Thread: Blood, Sweat And Tears (Ragnarok and AlluringEnigma)

Nestled away somewhere, hidden under the finely tuned techniques, the lean physiques, and the unwavering confidence, there lays a small part of every fighter that fears defeat. Its fair to say that the existence of such a notion is built into the genetic code, an instinct that cant be shaken, just suppressed. Of course, just like most things, fear is a relative quantity, not a binary one. The greatest fighters, the ones who stay perfect, the ones who seem to have an endless well of confidence that never ceases to replenish itself, are the ones who can hide this instinct best. Every fighter is afraid, every man or woman fears getting dropped to the ground by an errant blow or contorted into a pretzel, but not every fighter lets those fears dictate their actions, and this is what separates the greatest from the good. A fighter can practice and spar all they like, but when it comes down to it, a sheer will to win, an unyielding desire to win, is what wins fights. At least, that was the mentality that drove Ava Duke. She had never been drawn to fight out of anger, desire or curiosity. No, Ava had been drawn by the prospect of winning in the most decisive of fashions. There was no thrill that compared to the excitement of battle. The pumping in her veins as she circled her opponent, the awareness of every little move of her opponent, the feeling of triumph as a blow landed square on the jaw, and best of all, the face of disbelief when Ava claimed her prize. This is what drove her that feeling of competition, the ultimate drug of adrenaline, a thrill that seemed to show no signs of growing old, an accomplishment she found utterly and wholly enthralling. Ava had arrived in the usual garments, her rather modest ride parked several blocks away from the warehouse that would hold the evenings festivities. None of that was evident at the moment, however. The only thing to signal what would ensue later on in the evening was the crude octagonal ring at the forefront of the empty room, the sides and floor padded just enough to take the edge out of a tumble. Ava looked around the desolate landscape, the eerie silence of the poorly lit environment affirming her suspicion. She was the first to arrive, hardly a shock seeing that she was more than three hours ahead of the first fight of the evening. This was, of course, by design. She first began to stretch. Ava had always been gifted with a sort of natural flexibility, which combined quite well with the speed of her blows. She had never been one to really inflict much pain. In truth, she was a much better wrestler than striker, able to use a torrent of limbs to cause her opponent to tap in so many nasty ways. Not only that, but she had quite the reputation as someone who toyed with their opponent. Ava would often find herself atop her opponent, holding submissions just to the point before they hurt while humiliating her opponents before finally tapping them out. Fingers would find themselves down the tight shorts of her feminine opponents, rubbing and toying with whatever they could as jeers and insults spouted from the sun-soaked brunette. This, of course, meant she had become a fan favorite in no time. She began to stretch out her toned legs, the muscles of her backside straining against the tight spandex of her uniform as she did so. The rules of this league were far more sophisticated than that of where she had first fought. The league enforced a sort of uniform, though in all truth it was simply looking to show off as much skin as it could during the matches, with the spandex shorts and skimpy sports bra attracting more than a few cheers when it was first enforced. That being said, the most heralded matches, in her experience, were when the uniforms were taken away, usually when a girl was beginning to win a fight handedly. In short, playing to the crowd was just as important as beating down on the opponent. Having finished her stretching, she walked into the makeshift octagon, the pads of her feet springing against the temporary padding below her. She bounced around on her feet, testing the spring of the surface, and throwing a few light strikes. It felt good. Her pulse began to stir, her breath began to quicken, and her eyes began to narrow as she almost felt herself absorbed by the feeling of combat. She was fighting a champion of this particular organization, though she had not bothered to look into her. The opponent did not matter to her. There was only acceptable outcome, and that was victory. She would enjoy, however, the downfall of a champion. They tended to be the most arrogant, the most self-assured, and the best feeling in the world, to Ava, was watching them slowly realize their fate. They could label the girl she would fight whatever they wanted, she would still moan like a whore around Avas deft fingers. She smirked, throwing an elbow, before faking a double leg, stretching out her arms, enjoying the moment for just a second. She remembered the first champion she had dethroned. One of the tough blondes that seemed to inhabit the state, a girl who was only confident when those around her werent . It had been elementary, the second her golden locks had splayed across the mat. Limbs flew, and soon Ava had easily secured an armbar with her opponent face down in the ground. From there, that was when things had gotten fun. When the shorts of the champion had left her body, when the deft fingers had begun to tease and toy with the desperate and aching hole of her opponent, her tough jeers