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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 wearing the red wrestling singlet her estranged mentor gifted her. She nervously shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Play to the audience. Make them like you.”
She didn't have to be gently 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 her previous matches.
Alicia climbed up onto the ring apron from the floor in a single step, then vaulted 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 and was obliterated by a thunderous operatic chorus.
"O Fortuna"
Fire. 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 in a blinding eruption of orange and red.
"Velut luna"
From the roiling abyss below poured the mournful wails of the defeated and the ruined. The edges of the stage ignited and burned, silhouetting the crowd in a flickering, ghostly pall. On either side of the WarMachine video board, flames 10 feet high leapt in time with the apocalyptic chanting while a pillar of white smoke rose from the stygian pit upon which rays of demonic crimson cast a bloody gleam.
Then she rose into sight, head bowed, her features obscured beneath a dragon skull helmet. A billowing cowl of oily black feathers hung about her shoulders. She adorned herself in a charred suit of red and black leather armor that covered her from hip to shoulder–something Zack would've called a "cuirass" during his renfaire phase–a matching knight's skirt, wristbands, and boots. That attire surrounded six-foot-one of the meanest-looking muscle Alicia had ever laid eyes on.
"Hac in hora"
Her midnight-black hair had been braided into dreadlocks 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 burned on either side of the entrance ramp as the chorus bellowed ill portents to the imminent human sacrifice.
The man with bulletproof hair and an immaculate tuxedo bellowed her introduction, "Hailing from Parts Unknown and weighing 190 pounds. She is the eater of light. She is the Devil's Forgotten Daughter. She is HELLLLLLLLLIIIIIIIIIOOOOOOONNNNN!!"
"Sine mora"
Some kind of liquid dribbled from the bottom of the blackened lantern as Hellion approached the ring. At the end of the ramp, Death's Harbinger finally lifted her gaze to meet Alicia's for the first time. The demon stared through her prey with eyes the color of hellfire as she slowly circled the ring. The former TV, Tag Team, and Queen's Cup Tournament Champion ascended the steel ring steps, only taking her eyes off of her opponent as her theme crescendoed to a cacophonous fortissimo.
"Mecum omnes plangite!"
Hellion stood on the apron between the ringposts and hurled the lantern to the floor below, igniting the liquid accelerant that trailed behind her, tracing her path in fire and momentarily bathing the arena in a nightmarish red. The flames extinguished themselves, and the arena lights came back up. The towering Hellion pushed the top rope down and climbed over, entering the ring and taking her corner. Her muscular shoulders rippled as she shrugged off her cowl and slowly removed her scorched battle helmet, revealing the baleful visage underneath. Alicia shuddered at the unobstructed view of the multi-time champion menacing her from across the ring.
Guy Brody again raised the microphone to his lips, "And her opponent, already in the ring: Alicia Winston."
The former hockey star waved and pantomimed a slapshot, drawing scattered applause from the crowd. She smiled and intended to wave at her fellow hockey fans when she suddenly froze. Alicia spun around and snapped at the sharply dressed man with the microphone, "It's Winthrop!"
The ring announcer looked as though he was about to raise the microphone to correct himself, then shrugged and exited the ring. Alicia stood dumbstruck. It was an unwelcome additional annoyance on top of imminently being murdered by a wrestler cast from perdition.
Ding!
Alicia exited her corner, circling towards her opponent, but stopped in her tracks when she realized Hellion wasn't moving. She had seen this mind game before, albeit through a TV screen from the safety of her weight/living/sewing room. She moved to lock up, slowly extending her arms for a collar-and-elbow. Nothing doing. The looming warrior raised both arms in the air, palms outstretched, instead challenging Alicia to a test of strength. She had seen this before, also. It was exactly what she hoped Hellion would do.
Alicia stepped forward and raised her hands, appearing to accept her opponent's dare, but as the rookie drew within reach, she lunged forward, trying to drive her forehead directly into the bridge of Hellion's nose.
The 10-year veteran showed why she earned her accolades, turning her head to the side on instinct just before impact to minimize the damage. The feint hadn't worked, but Alicia continued the pressure, committing to a flat-out, dead sprint to the finish line. Alicia shot the toe of her boot into Hellion'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 clasped Hellion's wrist tight in her left hand and fired a pair of quick forearm strikes into the immovable grappler's chest.
With a surge of muscle, Alicia grabbed Hellion in a wristlock and tried to whip her into the ropes. The wrestler from the abyss took two purposeful steps forward, planted her feet, and reversed the Irish Whip. Rather than let go and send Alicia hurtling into the ropes, Hellion instead pulled her into a crushing Short-arm Clothesline that sent the upstart to the canvas.
Still holding onto Alicia's wrist, Hellion hauled her victim back to her feet and sent her charging into the nearby ropes with an Irish Whip of her own. The rookie barely managed to turn her body in time to hit the cables shoulder-first, only to rebound into the waiting arms of the Devil's Forgotten Daughter. Alicia cried out in panic as Hellion scooped her up and sent the rookie crashing to the mat, driving her full weight down onto Alicia with a Powerslam.
