Post by hawkeye on Dec 7, 2017 0:11:19 GMT
The Witching Hour was close at hand when the Announcer stepped forth for the last time. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is now time for our Main Event! The following contest is a Ladder Match and it is for the FAWN World Championship! Introducing first, representing the Church of Eternal Midnight, hailing from Raven’s Fair, Virginia, she stands at five feet four inches tall and weighs in at one hundred and nineteen pounds, she is the Straight-Edge Siren, the Prophet of Pain, the Beacon of Dark in this sad, lonely light… MIRANDA WAINRIGHT!”
EAST JESUS NOWHERE: www.youtube.com/watch?v=vtHnPUDRMdA
Darkness fell upon the Madhouse even as the voices of the inmates made their displeasure known. From the gloom an angry, judgmental voice promised, ‘And we will see how godless a nation we have become.’ From that bitter fruit blossomed Green Day’s ‘East Jesus Nowhere’, a simple riff that was repeated four times. Following every cycle a spotlight lit up to reveal a scarecrow-ish effigy mounted to a tall wooden stave that had grown up seemingly in an instant. The effigies, done up in a style best described as ‘Early American Psychopath’, were simple but easily recognizable. First came Yoona Park, then Camille Cosworth and Olivia Dare When the light illuminated a eerily accurate Eliza-figure on the last stake the drums started to pound and a fifth spotlight revealed the Deacon of Despair.
MIRANDA WAINRIGHT:
For her second sermon on the topic of salacious songbirds, Miranda wore the pitch black version of her usual vinyl one-piece. Scooped low in the back and high over the hips, it was accompanied by clunky knee-high gray boots and black elbow-length mesh gloves. As for her hair, it was still a lustrous, gleaming gold, its radiance seemingly in defiance of all the vile filth surrounding her. Immune to the ranting and raving of that astounding number of heathens, Miranda started down the aisle and kept her eyes on the squared circle until she reached the foot of the steel steps. Taking them slowly, she reached the apron, dipped her head and carefully removed her hat, which she set atop the ring post.
Once in the ring, she turned to the stage and extended both arms out at shoulder level in a rough ‘T’. A heartbeat later she brought her palms together in emphatic prayer and that was enough to make the quartet of effigies burst into flame. Smiling into the dancing fire, Wainright held her position until they were reduced to cinder and ash. Then she backed into a corner on the opposite side of the ring and allowed Nick Castle to inspect her boots and pads. The Senior Official found nothing, not that the challenger would have needed to bring her own ordinance considering the stipulation. Miranda must have caught the pulse of the man’s thoughts because she smiled and promised, “Oh yes, Mister Castle. I am going to do terrible, truly operatic things to FAWN’s favorite preening minstrel.” Promise made, she dismissed Castle to focus on the heathen presence she felt lurking just beyond the curtain.
With Miranda waiting patiently, it’s the FAWNatics whose prayers were answered, as the lights in the basement dimmed to nothing. The gloom led to the requisite hoots and hollers from the excited throng. A white-hot spotlight broke the darkness and fell upon the stage and a lean,
lithe brunette with a glittering gold-plated belt around her waist gracefully strode into view.
With the dangerous diva’s take down of the despicable Double-J and the sinister Susannah bolstering their growing admiration and love, the crowd provided the slender Songbird an ovation worthy of Pavarotti. The PA was quick to announce the dark-haired grappler’s arrival before she began her breathtaking warbling.
“And her opponent! From London, England! Standing at five feet eight inches tall and weighing in tonight at one hundred and twenty two pounds, she is the Sublime Soprano, the British Blackbird and the FAWN World Champion…ELIZA BLISSSS!”
A sweet melodious set of notes reached to the heights, the highest high of soprano superlatives could not describe the beauty of the operatic ecstasy.
ELIZA BLISS:
Eliza, her arms raised, serenaded the crowd with her own entrance accompaniment, no one else able to reach the perfect notes of sweet rapture.
The long locks of the sinewy brunette fell in great cascades, Bliss clad in a lacy black one-piece that clung tightly to her lightly tanned form; curious, futuristic, metallic wristbands, glittered from each wrist to only a few inches short of her elbows. Below, she wore tempting, knee-high black leather boots. The Englishwoman strode down the aisle belting out the concluding aria of Giulio Cesare, the opera that had made her famous or infamous, depending on fan or foe.
Between, FAWN’s grand prize was strapped tightly around her waist.
Eliza’s singles’ career ascendant, the reigning World Champion was glorious, her vocal chords providing instant ecstasy as had the Summer and now Fall of Bliss.
The Songbird strolled to the ring, waving and smiling. She finished her beautiful verse and slapped hands with those lucky enough to be on the aisle.
Reaching the foot of the ramp, Eliza circled the ring to continue greeting her faithful. It was during that circuit she caught sight of a particularly pleasing placard:
“Miranda will join the chorus of losers before Eliza goes to Church!”
The radiant brunette nodded in agreement and raised her microphone once more.
“I denied you before, Sister Miranda” Eliza informed. “And you’ll have to learn to worship my golden idol from afar.”
Eliza unhooked her belt and held it aloft, making sure Wainright got a closer look.
The sinewy soprano handed over the stick and the gold then skipped up the ring steps, slid through the ropes and, keeping an eye peeled for any broken commandments, floated to her corner. Reaching her home base, Eliza stretched her limbs to match the exercise given her vocal chords and settled into an expectant crouch, waiting for the bell that would bring mass to its opening hymn.
Their eyes were locked when the bell sounded, not on each other, but the ten pounds of leather and gold so recently suspended from a dangling steel rung more than fifteen feet in the air. The sight of the championship anywhere that wasn’t around her waist inspired a fierce sense of ownership in the Renaissance Woman and she dipped her head in a wordless promise to reclaim what was hers before the zealot across the ring could taint it with her madness. Speaking of whom, Miranda Wainright had designs on the title as well, though her gaze was of an entirely different nature. Whereas Eliza’s expression was that of someone eying a prized possession, the Prophet of Pain’s was more akin to an old world iconoclast eying some gaudy heathen bauble soon to be reduced to so much cinders and slag in the heart of a cleansing bonfire.
Pleased by the howls of outrage such an act would evoke from the heathens in attendance, Miranda turned her attention to the Englishwoman and strode forth to claim FAWN’s biggest prize for the Church of Eternal Midnight.
The sound of approaching boots brought Bliss back to the task at hand, and, seeing Wainright already near the center, she pushed out of the corner to ensure the blonde couldn’t cut the ring in half.
Lips turned up in a faint smile, Miranda stopped in the shadow of the swaying belt and said, “You seem distracted, sister. Perhaps a final look at your precious World Title before we begin in earnest? Rest assured I’ll give you all the time you need. Because once that ridiculous trophy is in MY possession… well, let’s just say it will look very, very, different.”
The belt continued to sway, its motion causing shadow to flick back and forth across the challenger’s coldly pretty features. Eliza wasn’t impressed. “Spout all the rhetoric you want, Miranda. But we both know that the last time you and I were in this ring, you--”
She would’ve said ‘lost’ if Wainright hadn’t exploded forward, the blonde drawing back her right arm for a Palm Strike that scythed straight for Blissy’s fa-NO! Eliza actually stepped into the challenger, dropped low and dipped beneath Miranda’s arm a heartbeat before the blonde could split her chin. In no mood to check on Wainright’s reaction, Bliss ran the ropes, bounced off and came back just as the smaller woman turned to find her. Putting on a burst of speed once she saw the whites of Miranda’s eyes, the Songbird whipped her right foot off the canvas for a Yakuza Kick that plowed through the spot so recently occupied by her foe’s skull.
Wainright whipped around the instant she cleared the strike and seeing the Briton’s back undefended, the Messiah of Misery stepped in, stretched her arms wide and brought them slicing in to THWHAP a low angle Mongolian Chop in just above Bliss’s hips. Eliza cried out, staggered, and cried out again when Miranda raaaaaaaaaaaked her back from shoulder to
buttock.
Jaw clenched, the Superlative Soprano whipped around with a proper Haymaker, but Wainright went under it and took possession of the brunette’s six once again. Cinching her arms around Bliss’s midsection in a surprisingly brawny Waistlock, Miranda powered the taller woman off her feet, twisted her hips and dropped to her knees to drive Eliza down onto her tummy. The Englishwoman scrambled to all fours at once, but paid the price for her persistence as Wainright drove the point of one elbow into the small of her foe’s back.
“UNGH! UUUNNNNGHHH!” Eliza collapsed onto her forearms, then tumbled onto her side when Miranda reared back and THUMPED a quick Kneelift into her ribs.
“This miraculous comeback you’ve staged over the last several months is laudable, sister.” the Septa of Sorrow noted as she grabbed Bliss by trunks and tresses and pulled her onto her belly. “Truly, it is a tale worthy of the stages you graced back in London, but you know the problem with operas, don’t you?”
Bliss didn’t answer, she was still fighting for breath and squirming to get out from under the blonde, who’d just thrown a leg over the champion’s lower back. Digging both knees into the brunette’s hips to keep her mount in place, Wainright slipped her right hand under Bliss’s right bicep and palmed the base of her neck to secure the Half Nelson. Eliza, knowing damned well what the zealot had in mind, immediately tucked her chin against her chest and curled her left arm over the back of her head to prevent-- “NNNNGGGGHHH!” In no fear of disqualification considering the stipulation, Miranda filled her free hand with the champion’s dark locks, wrenched her head back and THWHONKED it down like a basketball. Bliss grunted, swatted at Wainright’s face with her left hand, so the challenger repeated her previous tactic and exacerbated her rival’s displeasure by dragging her forehead back n’ forth against the rough canvas.
