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Descriptions of violence
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"Okay, okay, okay, okay," whispered Alicia to herself as she stood behind the curtain, nervously shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "Play to the audience. Make them like you."
She didn't have to be pushed or violently nudged this time. On cue, the young wrestler burst through the curtain, waving to the gathering audience, reaching out to offer the crowd high fives and occasionally even getting one. Besides a few people in the front row guilted into applause by incidental eye contact, the crowd response somehow seemed even more muted than either of her previous matches. The competitor in the red wrestling singlet stepped up onto the ring apron in a single step, then vaulted high up and over the ropes and raised her hands high in the air. It wasn't a negative reaction; it was an unreaction. Hoping to salvage her brief proximity to the spotlight, Alicia hopped up on the second turnbuckle to try waving again because it might work this time. Just as the newcomer raised her arms, there was nothing.
Darkness. All the lights except those on emergency power cut out at once. A dire silence hung in the air for a moment before it was obliterated by a thunderous operatic chorus.
"O Fortuna"
Flame. A trap door at the top of the stage dropped open, and from it roared a spire of flame that pushed back the cloud of night with a terrible eruption of blinding orange and red.
"Velut luna"
The edges of the stage ignited and burned, their illumination casting a ghostly pall upon the silhouetted crowd. Rays of demonic crimson rose from the stygian pit now opened in front of the curtain. Next to the WarMachine video board, flames 10 feet high leapt in time with the apocalyptic chanting. From the roiling abyss below poured the mournful wails of the defeated and the ruined, borne from the nether upon a pillar of white smoke upon which the demonic light cast a bloody gleam.
Then she rose into sight: head bowed, features obscured behind a charred dragon skull. A billowing cowl of oily black feathers hung about her shoulders. Beneath, she adorned herself in what appeared to be a charred suit of red and black leather armor that covered her from hip to shoulder–which Zack during his renfaire phase would've called it a "cuirass"–a matching knight's skirt, set of wristbands, and wrestling boots. That impressive attire surrounded six-foot-one of the meanest-looking muscle Alicia had ever laid eyes on.
"Hac in hora"
Her hair had been braided into dreadlocks which she had decorated with macabre jewelry. In her right hand, she held a blackened iron lantern bearing a flame of pure ruby, which brought out the deep ochre of the muscular arm bearing it loosely at her side. None other than the Lordess of the Nine Hells herself stepped off the elevator platform and began her sullen descent to the ring. With each step, flames ignited and continued to burn on either side of the entrance ramp as the chorus bellowed ill portents to the imminent human sacrifice. "Hailing from Parts Unknown and weighing in at 190 pounds," belted the man standing center-ring with bulletproof hair and wearing an immaculate tuxedo. "She is the eater of light. She is the path to ruin. She is the devil's forgotten daughter. She is HELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLIIIIIIIIIOOOOOOOONNNNN!!!!!!!"
"Sine mora"
Alicia could see some kind of liquid was dribbling from the bottom of the lantern as Hellion approached the ring. At the end of the ramp, Death's Harbinger finally lifted her gaze. Their eyes met for the first time, and the demon stared through her prey with eyes the color of hellfire. Having finally completed her circuit around the ring, the former TV, Tag Team, and Queen's Cup Tournament Champion ascended the steel ring steps, finally taking her eyes off of her opponent's as Hellion's operatic theme rose to a cacophonous fortissimo. "Mecum omnes plangite!"
Hellion stood on the ring apron between the ringposts and threw the lantern to the floor below, igniting the liquid accelerant that had trailed behind her, tracing her path down the ramp and around the ring, bathing the arena in a nightmarish red before the liquid burnt out and the arena lights came back up. The towering woman pushed the top rope down and climbed overtop it and assumed her corner, shrugging off her cowl and removing the battle helmet and revealing the terrifying visage beneath. Alicia turned and finally got an unobstructed view of the multi-time champion menacing her from across the ring.
The ring announcer again raised the microphone to his lips, "And her opponent, already in the ring: Alicia Winston."
Alicia waved to the crowd and pantomimed a slapshot. A few pockets of fans burst out in applause. She smiled and intended to point at a few of her fellow hockey fans in the crowd, but instead spun around to snap at the sharply dressed man with the microphone. "Winthrop!" The ring announcer looked as though he was about to raise the microphone to correct himself, then shrugged and exited the ring while the rookie stood dumbstruck. It was an unwelcome additional annoyance piled on top of being murdered by a wrestler cast from perdition.