reduced to desperate moans, her steely gaze nothing more than a plead for more as she squirmed around on the mat. Perhaps the best moment of that fight, for Ava, was finishing her off, pushing her to orgasm and forcing her to tap as she did so, her will to resist far gone at that point. As she began to walk back to her car, she grinned, remembering just how easy their rematch had been. Perhaps it was that natural fear inside of the girl finally welling up after such a crushing loss, or perhaps it was her desire to be humiliated further, but either way, the champion was once again nothing more than a drooling, horny mess by the end of the match. What excited Ava Duke the most about this league, however, was just how long the sessions of humiliation could go on. While in her previous fights, they had been nothing more than post-fight celebrations, they were now the stakes. It excited her, the idea of fighting for her own freedom, and that of anothers. Without a doubt, her first match would be interesting. The audience was deafening, at least compared to the silence of afternoon, with blaring music and stinging jeers blending together to create a cacophonous symphony, one that Ava reveled in. Even from her locker room, opposite her opponents, she could hear the festivities of the fight that was going on. It made her blood hot. It was as if she herself was in that ring already. Her mind could already envision the whole spectacle. While other fighters tended to pace around or prepare for their opponent, Ava was different entirely. If one was to look at her from afar, they would liken her to a scholar. She preferred to park herself on the end of one of the benches of the locker room, engrossing herself in the atmosphere and losing herself in the whole mentality of the game. Her head would constantly spin, not out of worry or preparation, but out of enthusiasm. The smell of blood and sweat in the air was intoxicating, and she was helpless to the grasp it had on her emotions. Every waking moment of her existence was a struggle to not lose herself entirely in one thing, and at this very moment, she was losing that struggle. Counters, parries, and takedowns dominated her mind. The possible plays of her opponent, like moves within a game of chess. She soon heard the unmistakable call from the organizer to head out, and she slowly rose to her feet, the calculations and simulations in her head vanishing as she steeled herself for the fight. Her pace was slow and deliberate, something she would hardly maintain in the fight, but she adhered to it for now. Her walk out would be one to remember, as she was quite intent on toying and throwing her opponent around. This would not be a short fight, but it would be a one-sided affair. And as she left the secluded locker room, the bright lights from above flooded her vision, the non-descript members of the audience whistling as she appeared in her tight uniform, her curves eliciting the reactions they usually did. It mattered not to her. Her wrestling would speak for itself, and they would soon be unable to look away from her struggling opponents squirming form. The announcer boomed out over the stereo system as she walked to the corner of the octagon, pacing patiently, awaiting her opponent to enter so she could see just who she was fighting and how they sized up. AND NOW, our main event! In the red corner, a newcomer out of Norther California, AVA The Sheriff DUKE! rang the booming voice, a cheer arising at her mention. She beamed at the attention, though the applause for her was soon cut short as music blared, marking the entrance of her opponent. AND IN THE BLUE CORNER! The reigning, the defending, the undefeated champion in this octagon! AIDA The Valkyrie HENDRICKS!! rang the voice, as in stepped her opponent, screaming and yelling at the top of her lungs, the cheering of the fans deafening at this point. It was clear to Ava that she was the underdog, but it did nothing to her cool exterior. She would soon prove the thundering majority wrong, she would topple this so called Valkyrie, cut off her wings and bring her back to the ground. She grinned at the thought, and stepped forward, the referee, pulling the two forward as he explained the rules. The man was hulking, a brutish man who would be able to separate the two in a heartbeat, and his voice reflected that in its slow drawl, a sort of relaxed comfort hiding the authority his voice commanded. Ladies, I want a fair fight and a clean fight. If I give you an order, follow it. When the bell rings, stop fighting or risk the consequences. If you want, you may touch gloves now he added, a form of respect that Ava whole-heartedly denied as she retreated back to her corner. Now was her moment. The whole crowd seemed to melt away as she stared across the makeshift arena at Aida. The world turned gray, her focus wholly undivided even now. She knew this would be a tough matchup if she was unfocused, and she was not ready to lose today. With the crowd drowned out, the world cut down to one person, and her mind calmed, she only awaited the ring of a bell. And as it came, ringing through the air like an arrow, breaking any sort of inhibition either fighter held, Ava felt at peace. This was her moment. She knew exactly what she could do, and she was prepared to show everyone just how good she was at it. The sun-soaked brunette took a stride forward, meeting her destiny with the champion, now inches away from her opponent, the colliding of two titans being greeted with a grin from Ava Duke, the girl who had no idea how to lose.