“C’mon, enough of that cheap crap, Miranda.” Nick Castle said after five seconds or so. “Just because a Ladder Match is No DQ doesn’t mean I’m going to let you scrape her face off.”
Miranda paused, slid her right hand into the Englishwoman’s hair and lifted her head a third time. “Of course you’re not going to LET me scrape her face off, Nicholas.” she said with a thin smile. “That’s why it will be all the more horrifying when I succeed in spite of your efforts.”
With that she looped her left arm under Eliza’s neck, grabbed hold of her right wrist and pulled it tight against the Songbird’s throat. Doing her best to stay calm even as the Cobra Clutch sank in deep, Eliza braced her left hand against the mat and pushed up until she could get both knees under her. Miranda let her rise without interference, the shift made it easier for her to plant her feet and effectively add a Camel Clutch to the already painful predicament.
“You understand that I’m under no obligation to break this hold if you reach the ropes.” Wainright noted as the Superlative Soprano began clambering toward the edge of the ring. “Seeing as how this contest can only end once one of us has retrieved the golden calf hanging above the ring. Of course I very well COULD let you go without so much as a murmur of protest,
but such a show of generosity from myself would require an act of humility from our notoriously proud songbird, and I fear you don’t have the strength of character to perform such--”
Eliza surged forward, grabbed the rope in her left hand and pulled herself close enough to wrap that arm around the rubber-coated steel. “Break the hold, Wainright.” she growled. “I’ll only tell you once.”
Miranda sighed, shook her head and reefed back on the hold until Bliss’s face flushed pink. “Did you not hear me earlier, little girl? The rules say I don’t have to let you go. Why do you think Castle hasn’t said a single word to reinforce your demand?”
It was true. Nick didn’t look happy, but the hold was legal and rope breaks meant nothing.” Bliss knew they were both right, but she had no intention of humbling herself for an egomaniac like Miranda Wainright. So rather than say a word she kept on crawling, the Superlative Soprano apparently set on forcing a break by dragging herself through the gap between top bottom and middle rop--”AAAAARRRRRGGHHHH NOOOOO STAAAPPPPGGUURRHHK!”
Not about to let Bliss leave the ring without some act of contrition, Miranda abandoned the Cobra Clutch and grabbed her opponent by the head. Clawing at the brunette’s chin to pry her mouth open, Wainright forced Bliss’s maw against the bottom rope and pressed down with all her weight in effort to test the strength of Eliza’s bite. Alas, she only recorded a few seconds worth of findings before Nick hurried over and said, “That’s too much, Miranda! Get her off the ropes right now!” The Messiah of Misery only offered him a pleasant smile, so Castle started to count, hoping against hope that Wainright would acknowledge its authority.
Seeing as Castle was not in good standing with the Church, not having paid his dues in, well, forever, the Septa of Sorrow kept forcefeeding the champ her bitter meal. Eliza’s muffled grunts increased as did the pain caused by her rubber-coated steel rein. Releasing her grip on the back of Blissy’s noggin, Wainright raised a boot and brought it down toward the back of Eliza’s head, planning a little unnecessary dental work on the Brit.
Thankfully for those in the crowd that loved the beautiful smile of Bliss, the Songbird unclenched her jaw and spun to the side, leaving the sole of Miranda’s boot to bounce off the cable.
Face impassive, the blonde stayed on the tail of the retreating Eliza and, as Bliss pushed up near a corner, Wainright was there to snatch a handful of the diva’s long dark locks, tear her head back, and SLAM Eliza’s face into the top buckle with every bit of force she could draw from Eternal Midnight. Blissy’s features bounced off the thinly-padded corner and Miranda helped herself to more…SLAM…SLAM…SLAM, the sheep among the FAWNatics counting all the way to ‘TEN’.
Miranda lowered her lips to the soprano’s ear.
“You know, forty is a number that seems to have spiritual significance in other religions,”
the driving force of Eternal Midnight whispered, “and so it shall be with my Church.”
Miranda drew Bliss down the length of the ring and began anew, SLAMMING Eliza’s face into the top buckle of the next corner for a further ten, twenty in total.
The Songbird’s dark eyes were glazed afterward, her jaw droopy and, as Miranda guided Eliza to the third station to receive another round of penance, Bliss dropped to one knee, genuflecting next to the ascendant minister.
“Oh no,” Miranda purred. “It is too late to choose the path to Midnight for you. A heretic who has gained the illusion of success can only be cleansed by destruction and so it shall be for you and your belt.”
Deciding to leave Eliza on one knee instead of ‘help’ her to the third set of concussive blows, Wainright turned and raced to the far ropes. She sped into a rebound and raced toward her lowered target, THWUMPING a knee into the right temple of Bliss and sending the brunette beauty sprawling through the strands. Eliza bounced off the apron outside and spilled to the floor.
Alone in the squared circle with the ultimate prize, Miranda glanced up at the gold and leather that signified the top of the FAWN mountain. She raised her arms high and wide, the nonbelievers jeering at the Prophet of Pain as she made clear the earthly prize was hers for the taking.
Thankfully for the champion and the FAWNatics, Miranda’s warped sense of morality and justice did not bring with them divine powers and, unable to levitate to the golden girdle, she climbed out of the ring opposite the side from which Eliza had been ejected.
Checking under the apron, the blonde emerged with a steel ladder of precise height to reach the title belt and claimed it for the Church. She raised it to the level of the mat and slid it under the ropes. Seeing across the ring, Bliss rose to vertical, Miranda quickly joined the ladder within the ring and plucked it off the canvas.
Lifting it to her side, the top pointed toward the Superlative Soprano, who’s made it to the apron, Wainright showed strength reinforced by her convictions. She sprinted across the deck, turning the ladder sideways as she did. Closing in on Bliss, Miranda tossed the ladder at the Brit’s braincase. Luckily for the diva’s many fans, the champ was able to duck under, avoiding a collision of steel to face.
As the ladder crashed to the floor below and behind, a bent Eliza shoved a shoulder between the top and middle cables, GUTTING the midriff of the Prophet of Pain. Wainright doubled at the waist, eyes wide, an arm swaddling her aching tummy. Eliza, reaching over the top ropes, grabbed the golden mop of the Churchgoer and tugged her close. Wrapping an arm behind the neck of the bent blonde, while slipping her head under an arm of the Septa, Blissy grabbed a handful of spandex on Miranda’s hip and LAUNCHED Wainright high into the air, stalling her foe above the ropes that separate them.
Letting the overturned Miranda consider the error and evil of her ways, Eliza let gravity and karma do its worst, Bliss Suplexing Miranda ALL THE WAY TO THE FLOOR where her spine lands across the metal ladder with a sickening clatter.
As the crowd chanted ‘HOLY SHIT’, Wainright proved she was not impervious to the pain of the flesh, her back arching in agony, face twisted in anguish from the fall from grace and space.
Eliza, still on the outside canvas, took a momentary look up at her gold, no doubt guessing there has to be more than one ladder available beneath the ring. Removing that consideration for the moment, the Brit glanced over her shoulder at the splayed Churchgoer. Knowing she’ll be baptized in pain for the maneuver she had in mind, Eliza nevertheless knew it’s already time to go big on the Prophet.
Grabbing the top rope, Eliza bounced her boots onto the bottom and springboarded in a ridiculous Lionsault off the apron. Catching the less than clairvoyant Miranda off guard, the back-flipping soprano CRASHED down atop the taut middle of Miranda, sandwiching the Septa of Sorrow between herself and the steel beneath her foe.
Wainright jackknifed in pain around the frame of the diva, likely every bit of oxygen forced from her lungs. Eliza, in more than a little pain herself, settled atop the demolished blonde and, if the match had been falls count anywhere, Bliss would have been a winner. Alas, those weren’t the rules tonight and Eliza wearily pushed off what’s left of Wainright.
Apparently unwilling to search for another ladder, she pulled the steel out from under the twisted wreck that was the Prophet and tossed it up to the apron. She rose to join her tool, but after a quick check, saw it was broken beyond the use of elevation. Frustrated, Eliza slapped the canvas, but quickly realized it could still be good for something else.
Removing the ladder from the apron, the Songbird placed it carefully atop Miranda’s body and rose to a stance on the outside of the ropes. Raising her arms and her voice to reach the perfect high note of victory, Bliss leapt, extending her legs and dropping in a Senton toward her foe.
Perhaps realizing this would be too much for even the patron saint of Eternal Midnight to overcome, Miranda managed to toss the ladder off her but didn’t get away scot-free, the Superlative Soprano still CRUSHING her beneath the heavy landing. Even without the steel reinforcement of the ladder, the force of the impact left the splattered Miranda seemingly ready for the dissolution of her Church.
Eliza was slow to rise, the aches and pains on her own frame mounting in this free-for-all. She bowed to the roaring crowd then set about shoving Wainright’s carcass out of the way so she could check for and find a working replacement to reach her title.
A little searching under the apron confirmed what Bliss already suspected -- the unsung
heroes of FAWN’s equipment crew had left a veritable cache of ladders beneath the ring. Eliza counted no less than half a dozen on this side of the ring alone and all that variety made her the proud owner of a brand new twelve foot ladder in approximately half that many seconds. Hauling the ladder upright with a soft grunt, the Superlative Soprano muscled it onto the apron, slid it under the bottom rope and hopped up a moment thereafter.
The path to her championship was momentarily clear, yet the Englishwoman knew she wouldn’t be comfortable until she’d removed the threat of Miranda Wainright entirely. To that end she dropped off the apron, helped herself to a double handful of hair and scraped the woozy blonde off the floor. “You are blessed with the strength of your convictions, I can’t deny that.” Bliss punctuated the statement by abruptly THWHUMPING the challenger’s forehead onto the apron. “Such a shame that those convictions are utterly insaNNNNGGHHHH!”