Rather than go for a pin, Hellion stood up, grabbed one of Alicia's braids, and tugged the challenger to her feet. Alicia saw her window, and it was closing. She didn't want to take her best shot this early in the match, but a couple more landings like that and she wouldn't have enough left to take a shot at all. Alicia squared up, planted her feet, and threw her signature right hook: the Gut Check.
Rather than the thud of her fist against Hellion’s midsection, Alicia heard her own gasp as a vice grip snapped shut around her wrist. Her eyes locked with Hellion's. The decorated veteran shook her head slowly and clamped her other hand around Alicia's throat. The challenger's eyes went wide as she pried at the meaty paw around her neck while the referee started to count.
"Hellion, that's a choke! Let her go! One!"
The leather-clad wrestler released the newcomer's
wrist, lifted her by the neck, and sent her for a ride to the canvas with a vicious
Chokeslam. Alicia lay on the mat in utter ruin, gasping for
air in vain. Hellion hadn't released the choke. The ride wasn't over.
"Two!"
Back up and back down. With another violent surge, the demon wrestler yanked Alicia up again, lifting her high into the air before hurling her to the mat with a second Chokeslam. The wounded wrestler smashed into the canvas again, reduced to a tangle of limbs and pain, but Hellion wasn't done.
"Three! Four!"
Death's Harbinger hauled her practically motionless victim up once more by the throat and back down to the canvas at speed. The arena spun of its own accord, and the lighting array above had blurred into a single Omnilight. Alicia lay shattered in the middle 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 wrought.
The referee dropped to the mat to administer the count and bring proceedings to a barely merciful end. "One! Two! Three!"
Ding ding ding!
Alicia lay on the canvas coughing meekly as her lungs tried to decide whether or not they wanted any air. Down came the lights again. Gouts of crimson flame spewed from the ringposts as the Lordess of the Nine Hells rose from her slaughter. The defeated wrestler watched from her back as Hellion slung her cowl over her left shoulder and carried the blackened dragon mask at her side as she returned up the ramp. The conquering wrestler spread her arms wide in triumph, fists raised, as columns of pure red fire burst from the stage and rampway as Hellion descended whence she came in infernal glory.
The ponytailed referee helped the 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.
"Sorry, can you help me with the door?" Alicia croaked.
With a nod, the heavy-set man with the sewn-on badge leaned back against the door, pushing it open to let her through. The moment it shut, Alicia collapsed against the beige cinder block walls of the backstage corridor, gasping to get her wind back and make the room stand still.
More so than the sheer violence Hellion subjected her to, Alicia reeled at having her most devastating weapon neutralized. Minutes passed as the winless wrestler stared unblinking at the floor. The roster had grown wise to her secret weapon. Only two matches left to figure it out. With a sigh, Alicia stood up as straight as she could and headed for the locker room.
She rounded the corner past the production area and noticed what looked like trash scattered in the corridor between the two locker rooms. There was quite a lot of it, but 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. Something small and silver on the floor by the opposite wall caught her eye: a combination lock missing its shackle. Her heart fell. My lock. Rage boiled away the tears as she turned and threw open the door to her locker room, pulse racing, trembling with anger and adrenaline. Her molten gaze found its target.
Alicia nearly grit her teeth into powder as she stormed past a silent crowd of gathering spectators. The Reinforcements sat at a bench with a pair of bolt cutters on the floor next to them. There was Jill McKill in the middle, along with the other two who had volunteered for the role of collateral damage by association.
The three women noticed the sudden hush and turned to face their fast-approaching attacker. Jill McKill and Jaime got to their feet, but there was no time for anything else as a hard left hook to Jaime's teeth sent her toppling over the bench. The former hockey player reached down with both hands and grabbed Jill by the back of her camo T-shirt. She wrenched up on the shirt-back, and pulled it over Jill's head before shoving her aside. In one unbroken motion, Alicia reached for the still-seated Bridget, snatching her legs and dumping her backwards over the bench and onto her head.
"What the heck is wrong with you, you psycho?!" screamed 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, Jill tugged her shirt back into place and spun around just in time to get folded in half as Alicia dove shoulder-first into the Commander’s midsection. Both women went to the floor, and the former queen of the penalty box mounted her tormentor, churning rights and lefts down onto McKill. A pair of hands wrapped around Alicia's waist while another pair grabbed her arms, and then a rush of bodies converged to fill the space between the rookie and her adversary. When the goon's on the ice, the other team has to respect you.
It wasn't enough. Alicia launched herself at McKill for another go, but she had been thoroughly restrained. They couldn't stop her from shouting, though. "You and me, next week! 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," Jill retorted. "Trust me."
"Like fun I don't!" bellowed Alicia. "Name the stipulation! Any kind of match you want!"
Upon hearing the concession, Jill and her Two-Woman Army exchanged glances and smiled. As Alicia's side of the locker room pulled her out the door and into the hallway to collect her things, McKill indulged the challenger. "Ohhhh! Oh ho ho ho ho. Okay. 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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