Ding!
Alicia began to circle, but stopped in her tracks when she realized that Hellion wasn't moving. She had seen this mind game before from the safety of her weight/living/sewing room. Alicia moved to lock up. She slowly lifted her hands for a collar-and-elbow. Nothing doing. The looming warrior raised both arms in the air, palms outstretched, inviting her opponent to lock up for a test of strength. Alicia had seen this before, also, and it was exactly what she hoped Hellion would do. The rookie closed the gap and raised her hands, appearing to accept her opponent's dare, before snapping her head forward as hard as she could directly at Hellion's nose.
The 10-year veteran of the promotion showed why she earned her many accolades by instinctively turning to the side before impact to minimize the damage. Following the surprise attack, the rookie's gameplan was one hard sprint to the finish line. Alicia shot the toe of her boot into her opponent's leather-clad midsection three times in quick succession but seemingly dealt no damage at all - and it wasn't due to the armor. The frantic newcomer grabbed the unholy wrestler's wrist with her left hand and fired a pair of quick forearm strikes into the immovable grappler's chest.
With teeth grit and a surge of muscle, Alicia grabbed Hellion in a wristlock tried to whip her opponent into the ropes. The wrestler from the abyss took two purposeful steps forward, planted her feet, and reversed the Irish whip, instead tugging Alicia into an uncontrolled run. Rather than let go and send her overmatched opponent into the cables, Hellion pulled her opponent back towards her and yanked Alicia directly into the path of her other arm with a crushing clothesline that floored the upstart. Still holding onto her victim's wrist, the veteran hauled her opponent back to her feet and whipped her straight into the nearby ropes. The world banged up and down as Alicia dashed towards the cables, barely turning in time to hit shoulder-first and rebound into the waiting arms of her aggressor. Hellion slipped one arm over her taller opponent's shoulder and the other between her legs to scoop up her prey and use the rookie's own momentum to send her up and over and onto her back with the former champ crashing down on top of her victim's chest with a Powerslam.
Rather than go for a pin, Hellion stood up while grabbing one of Alicia's braids to yank the challenger up behind her. As Alicia rose to her feet, she saw the window, and it was closing. She didn't want to take her shot this early in the match, but another couple of hits like that and she wouldn't have it left in her to take a shot at all. The former hockey player squared up, planted her feet, and threw her signature right hook: the Gut Check. Rather than the thud of fist against an unprepared opponent, the hockey brawler felt a vice grip snap shut around her wrist. Alicia's eyes locked with Hellion's. The decorated veteran shook her head slowly while shooting her other hand towards her inexperienced opponent's neck and clamping down. Alicia's eyes went wide as she wrenched at the unbreakable grip around her throat. The referee intervened to start the count, "Hellion, release the choke! One!"
In one fluid motion, the leather-clad wrestler released the newcomer's wrist and lifted her by the neck as high as she could before sending the upstart for a ride down to her back with a vicious Chokeslam. The rookie lay on the mat a tangle of limbs, gasping for air. The ride wasn't over. Her adversary hadn't let go of the choke.
"Two!"
Back up and back down. In one violent surge, the demon wrestler yanked Alicia up off the mat, reaching behind her with the other hand to help pull her helpless prey up off the mat, lift her high into the air, and drop Alicia back to the canvas for a second Chokeslam. The bruised wrestler lay in utter shock from the salvo, but Hellion wasn't done.
"Three! Four!"
One more trip up off the mat and into the air. Lower, this time, but no less devastating an impact as the novice's nearly limp body struck the canvas at speed. The arena wouldn't stop spinning, and the lighting array up above had blurred into a single Omnilight. The delirious wrestler lay shattered in the center of the ring as Hellion finally released the choke--the match was over in every sense but the record books. The unstoppable warrior applied a one-handed pin to show off the extent of the devastation she had caused.
The referee delivered her final count, bringing proceedings to a barely merciful end, "One! Two! Three!"
Ding ding ding.