Miranda jabbed an elbow into Blissy’s belly, immediately followed with a second to free herself from the brunette’s grasp. “Choose your words more carefully heathen.” Wainright growled after she flipped the hair out of her eyes. “Or I’ll tie your serpent’s tongue in a kn--”
CRAAACK! Eliza answered with a savage Knife-Edge Chop that sent Miranda stumbling back, one arm crossed protectively over her stinging décolletage. “Not my tongue that should concern you, Wainright.” Bliss chirped. “It’s my talons that will do you OOOOFFFHHH!”
Miranda made her pay with a Toe Kick to the gut, then snatched buried a hand in the Briton’s hair and yanked her up on her tiptoes to --WHAP! Eliza managed to get her hands braced against the apron, effectively stuffing the blonde’s attempted head trauma. Straightening herself up at the cost of a few follicles, Bliss jacked Wainright’s jaw with a quick European Uppercut, then snagged her at togs and tresses and slung her under the bottom rope. But rather than simply let go, she held onto Miranda’s noggin so that the Churchgoer’s legs swung toward the middle of the ring but her head stayed close to the edge. Transitioning to a Front Facelock, Bliss slung the challenger’s near arm over her shoulders, grabbed hold of her waistband and backed up until Miranda was supported by nothing more than her shins. Though the FAWNatics had no particular love for Wainright’s divisive dogma, many in the first few rows still groaned in sympathy when the Renaissance Woman twisted in a quick half circle and laid out flat to bring the Prophet of Pain THWHUNKING down on the back of her head and shoulders with a brutal Swinging Neckbreaker!
SWINGING NECKBREAKER FROM THE APRON: www.youtube.com/watch?v=rV1HJ_nzoQs
Wainright sat up so fast it made Eliza’s heart skip a beat, though thankfully it returned to normal when the challenger wrapped both arms around her throbbing skull and crumpled to one side. Ignoring the protest from her own back when she clambered to boot leather, Bliss rolled under the bottom rope, grabbed the ladder and powered to her feet a moment thereafter. She got it set up in short order, though the lithesome lovely took several seconds to make sure she had the device positioned directly beneath the swaying strap. Thus satisfied, she grabbed a rung at eye level, put a boot on the bottom and began her ascent. The Basement Dwellers cheered
uproariously, proving themselves a more than adequate choir as FAWN’s top star drew closer and closer to regaining her prize. Eliza’s vision was practically tunneled around the World Title, her ears however were tuned to a much broader spectrum and a sudden change in the crowd’s pitch told her something was wro--BWAAAANG!
Shrieks from the starlet and groans from the chorus as a steel chair flew from the aether and slammed into Bliss’s back! The agonizing jolt caused both feet to slip and suddenly Eliza was dangling, kept from an ugly fall by a one-handed death-grip on the rung just above her head. Somewhere below her, a familiar voice said, “Discard these useless hopes of yours, sister. Return to the canvas and face me like the righteous warrior you claim to be, or you shall suffer accordingly.”
Too concerned with setting her feet to pay much attention to Miranda’s babbling, the Songbird got herself set and suddenly moved up three more rungs! Near the top now, Bliss reaaaaaaaaaached up and touched her title as it made one of its small, lazy passes. Gritting her teeth, she moved up another step and BWAAAANG!
Miranda hit her with the chair a second time, a two handed overhand shot that caught the World Champ in the small of the back. Eliza’s legs gave out a second time and she might’ve suffered an ugly face-first skid down the ladder if Miranda hadn’t moved into place beneath her, the True Believer letting Bliss’s legs thread over her shoulders. Before you label this an act of charity, keep in mind that Miranda backed away from the ladder as soon as she’d looped her arms around the brunette’s shins. With Eliza slumped and vulnerable in the Electric Chair, the Messiah of Misery pressed her hands palms together and bowed her head, offering up a silent prayer. Whether or not she received an answer was something only Miranda knew, yet whatever the result, it proved disastrous for Bliss, as the blonde shoved her up and forward while simultaneously dropping to a seat to THAWHAM the Englishwoman flat on her face, chest and tummy. Eliza bounced hard and rolled onto her side, the wounded champion curling up to protect her midsection.
ELECTRIC CHAIR FACEBUSTER: www.youtube.com/watch?v=eHsBmOPs2uI
Miranda let her do so without interference, the challenger had her own aches and pains to endure and there was also the matter of the chair which had helped turn the tide of their battle. Drawing it to close once she’d worked the worst of the kinks from her neck, the Septa of Sorrow got to her feet and muttered, “Your voice is lovely, sister. I would happily add it to my choir, but since you seem determined to revel in the ugliness of the light, it is my sad duty to silence you once and for all.”
She drove a quick kick into Bliss’s back, forcing the Englishwoman to roll over and face the lights. Planting a foot on either side of her prey’s hips, Miranda flipped the chair over, pressed the rounded edge in below Eliza’s chin and went down on one knee, strangling the life out of her!
Castle held his tongue for an internal five count but when Wainright showed no signs of
stopping, he hurried over and swatted her on the shoulder. “Ease off, Miranda! You could do permanent damage like that!”
Miranda loosened the pressure ever so slightly and Eliza let out a teakettle wheeze that made the ref cringe. Attention trained on Nick, Miranda noted, “Your talent for the obvious will never cease to amaze me, mister Castle.”
She would’ve resumed the hateful throttling then and there if Nick hadn’t said, “If I have to stop this match for an injury I’ll make sure you don’t leave this ring as the World Champion. Does that amaze you too?”
The baleful blonde growled low in the back of her throat, then tossed the chair away without comment. Making a point to ignore the referee as she filled her hands with the Songbird’s dark locks, Wainright hauled the gagging grappler to boot leather and marched her over to the ropes, where she hooked Eliza’s arms over the top strand. Too short of breath to fully comprehend the danger, Bliss only snapped back to reality when she felt the middle rope snap down snug over her biceps. Eliza lashed out with a kick, cursed aloud when Miranda stepped out of range.
“Don’t even think about it, Wainright!” Eliza bellowed as the Deacon of Despair started to climb the ladder. “That’s a coward’s way to win and you know it!”
Wainright stopped more than halfway up the ladder, then turned around and smiled beatifically. “Of course it is, sister. And I’m far too proud to taint the World Title with such a victory, I just thought you should know the same pang of sick disgust I felt over the summer when you stole our first meeting from me.”
Eliza strained against the rubber-coated steel but couldn’t free herself. “Kiss my arse you demented bytch.” she huffed. “That was a clean win and you UUUUUUUUNNNNNNGGGGHHHH!”
The argument came to a violent end when Miranda dove from her perch and stuffed both knees against the brunette’s chest. Catching her behind the head in the same breath, she dropped to her back and tore Eliza from her bindings just to drive the air from her body with a hellacious Diving Lungblower!
Eliza spasmed on the canvas like 10,000 volts coursed through her body while Wainright rolled up to her knees next to the shuddering brunette.
“That’s a mere taste of what I can unleash, heathen,” the Septa of Sorrow informed, before unleashing a barrage of closed fists on any piece of the champion she found unguarded.
With Bliss further bruised and battered, Miranda shoved to her feet and turned to gaze at the World Title belt. Her leap off the ladder shoved the manual elevator several feet from under the prize and the blonde tracked it down. But instead of placing it back under the ultimate icon of FAWN achievement, Wainright folded it shut and leaned it into a neutral corner. Apparently,
erlative Soprano.
The denizen of Eternal Midnight laid the steel in a 45-degree angle from the top buckle and moves to the now stilled but still splayed Bliss. Wrapping her hands around the head of the flightless Songbird, Miranda muscled the listless diva to her feet a few feet from where the base of the ladder met the canvas. She provides support for the wavering Eliza, hip to hip and shoulder to shoulder.
Wainright then locked her right arm with Eliza’s left, pivoted and sent Bliss over with a Hip Toss toward the suspended steel. Or that was the plan. Instead, Eliza snaked her left leg with the right of the Prophet of Pain and saved herself from a backbreaking fate. Undeterred, Miranda tried to overpower the block with a second attempt and found her plan foiled again.
Focus and fight regained by Bliss, the Brit spun the shocked blonde to face her. But before Eliza could send the startled Miranda clattering into the unforgiving metal, Wainright wrapped one arm around the back of Blissy’s neck and the opposite under an arm, fingers linking the limbs between the champ’s shoulderblades.
Laying out just to the side of the steel, Wainright jerked Eliza down into the ladder face and chest first with a vicious Reverse STO that put a significant dent in the device, not to mention Blissy’s braincase. A semiconscious Eliza dribbled off the side of the ladder, plopping to the canvas in a wide starfish.
REVERSE STO: www.youtube.com/watch?v=9aT_XQeAn-Q
On the other side, the Churchgoer sat up and dramatically wiped off her hands. She pressed her palms together in prayerful contemplation for a moment then pushed to her feet. Waking around the remains of the ladder, Miranda placed a boot on the chest of the champ and left them for what could conservatively be called a three-count.
“Consider yourself blessed through this baptism of steel, heathen siren,” Wainright pronounces to the dozing champ, Bliss motionless underfoot save for the soft rise and fall of her bosom. “But why don’t we make sure your followers understand you’re ready to proceed through the ebon gates of Midnight.”
The Septa of Sorrow again encased Eliza’s head within her arms and worked the bigger brunette slowly but surely to stooped feet. It doesn’t appear Eliza’s in a position to remain there under her own power, but Wainright made sure the champ didn’t need her balance for long.
She dipped and threaded an arm through Eliza’s quaking, ivory-skinned stems. Miranda scooped Bliss off her feet and onto a shoulder. The blonde pivoted easily with her cargo, adrenaline feeding her darkened soul. Wainright SLAMMED Eliza down on the ladder, the steel bending further but not breaking.
