Luke, what's going on?! What's she talking about?"

Luke spun around to face his wife, his muscles going tense and his eyelid twitching anxiously. Whatever Spectre was planning, it couldn't be good. "I don't know, Flora. I don't know...but I can't let anyone get to you-!" This meant, of course, that he was focused on Flora - and his back was turned away from whatever Spectre had up her sleeve.

The black section from the wheel was a black triangle with a Chrome Skull logo. When it fell after the shock, it twirled, flipped around and spun calmly onto the stage, completely blank beyond the insignia. Now with the song overhead, the electrified stagehands saw a fair figure strode onto stage with tall black boots over her knees. They looked up, past the fishnets clad on her legs, the hip they saw bare and waist held tight and lithe by a black high-cut leotard. When they finally reached her masked eyes, they saw Vorona had no interest.

“H-H--Hey!” One said, crawling over and touching their shock collar, “Help us take these off. She’s--”

Vorona’s boot swung and uppercutted them, sending their head whipping back and collapsing in a daze on their back. “Neither of you are my issue. Don’t talk to me.” Her disgust was genuine, with Vorona wiping the toes of her boot across their cheek to clean it, stepping over them and proceeding across the ramp.

The appearance was one of short notice. It started with a meeting at an exhibit. She was in the middle of a throng when, almost naturally, a helmet-wearing cat-figure tapped her shoulder from behind and went into a whimsical parade of quick speech, gesture and special formality that sounded outrageous, entertaining but with undertones of seriousness. For lack of a better word, Dot had aesthetic and confidence not dissimilar from a stage performer. The zeal, enthusiasm and effort to convince was like enjoying a slice of cabaret. Strangely, when it got down to blunt detail, she was asked to create an upset. In the helmet-cat’s words: ‘Punt the cunt in the dick, seal the deal and join the afterparty!’

Too crude, thought Vorona then and thought Vorona now as she spread her arms for all to see, presenting herself with a head-tipped up, giving one full rotation as she left the ramp and entered ringside. Boo’s fell on her, with scowls, thumbs down and ill-wishes just as common as eyes wide with awe and cheeks warmed with fluster when spying her tight figure.

She went up the steps, walked the apron, then weaved into the ring by stepping between the middle and top ropes. Over to the referee, Vorona grabbed her by the shoulder, pulled her down to Vorona’s height and whispered, “It’s a gauntlet. Normal rules, if you catch my meaning.” The referee nervously nodded, then didn’t bother asking further. Then with a deep breath, the referee took command. “A-Alright. Ahem. To your corners!” They said, clearly rolling with the punches and trying to infuse order.

Vorona looked at Luke, who was even bigger and taller than she originally imagined. She spied his arms, thick, his herculean figure that was impossible to spot a slab of fat on any section of this seemingly Greek god physique. And beside him, a little one. “Spectre sends her regards, and makes no apology for missing out.” Then she made a sly smirk on one corner. “More for me.”

From the moment the wheel came to a stop, Luke was tense. He stood on alert, leaning in closer to try and get a better look at what had come up - yet not so close as to inadvertently draw the Spectre's ire. Everything would come down to this. Anything could happen next, and the result of the spin could make or break his chances in this match. Luke had assured himself, and the world, that he wasn't going to let anything break his spirits; that he would stand up to Spectre and prove that her reign of terror was backed by nothing but smoke and mirrors. But even still, he couldn't deny that his palms were sweating as his nails dug into them. The tension was killing him.

And at last, when he saw what had come up on the wheel, it was...nothing. Nothing that would give him any answers. His mouth dropped open in a gasp. The emblem on the slip of paper told him only one thing - Spectre was behind this. She'd rigged this match to come up on the result she had chosen - no doubt a result that would prove favorable to her cause! Luke didn't have long to ponder what had come up, though - just then, his attention was turned to the gasps of awe and bewilderment alike as Vorona made her way down the ramp. Vorona, who was decidedly not the opponent he was arranged to face tonight.

"What's going on? Whose idea was this?" Luke snapped - though he knew just as well as anyone else whose idea it was. It was only later that Vorona would answer him - the wheel had chosen that this would be a gauntlet match, and Luke would have to face any number of foes before he could get to Spectre herself! How many, or who would be among them, he wouldn't know - only that Spectre had wanted this. And that meant he had an even steeper mountain to climb ahead of him. The former bodybuilder's jaw hung open in a gasp as he stared blankly through his opponent. Was she even allowed to do this?