The thoroughly battered newcomer lay on the canvas coughing meekly as her lungs tried to decide whether or not they wanted any air. Down came the lights again. From the ringposts spewed gouts of crimson flame as the Lordess of the Nine Hells rose from her slaughter. The defeated wrestler watched from her back as Hellion collected her hunting attire, slung her cowl over her left shoulder, and carried the blackened dragon mask at her side as she returned up the ramp. Stepping onto the elevator, the conquering wrestler spread her arms wide in triumph, fists raised, as columns of pure red flame burst from the ringposts, stage, and rampway as she descended whence she came in infernal glory.
The ponytailed referee helped the shellshocked survivor to her feet and down the ring steps. Alicia could find her way out from there; she had grown accustomed to the walk through the loser's exit. It would've been nice if it hadn't been the same security guard watching the door all three nights. "Can you help me with the door?" the wrestler croaked. With a nod, the tall security guard with a pair of shades at the ready leaned back into the door to push it open and allow her through.
As soon as the door shut, the powerhouse collapsed against the painted beige cinder block walls of the backstage corridor, gasping to get her wind back and make the room stay still. More so than the sheer violence Hellion subjected her to, Alicia reeled at having her most devastating weapon neutralized. She didn't have another gameplan. Several minutes passed as the winless wrestler stared unblinking at the floor. She weighed her options. She had no technique and the roster had grown wise to her secret weapon. Only two matches left to figure it out. With a sigh, the sore powerhouse pushed off of the wall and headed towards the locker room.
The weary wrestler rounded the corner past the production area and started down the hallway to the two locker rooms, and noticed what looked like trash scattered on the floor between them. There was quite a lot of it. The garbage cans weren't knocked over. Not trash–it was clothes and a gym bag. Is somebody mad about something? wondered Alicia. I have a gym bag like that. Those are my shoes. She saw something small and silver on the floor against the opposite wall--a combination lock missing its shackle. Her heart fell. My lock. Rage boiled away the tears as the furious wrestler nearly grit her teeth into powder. Alicia turned and threw the door open to her locker room. Pulse racing, trembling with anger and adrenaline. Her molten gaze found its target, and she stormed across the locker room past a largely silent crowd of gathering spectators. The other members of the roster made way for the towering wrestler to stomp up to where The Reinforcements sat at a bench with a pair of bolt cutters on the floor beside them. There was Jill McKill in the middle, along with the other two who had chosen to make themselves collateral damage by association.
The three women noticed the sudden hush and turned to face their fast-approaching attacker. Jill McKill and Jaime, the closer of the Commander's two lackeys, were both to their feet by the time Alicia arrived, but there was no time for anything else. A hard left hook to Jaime's teeth sent her toppling over the bench. The goon reached down with both hands and grabbed Jill by the back of her camo T-shirt, wrenched the back of the shirt hard up and over Jill's head, and shoved her aside. In one unbroken motion, the former enforcer reached for the still-seated Bridget, snatching her legs and dumping the slender woman backwards over the bench as well. "What the heck is wrong with you, you psychopath?!" shouted Alicia with a malice in her voice she didn't know she possessed. "What did I ever do to you?!"
With a spray of blonde hair, the Commander tugged her shirt back into place and spun around to face her attacker just in time to get folded in half by the larger woman throwing her entire body shoulder-first into her midsection with a vicious Spear. The penalty minute record-holder mounted the downed woman and churned rights and lefts down onto McKill as the veteran-veteran covered her neck and face as best she could with both arms. A pair of hands wrapped themselves around Alicia's waist, then around both arms, and then a rush of bodies converged to fill the space between the newcomer and her rival. When the goon's on the ice, the other team has to respect you.
The towering wrestler launched herself at her harasser for another go, but she had been thoroughly restrained. They hadn't stopped her from shouting, though. "Come on! Next week, you and me! You and me!"
The Two Woman Army, along with several other members of the roster, latched onto Jill McKill to hold her back. "You don't want any of this, sweetie," retorted the squad leader. "Trust me."
"Like fun I don't," bellowed Alicia. "Name the stipulation. Any type of match you want."
Upon hearing that concession, Jill McKill and her Two Woman Army looked at each other and smiled. As Alicia's side of the locker room pulled her out the door and into the hallway to collect her things, McKill called out to her challenger, "Ohhhh. Oh ho ho ho ho. Okay. Yeah, you know what? I changed my mind. I think I will take you up on that offer. See you next week."
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