With the shellshocked diva’s head higher on the angled ladder, her boot soles pointed to
the floor, Bliss appeared on an altar of violence and, as Miranda strode to the buckles from which the ladder leans, she meant to play both minister and mistress in this vile ceremony.
Climbing the corner from the outside, the Preacher of Persecution reached her elevated platform and looked out on the lain sacrifice to Eternal Midnight below. Miranda raised her arms high and wide to the sound of a worried buzz from the crowd. She settled into a slight crouch and launched high over the champion, CRASHING ACROSS the body of Bliss with an Elbow Drop that finally snapped the bent ladder in two and likely did the same to the shattered soprano.
Wainright showed more of a reaction from the ungodly impact, the blonde wincing as she cradled her weaponized arm in anguish. Miranda reclined against the ropes, rubbing her aching joint. Close by, the gobsmacked Eliza looked ready for a trip to the ICU, the piercing elbow to the cleft of her bosom and the following drop to the deck, landing not only on the thinly-sheathed plywood but the steel remains of the ladder, having put her in a critical condition.
The only positive for the plucked and plundered Blackbird was the junkyard condition of the ladder in the ring and Miranda’s own recovery time. Still, the Prophet of Pain controlled her anguish quickly and was on her feet with the help of the ropes. She worked out the ache in her elbow with some careful flexing and hovered over the softly stirring Eliza, standing amongst the wreckage.
“This is all on you, heretic,” Miranda admonished calmly. “You could have been deep in the welcoming darkness and instead you have been shown the blinding light of heresy.”
Wainright stepped atop the midriff of the broken Blackbird as she crossed the debris. She dropped to her knees to pluck the bottom half of the broken ladder from beneath her foe and tossed it out under the bottom rope. Apparently deciding the top portion might come in handy, the blonde dropped to a shoulder and rolled out to the floor in need of a replacement to reach the golden idol glittering in the heavens above.
Miranda folded the apron skirt onto the mat to make her search simpler and she slid out a twin to the ladder that aided and abetted in the death knell for Blissy’s oh-so-brief title reign.
Showing some strain lifting her metal path to glory, Wainright heaved the ladder over the bottom rope and through, a corner of the steel striking a thigh of the champ. A sharp pain seemed to reanimate the Superlative Soprano and she worked her way to a seat as Miranda slid back into the squared circle.
Though it drew her like a beacon, Wainright ignored the heathen’s anguish until she’d set her latest acquisition in the shadow of the World Title. When she did turn her attention to the champion, Eliza was barely off one knee, the battered Briton gamely scrabbling at the ropes to help her rise. Deftly avoiding the rubble strewn across their battleground, the Prophet of Pain strode over, reached for Bliss’s hair and spiked her with a hard Toe Kick to the belly when Eliza tried to clinch. A Standing Headscissors soon followed, Wainright using a sturdy grip on her foe’s waistband to lead her away from the potential sanctuary of the strands. Miranda sent a
single strong pulse through her stems, but the squeeze drew no reaction from the devastated diva. Thusly satisfied, she leaned forward, wrapped her arms around Bliss’s waist and prophesized, “Spotlights shine when Songbirds call… but Midnight comes for one and all.”
She dipped her knees and hoisted Eliza onto her back, the Basement Dwellers roaring in concern as the leggy brunette was folded into a painful arch. With Bliss’s shins angled limp against her thighs, Miranda shifted from her chest grip to a rough Chinlock, the Messiah of Misery cranking down so the back of Eliza’s neck was fitted snug against the curve of her skull. Those assembled were still shouting useless warnings when the challenger kicked her legs forward and dropped to her knees for a devastating Thou Shalt Not! Bliss landed hard on her knees and whipped to the mat in fast forward, the thump of that secondary landing earning a pained grimace from Nick Castle.
THOU SHALT NOT! www.youtube.com/watch?v=ioRjyHXLE5I
Eerily still amidst the carnage she’d wrought, Wainright eventually spun to one knee and crawled her way over to Bliss. There she brushed hair away from the other woman’s ear so she could lean down to deliver a final benediction. “Your song is over and the stage grows dark. Seek the spotlight again and it will destroy you. Crawl away into the dark and you may yet find salvation.”
Barely a groan from Eliza, so the Messiah of Misery stood up and made her way to the foot of the ladder without even acknowledging the displeasure of her heathen audience. No grandstanding or proselytizing now, Wainright had cleared a path to the World Title and everyone knew it. Starting up the ladder with only a slight hitch in her throbbing right arm, Miranda worked hard not to smirk as the collective hatred massed against her increased in time with her ascent. She was perhaps three rungs from the top when the tone of the heathens went from despair to joy. The smile that had been threatening vanished in an instant, in fact the blonde’s expression was downright sour as she checked the condition of the crippled Songbird.
Beneath her, Eliza Bliss was on all fours and trying to rise.
An uncharacteristic burst of indecisiveness gripped the challenger as she looked from the title, to Bliss and back again. The prize was hers for the taking, even the most miraculous resurgence couldn’t keep Eliza from reaching the blonde before Miranda claimed the gold as her own. And yet… she’d told the heathen to stay down. She’d told her to stay down… and here she was trying to rise. Still trying to seek that tawdry spotlight even after Wainright had warned her of dire consequences for such insubordination.
In the end her choice was an easy one.
Any heathen could raise a belt and call it a championship, but a true believer, a true Sheppard, led by example, and what sort of example would it set if she let the heathen songstress defy her so brazenly. “Very well, Eliza Bliss.” Miranda murmured as she climbed down the ladder. “I’ll see to it that you are front and center in your beloved spotlight even as the whole
world fades to black.”
As of yet unaware of this looming menace, the Renaissance Woman continued to muster her reserves until she felt strong enough to plant a knee and rise to her full he-- Miranda was on her in a trice, the challenger catching Bliss’s right arm in a Half Nelson while the left reached across the brunette’s throat to NO! Too startled to actually think about what she was doing, Eliza grabbed a handful of Wainright’s hair, dropped to one knee and snapped her upper body forward and down to send the zealot tumbling across the mat in an improvised Snapmare.
Back on her feet in the blink of an eye, Miranda rounded on the champion and rushed her flat out, the blonde’s right hand drawing back for that jaw-breaking Palm THWHAP! Eliza proved a heartbeat faster, the Superlative Soprano catching the fair-haired fiend in the hollow of her throat with an Uppercut Throat Thrust!
Silenced by that single pinpoint blow, Miranda turned away in search of separation only to find herself that much closer when Bliss wrenched her arms back in a Double Chickenwing. Twisting them both in the opposite direction even as the crowd lost its collective shyt, Eliza didn’t bother with her signature high note, she simply dropped to her tush to THWHUNK Wainright’s forehead into the deck courtesy of a Decrescendo! Bliss spun around the instant she touched down, shoved her head against the blonde’s ribs and treated her to a bum’s rush of a barrel roll to force Miranda out under the bottom rope!
DECRESCENDO: www.youtube.com/watch?v=eeBL5TGQ1yU
“Guuuuhhhh…. get off my stage… understudy.” the Renaissance Woman huffed once she’d made it back to boot leather several seconds later.
Painfully aware of just how slow she’d move once the adrenaline wore off, Eliza trudged to the ladder, confirmed it was still where she needed it and started the long climb to the top. Whereas Wainright’s ascent earned nothing but scorn from the All Hallows Evil crowd, Bliss’s was a veritable Ode to Joy, the volume of their love growing louder and louder and-- a bellow of concern had Eliza looking around in confusion, her flanks were clear, as was her six, yet the throng sounded more worried than ever, which meant--
Bliss looked straight ahead just in time to watch Miranda springboard off the top rope on the opposite side of the ring! Soaring through the void like some lantern-eyed fallen angel, the challenger landed on the other side of the ladder and there was no hesitation this time, she made for the top like a woman possessed. More than a bit wild-eyed herself at this point, Bliss scrambled up three more rungs and slammed a sloppy Haymaker into the blonde’s exposed ribs. Miranda grunted, grabbed a handful of hair and proceeded to pound punches into the taller woman’s face. Eliza defended as best she could, which wasn’t much considering she also had to climb up a few more rungs to reach level footing with her tormentor. Setting her feet as best she could, the Briton plunged a hand into Wainright’s hair and answered with her own punches, the usually elegant technician clearly willing to go to extremes to keep her title.
Alas she had entered a contest of wills with quite possibly the strongest will in all of FAWN and when it looked like Eliza might gain too much ground with mere fisticuffs, Miranda Wainright palmed the heathen’s head in both hands and used her thumbs to gouge the champion’s eyes! Eliza shrieked like a banshee and clamped down on Miranda’s wrists in hopes of prizing them away from her face. Wainright only shook her head and grinned like a lunatic. “I hope you enjoyed all those years in the spotlight, sister.” Wainright hissed. “I fear you’ve seen the last of it for a very long tiGUUUURRRRHHHHHHK!”
Eliza halved her grip on the zealot’s wrists and stuffed a Cleft Note in Miranda’s unsuspecting mouth! Bearing down with white knuckle ferocity the instant she got under the challenger’s silver tongue, Bliss sobbed with relief when Wainright ceased her gouging to slap at the champion’s talon. Eyes closed to protect against further assaults, the Songbird kept her chin tucked and her head tilted even as she bore down with the sort of pressure only Jenny Jacobs could appreciate.
On the other side of the ladder, Miranda twisted and fought, wrenched and clawed, pounded and scraped, but she couldn’t extricate the Cleft Note. Little by little her efforts slowed, her limbs went sludgy and her head dipped low. In less than twenty seconds she was too woozy to throw so much as a slap and in thirty seconds one foot slipped off the ladder. Sensing the shift in her blonde’s weight, Eliza forced herself to move up one more rung, then she pushed off and down, hurling Miranda from the heavens to the depths with ring-rattling THAWHAM!