Nevertheless, Luke's eyes narrowed into a glare, and he brought up his hands to crack his knuckles as he stared Vorona down. If that was the case, then so be it - it would only prove his point all the more when he triumphed against all odds anyway! "Hmph, that's how you want to play, huh? Well...I don't care. Doesn't matter if it's one of you, or a whole arena of you - I'm still taking you down!"

*DING DING DING*

Indeed, Luke was going to make good on that promise! From the moment the bell rang, he came charging closer to close the distance on Vorona, and as he did so, he pulled back his arm, the muscles along his limb pulling taut before he released that tension a second later to let it fly for Vorona's gut with a discus punch! He wasn't going to waste any time in throwing himself into the thick of the fray!

When Spectre heard him, she almost had a laugh. His reaction was priceless. Surprise took him at first, then that small man anger, coated in stoicism, pride and the resolution to fight a losing situation. “Ooooh synthol-for-brains. You’re going to tire out those inflated muscles by blowing too much hot air.” Her voice carried through the speakers of the stadium, then she laughed hearing him declare his resistance, “Don't believe all that hero crap. He's a man slave. From the doormat division, used and abused by me and you, Vorona. All of them: slaves. Every single one.”

Vorona processed it, but didn't offer response. It was noise to an artist's ear. Vile purple paint. An emotion that was powerful on a canvas no doubt, but what she wanted to capture from him--was the desperation of something truly devastating. After all, optics were optics. And what better than a woman like herself, slaying a beast they all believed in, painting him to her tastes and capturing those suffering eyes that deny what happened to him, that he could never reach the prize. Juicy, juicy, juicy ideas. Her inspiration was doubling every second.

*DING DING DING*

Then when hearing the bell, Vorona was in a similar smug boat. An arm went underneath her generous bust, holding the elbow of the second arm, which went up and cupped her soft cheek gingerly as she walked from her corner to take in the opening seconds before he’d lumber at her, a slowly approaching wall one can easily sidestep, counter, then finish if she can choke him from behind. The main question on her mind was: with her arms? Or with her legs?

“Looks like this little one is about to roid rage. You do know, that even with that size, you are very much--”

Luke accelerated in what looked to be zero to sixty in a third of a second. Sprinting. Her eyes went big inside the mask. Her lips tight together, chin pulled in--wait, wait, wait!!!! “hELLPlesSS!!!”

Oh god oh-god oh-god. She couldn’t describe the force. It felt like she was rammed through her soft unprotected and unprepared belly, making echo like ‘THWACK’ from the wind and ‘BOOM’ as his fist sunk into her in a way that made her spine feel like jelly, keeling over. It tore a solid hole inside her latex, tearing it and peeling off her cratered skin that now resembled his fists. Her legs buckled wildly. Her lower lip trembled. Her eyes stayed bulging. She whined twice, then collapsed onto all fours, mouth agape, coughing wildly and clutching herself so desperately that she put her face into the mat, hips up. It took everything not to start kicking the mat to express just how empty and agonized she became in the seconds after. The kind of strike that didn’t settle.

Winter, please look away-- “H-hhhow ccc-can you… mmmmuster anything??” She said, strained, then coughed.

Spectre, in the meanwhile, snapped her fingers three times to summon a custom robot that mainly served to wheel over something in its hands. A stubby body of metal cubes, rectangles and smooth edges with a cute display for a face, happy to hold Dot’s popcorn pale. Spectre grabbed one, then threw it at her screen.

The contrast between Luke and his opponent almost seemed comical. He towered above Vorona, and was easily more than twice her weight. This seemed so lopsided it couldn't even be called a match. But from the sort of smack Vorona was talking, it seemed she was fully convinced that her victory was guaranteed. Facing down an opponent of Luke's size and strength barely even phased her - in her mind, it seemed, this was a match that was over as soon as it began.

But Vorona's smug attitude would soon be violently and abruptly cut short, the moment Luke's fist plowed into her gut. That single blow was all he needed to send her sprawling to the mat below, tossing her like a ragdoll! A few fans in the crowd gasped at the sight of the raw power Luke was capable of unleashing. One thing was for sure, though - Vorona had received a firm rebuttal to her taunts. That fist had said more than a thousand words ever could.

"That change your mind at all?" Luke chuckled to himself, cracking his knuckles with a smirk as he looked down on Vorona's crumpled form. "As a matter of fact, I'm only getting started..." And he was about to demonstrate as much. He had no mercy to spare Vorona, even if she laid limp and helpless beneath him. He scooped her right off the mat, turning her over in midair, where he held her with her head pointed straight down to the mat and her legs pointing skyward. Then he fell back, going to spike Vorona's back into the mat with a vertical suplex!