“Stay down.” Eliza croaked. “For the love of god, stay down you crazy bytch.”
No answer, not that the champ waited for one. She only took a deep breath, reached up and grabbed hold of the belt. Her third tug pulled it loose and Bliss screamed with joy when the bell clanged.
“Ladies and gentlemen, your winner… and STILL THE FAWN WORLD CHAMPION… ELIZA BLISS!”
Nick Castle patted the ladder, inviting Eliza to return to the canvas, but she shook her head ‘no’. Instead she raised the belt one handed and trained her attention on a camera watching from one corner. “This is mine!” she told everyone within the sound of her voice. “This is MY story and it doesn’t end until one of you bloody kills me, because THAT’S WHAT IT’S GOING TO TAKE TO WRESTLE THIS AWAY FROM ME!” Holding it two handed now, Eliza raised the title overhead and showed it off for the redlining crowd until All Hallows Evil faded to black.
EAST JESUS NOWHERE: www.youtube.com/watch?v=vtHnPUDRMdA
Darkness fell upon the Madhouse even as the voices of the inmates made their displeasure known. From the gloom an angry, judgmental voice promised, ‘And we will see how godless a nation we have become.’ From that bitter fruit blossomed Green Day’s ‘East Jesus Nowhere’, a simple riff that was repeated four times. Following every cycle a spotlight lit up to reveal a scarecrow-ish effigy mounted to a tall wooden stave that had grown up seemingly in an instant. The effigies, done up in a style best described as ‘Early American Psychopath’, were simple but easily recognizable. First came Yoona Park, then Camille Cosworth and Olivia Dare When the light illuminated a eerily accurate Eliza-figure on the last stake the drums started to pound and a fifth spotlight revealed the Deacon of Despair.
MIRANDA WAINRIGHT:
For her second sermon on the topic of salacious songbirds, Miranda wore the pitch black version of her usual vinyl one-piece. Scooped low in the back and high over the hips, it was accompanied by clunky knee-high gray boots and black elbow-length mesh gloves. As for her hair, it was still a lustrous, gleaming gold, its radiance seemingly in defiance of all the vile filth surrounding her. Immune to the ranting and raving of that astounding number of heathens, Miranda started down the aisle and kept her eyes on the squared circle until she reached the foot of the steel steps. Taking them slowly, she reached the apron, dipped her head and carefully removed her hat, which she set atop the ring post.
Once in the ring, she turned to the stage and extended both arms out at shoulder level in a rough ‘T’. A heartbeat later she brought her palms together in emphatic prayer and that was enough to make the quartet of effigies burst into flame. Smiling into the dancing fire, Wainright held her position until they were reduced to cinder and ash. Then she backed into a corner on the opposite side of the ring and allowed Nick Castle to inspect her boots and pads. The Senior Official found nothing, not that the challenger would have needed to bring her own ordinance considering the stipulation. Miranda must have caught the pulse of the man’s thoughts because she smiled and promised, “Oh yes, Mister Castle. I am going to do terrible, truly operatic things to FAWN’s favorite preening minstrel.” Promise made, she dismissed Castle to focus on the heathen presence she felt lurking just beyond the curtain.
With Miranda waiting patiently, it’s the FAWNatics whose prayers were answered, as the lights in the basement dimmed to nothing. The gloom led to the requisite hoots and hollers from the excited throng. A white-hot spotlight broke the darkness and fell upon the stage and a lean,
lithe brunette with a glittering gold-plated belt around her waist gracefully strode into view.
With the dangerous diva’s take down of the despicable Double-J and the sinister Susannah bolstering their growing admiration and love, the crowd provided the slender Songbird an ovation worthy of Pavarotti. The PA was quick to announce the dark-haired grappler’s arrival before she began her breathtaking warbling.
“And her opponent! From London, England! Standing at five feet eight inches tall and weighing in tonight at one hundred and twenty two pounds, she is the Sublime Soprano, the British Blackbird and the FAWN World Champion…ELIZA BLISSSS!”
A sweet melodious set of notes reached to the heights, the highest high of soprano superlatives could not describe the beauty of the operatic ecstasy.
ELIZA BLISS:
Eliza, her arms raised, serenaded the crowd with her own entrance accompaniment, no one else able to reach the perfect notes of sweet rapture.
The long locks of the sinewy brunette fell in great cascades, Bliss clad in a lacy black one-piece that clung tightly to her lightly tanned form; curious, futuristic, metallic wristbands, glittered from each wrist to only a few inches short of her elbows. Below, she wore tempting, knee-high black leather boots. The Englishwoman strode down the aisle belting out the concluding aria of Giulio Cesare, the opera that had made her famous or infamous, depending on fan or foe.
Between, FAWN’s grand prize was strapped tightly around her waist.
Eliza’s singles’ career ascendant, the reigning World Champion was glorious, her vocal chords providing instant ecstasy as had the Summer and now Fall of Bliss.
The Songbird strolled to the ring, waving and smiling. She finished her beautiful verse and slapped hands with those lucky enough to be on the aisle.
Reaching the foot of the ramp, Eliza circled the ring to continue greeting her faithful. It was during that circuit she caught sight of a particularly pleasing placard:
“Miranda will join the chorus of losers before Eliza goes to Church!”
The radiant brunette nodded in agreement and raised her microphone once more.
“I denied you before, Sister Miranda” Eliza informed. “And you’ll have to learn to worship my golden idol from afar.”
Eliza unhooked her belt and held it aloft, making sure Wainright got a closer look.
The sinewy soprano handed over the stick and the gold then skipped up the ring steps, slid through the ropes and, keeping an eye peeled for any broken commandments, floated to her corner. Reaching her home base, Eliza stretched her limbs to match the exercise given her vocal chords and settled into an expectant crouch, waiting for the bell that would bring mass to its opening hymn.
Their eyes were locked when the bell sounded, not on each other, but the ten pounds of leather and gold so recently suspended from a dangling steel rung more than fifteen feet in the air. The sight of the championship anywhere that wasn’t around her waist inspired a fierce sense of ownership in the Renaissance Woman and she dipped her head in a wordless promise to reclaim what was hers before the zealot across the ring could taint it with her madness. Speaking of whom, Miranda Wainright had designs on the title as well, though her gaze was of an entirely different nature. Whereas Eliza’s expression was that of someone eying a prized possession, the Prophet of Pain’s was more akin to an old world iconoclast eying some gaudy heathen bauble soon to be reduced to so much cinders and slag in the heart of a cleansing bonfire.
Pleased by the howls of outrage such an act would evoke from the heathens in attendance, Miranda turned her attention to the Englishwoman and strode forth to claim FAWN’s biggest prize for the Church of Eternal Midnight.
The sound of approaching boots brought Bliss back to the task at hand, and, seeing Wainright already near the center, she pushed out of the corner to ensure the blonde couldn’t cut the ring in half.
Lips turned up in a faint smile, Miranda stopped in the shadow of the swaying belt and said, “You seem distracted, sister. Perhaps a final look at your precious World Title before we begin in earnest? Rest assured I’ll give you all the time you need. Because once that ridiculous trophy is in MY possession… well, let’s just say it will look very, very, different.”
The belt continued to sway, its motion causing shadow to flick back and forth across the challenger’s coldly pretty features. Eliza wasn’t impressed. “Spout all the rhetoric you want, Miranda. But we both know that the last time you and I were in this ring, you--”
She would’ve said ‘lost’ if Wainright hadn’t exploded forward, the blonde drawing back her right arm for a Palm Strike that scythed straight for Blissy’s fa-NO! Eliza actually stepped into the challenger, dropped low and dipped beneath Miranda’s arm a heartbeat before the blonde could split her chin. In no mood to check on Wainright’s reaction, Bliss ran the ropes, bounced off and came back just as the smaller woman turned to find her. Putting on a burst of speed once she saw the whites of Miranda’s eyes, the Songbird whipped her right foot off the canvas for a Yakuza Kick that plowed through the spot so recently occupied by her foe’s skull.
Wainright whipped around the instant she cleared the strike and seeing the Briton’s back undefended, the Messiah of Misery stepped in, stretched her arms wide and brought them slicing in to THWHAP a low angle Mongolian Chop in just above Bliss’s hips. Eliza cried out, staggered, and cried out again when Miranda raaaaaaaaaaaked her back from shoulder to
buttock.
Jaw clenched, the Superlative Soprano whipped around with a proper Haymaker, but Wainright went under it and took possession of the brunette’s six once again. Cinching her arms around Bliss’s midsection in a surprisingly brawny Waistlock, Miranda powered the taller woman off her feet, twisted her hips and dropped to her knees to drive Eliza down onto her tummy. The Englishwoman scrambled to all fours at once, but paid the price for her persistence as Wainright drove the point of one elbow into the small of her foe’s back.
“UNGH! UUUNNNNGHHH!” Eliza collapsed onto her forearms, then tumbled onto her side when Miranda reared back and THUMPED a quick Kneelift into her ribs.
“This miraculous comeback you’ve staged over the last several months is laudable, sister.” the Septa of Sorrow noted as she grabbed Bliss by trunks and tresses and pulled her onto her belly. “Truly, it is a tale worthy of the stages you graced back in London, but you know the problem with operas, don’t you?”
Bliss didn’t answer, she was still fighting for breath and squirming to get out from under the blonde, who’d just thrown a leg over the champion’s lower back. Digging both knees into the brunette’s hips to keep her mount in place, Wainright slipped her right hand under Bliss’s right bicep and palmed the base of her neck to secure the Half Nelson. Eliza, knowing damned well what the zealot had in mind, immediately tucked her chin against her chest and curled her left arm over the back of her head to prevent-- “NNNNGGGGHHH!” In no fear of disqualification considering the stipulation, Miranda filled her free hand with the champion’s dark locks, wrenched her head back and THWHONKED it down like a basketball. Bliss grunted, swatted at Wainright’s face with her left hand, so the challenger repeated her previous tactic and exacerbated her rival’s displeasure by dragging her forehead back n’ forth against the rough canvas.
“C’mon, enough of that cheap crap, Miranda.” Nick Castle said after five seconds or so. “Just because a Ladder Match is No DQ doesn’t mean I’m going to let you scrape her face off.”
Miranda paused, slid her right hand into the Englishwoman’s hair and lifted her head a third time. “Of course you’re not going to LET me scrape her face off, Nicholas.” she said with a thin smile. “That’s why it will be all the more horrifying when I succeed in spite of your efforts.”
With that she looped her left arm under Eliza’s neck, grabbed hold of her right wrist and pulled it tight against the Songbird’s throat. Doing her best to stay calm even as the Cobra Clutch sank in deep, Eliza braced her left hand against the mat and pushed up until she could get both knees under her. Miranda let her rise without interference, the shift made it easier for her to plant her feet and effectively add a Camel Clutch to the already painful predicament.
“You understand that I’m under no obligation to break this hold if you reach the ropes.” Wainright noted as the Superlative Soprano began clambering toward the edge of the ring. “Seeing as how this contest can only end once one of us has retrieved the golden calf hanging above the ring. Of course I very well COULD let you go without so much as a murmur of protest,
but such a show of generosity from myself would require an act of humility from our notoriously proud songbird, and I fear you don’t have the strength of character to perform such--”
Eliza surged forward, grabbed the rope in her left hand and pulled herself close enough to wrap that arm around the rubber-coated steel. “Break the hold, Wainright.” she growled. “I’ll only tell you once.”
Miranda sighed, shook her head and reefed back on the hold until Bliss’s face flushed pink. “Did you not hear me earlier, little girl? The rules say I don’t have to let you go. Why do you think Castle hasn’t said a single word to reinforce your demand?”
It was true. Nick didn’t look happy, but the hold was legal and rope breaks meant nothing.” Bliss knew they were both right, but she had no intention of humbling herself for an egomaniac like Miranda Wainright. So rather than say a word she kept on crawling, the Superlative Soprano apparently set on forcing a break by dragging herself through the gap between top bottom and middle rop--”AAAAARRRRRGGHHHH NOOOOO STAAAPPPPGGUURRHHK!”
Not about to let Bliss leave the ring without some act of contrition, Miranda abandoned the Cobra Clutch and grabbed her opponent by the head. Clawing at the brunette’s chin to pry her mouth open, Wainright forced Bliss’s maw against the bottom rope and pressed down with all her weight in effort to test the strength of Eliza’s bite. Alas, she only recorded a few seconds worth of findings before Nick hurried over and said, “That’s too much, Miranda! Get her off the ropes right now!” The Messiah of Misery only offered him a pleasant smile, so Castle started to count, hoping against hope that Wainright would acknowledge its authority.
Seeing as Castle was not in good standing with the Church, not having paid his dues in, well, forever, the Septa of Sorrow kept forcefeeding the champ her bitter meal. Eliza’s muffled grunts increased as did the pain caused by her rubber-coated steel rein. Releasing her grip on the back of Blissy’s noggin, Wainright raised a boot and brought it down toward the back of Eliza’s head, planning a little unnecessary dental work on the Brit.
Thankfully for those in the crowd that loved the beautiful smile of Bliss, the Songbird unclenched her jaw and spun to the side, leaving the sole of Miranda’s boot to bounce off the cable.
Face impassive, the blonde stayed on the tail of the retreating Eliza and, as Bliss pushed up near a corner, Wainright was there to snatch a handful of the diva’s long dark locks, tear her head back, and SLAM Eliza’s face into the top buckle with every bit of force she could draw from Eternal Midnight. Blissy’s features bounced off the thinly-padded corner and Miranda helped herself to more…SLAM…SLAM…SLAM, the sheep among the FAWNatics counting all the way to ‘TEN’.
Miranda lowered her lips to the soprano’s ear.
“You know, forty is a number that seems to have spiritual significance in other religions,”
the driving force of Eternal Midnight whispered, “and so it shall be with my Church.”
Miranda drew Bliss down the length of the ring and began anew, SLAMMING Eliza’s face into the top buckle of the next corner for a further ten, twenty in total.
The Songbird’s dark eyes were glazed afterward, her jaw droopy and, as Miranda guided Eliza to the third station to receive another round of penance, Bliss dropped to one knee, genuflecting next to the ascendant minister.
“Oh no,” Miranda purred. “It is too late to choose the path to Midnight for you. A heretic who has gained the illusion of success can only be cleansed by destruction and so it shall be for you and your belt.”
Deciding to leave Eliza on one knee instead of ‘help’ her to the third set of concussive blows, Wainright turned and raced to the far ropes. She sped into a rebound and raced toward her lowered target, THWUMPING a knee into the right temple of Bliss and sending the brunette beauty sprawling through the strands. Eliza bounced off the apron outside and spilled to the floor.
Alone in the squared circle with the ultimate prize, Miranda glanced up at the gold and leather that signified the top of the FAWN mountain. She raised her arms high and wide, the nonbelievers jeering at the Prophet of Pain as she made clear the earthly prize was hers for the taking.
Thankfully for the champion and the FAWNatics, Miranda’s warped sense of morality and justice did not bring with them divine powers and, unable to levitate to the golden girdle, she climbed out of the ring opposite the side from which Eliza had been ejected.
Checking under the apron, the blonde emerged with a steel ladder of precise height to reach the title belt and claimed it for the Church. She raised it to the level of the mat and slid it under the ropes. Seeing across the ring, Bliss rose to vertical, Miranda quickly joined the ladder within the ring and plucked it off the canvas.
Lifting it to her side, the top pointed toward the Superlative Soprano, who’s made it to the apron, Wainright showed strength reinforced by her convictions. She sprinted across the deck, turning the ladder sideways as she did. Closing in on Bliss, Miranda tossed the ladder at the Brit’s braincase. Luckily for the diva’s many fans, the champ was able to duck under, avoiding a collision of steel to face.
As the ladder crashed to the floor below and behind, a bent Eliza shoved a shoulder between the top and middle cables, GUTTING the midriff of the Prophet of Pain. Wainright doubled at the waist, eyes wide, an arm swaddling her aching tummy. Eliza, reaching over the top ropes, grabbed the golden mop of the Churchgoer and tugged her close. Wrapping an arm behind the neck of the bent blonde, while slipping her head under an arm of the Septa, Blissy grabbed a handful of spandex on Miranda’s hip and LAUNCHED Wainright high into the air, stalling her foe above the ropes that separate them.
Letting the overturned Miranda consider the error and evil of her ways, Eliza let gravity and karma do its worst, Bliss Suplexing Miranda ALL THE WAY TO THE FLOOR where her spine lands across the metal ladder with a sickening clatter.
As the crowd chanted ‘HOLY SHIT’, Wainright proved she was not impervious to the pain of the flesh, her back arching in agony, face twisted in anguish from the fall from grace and space.
Eliza, still on the outside canvas, took a momentary look up at her gold, no doubt guessing there has to be more than one ladder available beneath the ring. Removing that consideration for the moment, the Brit glanced over her shoulder at the splayed Churchgoer. Knowing she’ll be baptized in pain for the maneuver she had in mind, Eliza nevertheless knew it’s already time to go big on the Prophet.
Grabbing the top rope, Eliza bounced her boots onto the bottom and springboarded in a ridiculous Lionsault off the apron. Catching the less than clairvoyant Miranda off guard, the back-flipping soprano CRASHED down atop the taut middle of Miranda, sandwiching the Septa of Sorrow between herself and the steel beneath her foe.
Wainright jackknifed in pain around the frame of the diva, likely every bit of oxygen forced from her lungs. Eliza, in more than a little pain herself, settled atop the demolished blonde and, if the match had been falls count anywhere, Bliss would have been a winner. Alas, those weren’t the rules tonight and Eliza wearily pushed off what’s left of Wainright.
Apparently unwilling to search for another ladder, she pulled the steel out from under the twisted wreck that was the Prophet and tossed it up to the apron. She rose to join her tool, but after a quick check, saw it was broken beyond the use of elevation. Frustrated, Eliza slapped the canvas, but quickly realized it could still be good for something else.
Removing the ladder from the apron, the Songbird placed it carefully atop Miranda’s body and rose to a stance on the outside of the ropes. Raising her arms and her voice to reach the perfect high note of victory, Bliss leapt, extending her legs and dropping in a Senton toward her foe.
Perhaps realizing this would be too much for even the patron saint of Eternal Midnight to overcome, Miranda managed to toss the ladder off her but didn’t get away scot-free, the Superlative Soprano still CRUSHING her beneath the heavy landing. Even without the steel reinforcement of the ladder, the force of the impact left the splattered Miranda seemingly ready for the dissolution of her Church.
Eliza was slow to rise, the aches and pains on her own frame mounting in this free-for-all. She bowed to the roaring crowd then set about shoving Wainright’s carcass out of the way so she could check for and find a working replacement to reach her title.
A little searching under the apron confirmed what Bliss already suspected -- the unsung
heroes of FAWN’s equipment crew had left a veritable cache of ladders beneath the ring. Eliza counted no less than half a dozen on this side of the ring alone and all that variety made her the proud owner of a brand new twelve foot ladder in approximately half that many seconds. Hauling the ladder upright with a soft grunt, the Superlative Soprano muscled it onto the apron, slid it under the bottom rope and hopped up a moment thereafter.
The path to her championship was momentarily clear, yet the Englishwoman knew she wouldn’t be comfortable until she’d removed the threat of Miranda Wainright entirely. To that end she dropped off the apron, helped herself to a double handful of hair and scraped the woozy blonde off the floor. “You are blessed with the strength of your convictions, I can’t deny that.” Bliss punctuated the statement by abruptly THWHUMPING the challenger’s forehead onto the apron. “Such a shame that those convictions are utterly insaNNNNGGHHHH!”
Miranda jabbed an elbow into Blissy’s belly, immediately followed with a second to free herself from the brunette’s grasp. “Choose your words more carefully heathen.” Wainright growled after she flipped the hair out of her eyes. “Or I’ll tie your serpent’s tongue in a kn--”
CRAAACK! Eliza answered with a savage Knife-Edge Chop that sent Miranda stumbling back, one arm crossed protectively over her stinging décolletage. “Not my tongue that should concern you, Wainright.” Bliss chirped. “It’s my talons that will do you OOOOFFFHHH!”
Miranda made her pay with a Toe Kick to the gut, then snatched buried a hand in the Briton’s hair and yanked her up on her tiptoes to --WHAP! Eliza managed to get her hands braced against the apron, effectively stuffing the blonde’s attempted head trauma. Straightening herself up at the cost of a few follicles, Bliss jacked Wainright’s jaw with a quick European Uppercut, then snagged her at togs and tresses and slung her under the bottom rope. But rather than simply let go, she held onto Miranda’s noggin so that the Churchgoer’s legs swung toward the middle of the ring but her head stayed close to the edge. Transitioning to a Front Facelock, Bliss slung the challenger’s near arm over her shoulders, grabbed hold of her waistband and backed up until Miranda was supported by nothing more than her shins. Though the FAWNatics had no particular love for Wainright’s divisive dogma, many in the first few rows still groaned in sympathy when the Renaissance Woman twisted in a quick half circle and laid out flat to bring the Prophet of Pain THWHUNKING down on the back of her head and shoulders with a brutal Swinging Neckbreaker!
SWINGING NECKBREAKER FROM THE APRON: www.youtube.com/watch?v=rV1HJ_nzoQs
Wainright sat up so fast it made Eliza’s heart skip a beat, though thankfully it returned to normal when the challenger wrapped both arms around her throbbing skull and crumpled to one side. Ignoring the protest from her own back when she clambered to boot leather, Bliss rolled under the bottom rope, grabbed the ladder and powered to her feet a moment thereafter. She got it set up in short order, though the lithesome lovely took several seconds to make sure she had the device positioned directly beneath the swaying strap. Thus satisfied, she grabbed a rung at eye level, put a boot on the bottom and began her ascent. The Basement Dwellers cheered
uproariously, proving themselves a more than adequate choir as FAWN’s top star drew closer and closer to regaining her prize. Eliza’s vision was practically tunneled around the World Title, her ears however were tuned to a much broader spectrum and a sudden change in the crowd’s pitch told her something was wro--BWAAAANG!
Shrieks from the starlet and groans from the chorus as a steel chair flew from the aether and slammed into Bliss’s back! The agonizing jolt caused both feet to slip and suddenly Eliza was dangling, kept from an ugly fall by a one-handed death-grip on the rung just above her head. Somewhere below her, a familiar voice said, “Discard these useless hopes of yours, sister. Return to the canvas and face me like the righteous warrior you claim to be, or you shall suffer accordingly.”
Too concerned with setting her feet to pay much attention to Miranda’s babbling, the Songbird got herself set and suddenly moved up three more rungs! Near the top now, Bliss reaaaaaaaaaached up and touched her title as it made one of its small, lazy passes. Gritting her teeth, she moved up another step and BWAAAANG!
Miranda hit her with the chair a second time, a two handed overhand shot that caught the World Champ in the small of the back. Eliza’s legs gave out a second time and she might’ve suffered an ugly face-first skid down the ladder if Miranda hadn’t moved into place beneath her, the True Believer letting Bliss’s legs thread over her shoulders. Before you label this an act of charity, keep in mind that Miranda backed away from the ladder as soon as she’d looped her arms around the brunette’s shins. With Eliza slumped and vulnerable in the Electric Chair, the Messiah of Misery pressed her hands palms together and bowed her head, offering up a silent prayer. Whether or not she received an answer was something only Miranda knew, yet whatever the result, it proved disastrous for Bliss, as the blonde shoved her up and forward while simultaneously dropping to a seat to THAWHAM the Englishwoman flat on her face, chest and tummy. Eliza bounced hard and rolled onto her side, the wounded champion curling up to protect her midsection.
ELECTRIC CHAIR FACEBUSTER: www.youtube.com/watch?v=eHsBmOPs2uI
Miranda let her do so without interference, the challenger had her own aches and pains to endure and there was also the matter of the chair which had helped turn the tide of their battle. Drawing it to close once she’d worked the worst of the kinks from her neck, the Septa of Sorrow got to her feet and muttered, “Your voice is lovely, sister. I would happily add it to my choir, but since you seem determined to revel in the ugliness of the light, it is my sad duty to silence you once and for all.”
She drove a quick kick into Bliss’s back, forcing the Englishwoman to roll over and face the lights. Planting a foot on either side of her prey’s hips, Miranda flipped the chair over, pressed the rounded edge in below Eliza’s chin and went down on one knee, strangling the life out of her!
Castle held his tongue for an internal five count but when Wainright showed no signs of
stopping, he hurried over and swatted her on the shoulder. “Ease off, Miranda! You could do permanent damage like that!”
Miranda loosened the pressure ever so slightly and Eliza let out a teakettle wheeze that made the ref cringe. Attention trained on Nick, Miranda noted, “Your talent for the obvious will never cease to amaze me, mister Castle.”
She would’ve resumed the hateful throttling then and there if Nick hadn’t said, “If I have to stop this match for an injury I’ll make sure you don’t leave this ring as the World Champion. Does that amaze you too?”
The baleful blonde growled low in the back of her throat, then tossed the chair away without comment. Making a point to ignore the referee as she filled her hands with the Songbird’s dark locks, Wainright hauled the gagging grappler to boot leather and marched her over to the ropes, where she hooked Eliza’s arms over the top strand. Too short of breath to fully comprehend the danger, Bliss only snapped back to reality when she felt the middle rope snap down snug over her biceps. Eliza lashed out with a kick, cursed aloud when Miranda stepped out of range.
“Don’t even think about it, Wainright!” Eliza bellowed as the Deacon of Despair started to climb the ladder. “That’s a coward’s way to win and you know it!”
Wainright stopped more than halfway up the ladder, then turned around and smiled beatifically. “Of course it is, sister. And I’m far too proud to taint the World Title with such a victory, I just thought you should know the same pang of sick disgust I felt over the summer when you stole our first meeting from me.”
Eliza strained against the rubber-coated steel but couldn’t free herself. “Kiss my arse you demented bytch.” she huffed. “That was a clean win and you UUUUUUUUNNNNNNGGGGHHHH!”
The argument came to a violent end when Miranda dove from her perch and stuffed both knees against the brunette’s chest. Catching her behind the head in the same breath, she dropped to her back and tore Eliza from her bindings just to drive the air from her body with a hellacious Diving Lungblower!
Eliza spasmed on the canvas like 10,000 volts coursed through her body while Wainright rolled up to her knees next to the shuddering brunette.
“That’s a mere taste of what I can unleash, heathen,” the Septa of Sorrow informed, before unleashing a barrage of closed fists on any piece of the champion she found unguarded.
With Bliss further bruised and battered, Miranda shoved to her feet and turned to gaze at the World Title belt. Her leap off the ladder shoved the manual elevator several feet from under the prize and the blonde tracked it down. But instead of placing it back under the ultimate icon of FAWN achievement, Wainright folded it shut and leaned it into a neutral corner. Apparently,
erlative Soprano.
The denizen of Eternal Midnight laid the steel in a 45-degree angle from the top buckle and moves to the now stilled but still splayed Bliss. Wrapping her hands around the head of the flightless Songbird, Miranda muscled the listless diva to her feet a few feet from where the base of the ladder met the canvas. She provides support for the wavering Eliza, hip to hip and shoulder to shoulder.
Wainright then locked her right arm with Eliza’s left, pivoted and sent Bliss over with a Hip Toss toward the suspended steel. Or that was the plan. Instead, Eliza snaked her left leg with the right of the Prophet of Pain and saved herself from a backbreaking fate. Undeterred, Miranda tried to overpower the block with a second attempt and found her plan foiled again.
Focus and fight regained by Bliss, the Brit spun the shocked blonde to face her. But before Eliza could send the startled Miranda clattering into the unforgiving metal, Wainright wrapped one arm around the back of Blissy’s neck and the opposite under an arm, fingers linking the limbs between the champ’s shoulderblades.
Laying out just to the side of the steel, Wainright jerked Eliza down into the ladder face and chest first with a vicious Reverse STO that put a significant dent in the device, not to mention Blissy’s braincase. A semiconscious Eliza dribbled off the side of the ladder, plopping to the canvas in a wide starfish.
REVERSE STO: www.youtube.com/watch?v=9aT_XQeAn-Q
On the other side, the Churchgoer sat up and dramatically wiped off her hands. She pressed her palms together in prayerful contemplation for a moment then pushed to her feet. Waking around the remains of the ladder, Miranda placed a boot on the chest of the champ and left them for what could conservatively be called a three-count.
“Consider yourself blessed through this baptism of steel, heathen siren,” Wainright pronounces to the dozing champ, Bliss motionless underfoot save for the soft rise and fall of her bosom. “But why don’t we make sure your followers understand you’re ready to proceed through the ebon gates of Midnight.”
The Septa of Sorrow again encased Eliza’s head within her arms and worked the bigger brunette slowly but surely to stooped feet. It doesn’t appear Eliza’s in a position to remain there under her own power, but Wainright made sure the champ didn’t need her balance for long.
She dipped and threaded an arm through Eliza’s quaking, ivory-skinned stems. Miranda scooped Bliss off her feet and onto a shoulder. The blonde pivoted easily with her cargo, adrenaline feeding her darkened soul. Wainright SLAMMED Eliza down on the ladder, the steel bending further but not breaking.
With the shellshocked diva’s head higher on the angled ladder, her boot soles pointed to
the floor, Bliss appeared on an altar of violence and, as Miranda strode to the buckles from which the ladder leans, she meant to play both minister and mistress in this vile ceremony.
Climbing the corner from the outside, the Preacher of Persecution reached her elevated platform and looked out on the lain sacrifice to Eternal Midnight below. Miranda raised her arms high and wide to the sound of a worried buzz from the crowd. She settled into a slight crouch and launched high over the champion, CRASHING ACROSS the body of Bliss with an Elbow Drop that finally snapped the bent ladder in two and likely did the same to the shattered soprano.
Wainright showed more of a reaction from the ungodly impact, the blonde wincing as she cradled her weaponized arm in anguish. Miranda reclined against the ropes, rubbing her aching joint. Close by, the gobsmacked Eliza looked ready for a trip to the ICU, the piercing elbow to the cleft of her bosom and the following drop to the deck, landing not only on the thinly-sheathed plywood but the steel remains of the ladder, having put her in a critical condition.
The only positive for the plucked and plundered Blackbird was the junkyard condition of the ladder in the ring and Miranda’s own recovery time. Still, the Prophet of Pain controlled her anguish quickly and was on her feet with the help of the ropes. She worked out the ache in her elbow with some careful flexing and hovered over the softly stirring Eliza, standing amongst the wreckage.
“This is all on you, heretic,” Miranda admonished calmly. “You could have been deep in the welcoming darkness and instead you have been shown the blinding light of heresy.”
Wainright stepped atop the midriff of the broken Blackbird as she crossed the debris. She dropped to her knees to pluck the bottom half of the broken ladder from beneath her foe and tossed it out under the bottom rope. Apparently deciding the top portion might come in handy, the blonde dropped to a shoulder and rolled out to the floor in need of a replacement to reach the golden idol glittering in the heavens above.
Miranda folded the apron skirt onto the mat to make her search simpler and she slid out a twin to the ladder that aided and abetted in the death knell for Blissy’s oh-so-brief title reign.
Showing some strain lifting her metal path to glory, Wainright heaved the ladder over the bottom rope and through, a corner of the steel striking a thigh of the champ. A sharp pain seemed to reanimate the Superlative Soprano and she worked her way to a seat as Miranda slid back into the squared circle.
Though it drew her like a beacon, Wainright ignored the heathen’s anguish until she’d set her latest acquisition in the shadow of the World Title. When she did turn her attention to the champion, Eliza was barely off one knee, the battered Briton gamely scrabbling at the ropes to help her rise. Deftly avoiding the rubble strewn across their battleground, the Prophet of Pain strode over, reached for Bliss’s hair and spiked her with a hard Toe Kick to the belly when Eliza tried to clinch. A Standing Headscissors soon followed, Wainright using a sturdy grip on her foe’s waistband to lead her away from the potential sanctuary of the strands. Miranda sent a
single strong pulse through her stems, but the squeeze drew no reaction from the devastated diva. Thusly satisfied, she leaned forward, wrapped her arms around Bliss’s waist and prophesized, “Spotlights shine when Songbirds call… but Midnight comes for one and all.”
She dipped her knees and hoisted Eliza onto her back, the Basement Dwellers roaring in concern as the leggy brunette was folded into a painful arch. With Bliss’s shins angled limp against her thighs, Miranda shifted from her chest grip to a rough Chinlock, the Messiah of Misery cranking down so the back of Eliza’s neck was fitted snug against the curve of her skull. Those assembled were still shouting useless warnings when the challenger kicked her legs forward and dropped to her knees for a devastating Thou Shalt Not! Bliss landed hard on her knees and whipped to the mat in fast forward, the thump of that secondary landing earning a pained grimace from Nick Castle.
THOU SHALT NOT! www.youtube.com/watch?v=ioRjyHXLE5I
Eerily still amidst the carnage she’d wrought, Wainright eventually spun to one knee and crawled her way over to Bliss. There she brushed hair away from the other woman’s ear so she could lean down to deliver a final benediction. “Your song is over and the stage grows dark. Seek the spotlight again and it will destroy you. Crawl away into the dark and you may yet find salvation.”
Barely a groan from Eliza, so the Messiah of Misery stood up and made her way to the foot of the ladder without even acknowledging the displeasure of her heathen audience. No grandstanding or proselytizing now, Wainright had cleared a path to the World Title and everyone knew it. Starting up the ladder with only a slight hitch in her throbbing right arm, Miranda worked hard not to smirk as the collective hatred massed against her increased in time with her ascent. She was perhaps three rungs from the top when the tone of the heathens went from despair to joy. The smile that had been threatening vanished in an instant, in fact the blonde’s expression was downright sour as she checked the condition of the crippled Songbird.
Beneath her, Eliza Bliss was on all fours and trying to rise.
An uncharacteristic burst of indecisiveness gripped the challenger as she looked from the title, to Bliss and back again. The prize was hers for the taking, even the most miraculous resurgence couldn’t keep Eliza from reaching the blonde before Miranda claimed the gold as her own. And yet… she’d told the heathen to stay down. She’d told her to stay down… and here she was trying to rise. Still trying to seek that tawdry spotlight even after Wainright had warned her of dire consequences for such insubordination.
In the end her choice was an easy one.
Any heathen could raise a belt and call it a championship, but a true believer, a true Sheppard, led by example, and what sort of example would it set if she let the heathen songstress defy her so brazenly. “Very well, Eliza Bliss.” Miranda murmured as she climbed down the ladder. “I’ll see to it that you are front and center in your beloved spotlight even as the whole
world fades to black.”
As of yet unaware of this looming menace, the Renaissance Woman continued to muster her reserves until she felt strong enough to plant a knee and rise to her full he-- Miranda was on her in a trice, the challenger catching Bliss’s right arm in a Half Nelson while the left reached across the brunette’s throat to NO! Too startled to actually think about what she was doing, Eliza grabbed a handful of Wainright’s hair, dropped to one knee and snapped her upper body forward and down to send the zealot tumbling across the mat in an improvised Snapmare.
Back on her feet in the blink of an eye, Miranda rounded on the champion and rushed her flat out, the blonde’s right hand drawing back for that jaw-breaking Palm THWHAP! Eliza proved a heartbeat faster, the Superlative Soprano catching the fair-haired fiend in the hollow of her throat with an Uppercut Throat Thrust!
Silenced by that single pinpoint blow, Miranda turned away in search of separation only to find herself that much closer when Bliss wrenched her arms back in a Double Chickenwing. Twisting them both in the opposite direction even as the crowd lost its collective shyt, Eliza didn’t bother with her signature high note, she simply dropped to her tush to THWHUNK Wainright’s forehead into the deck courtesy of a Decrescendo! Bliss spun around the instant she touched down, shoved her head against the blonde’s ribs and treated her to a bum’s rush of a barrel roll to force Miranda out under the bottom rope!
DECRESCENDO: www.youtube.com/watch?v=eeBL5TGQ1yU
“Guuuuhhhh…. get off my stage… understudy.” the Renaissance Woman huffed once she’d made it back to boot leather several seconds later.
Painfully aware of just how slow she’d move once the adrenaline wore off, Eliza trudged to the ladder, confirmed it was still where she needed it and started the long climb to the top. Whereas Wainright’s ascent earned nothing but scorn from the All Hallows Evil crowd, Bliss’s was a veritable Ode to Joy, the volume of their love growing louder and louder and-- a bellow of concern had Eliza looking around in confusion, her flanks were clear, as was her six, yet the throng sounded more worried than ever, which meant--
Bliss looked straight ahead just in time to watch Miranda springboard off the top rope on the opposite side of the ring! Soaring through the void like some lantern-eyed fallen angel, the challenger landed on the other side of the ladder and there was no hesitation this time, she made for the top like a woman possessed. More than a bit wild-eyed herself at this point, Bliss scrambled up three more rungs and slammed a sloppy Haymaker into the blonde’s exposed ribs. Miranda grunted, grabbed a handful of hair and proceeded to pound punches into the taller woman’s face. Eliza defended as best she could, which wasn’t much considering she also had to climb up a few more rungs to reach level footing with her tormentor. Setting her feet as best she could, the Briton plunged a hand into Wainright’s hair and answered with her own punches, the usually elegant technician clearly willing to go to extremes to keep her title.
Alas she had entered a contest of wills with quite possibly the strongest will in all of FAWN and when it looked like Eliza might gain too much ground with mere fisticuffs, Miranda Wainright palmed the heathen’s head in both hands and used her thumbs to gouge the champion’s eyes! Eliza shrieked like a banshee and clamped down on Miranda’s wrists in hopes of prizing them away from her face. Wainright only shook her head and grinned like a lunatic. “I hope you enjoyed all those years in the spotlight, sister.” Wainright hissed. “I fear you’ve seen the last of it for a very long tiGUUUURRRRHHHHHHK!”
Eliza halved her grip on the zealot’s wrists and stuffed a Cleft Note in Miranda’s unsuspecting mouth! Bearing down with white knuckle ferocity the instant she got under the challenger’s silver tongue, Bliss sobbed with relief when Wainright ceased her gouging to slap at the champion’s talon. Eyes closed to protect against further assaults, the Songbird kept her chin tucked and her head tilted even as she bore down with the sort of pressure only Jenny Jacobs could appreciate.
On the other side of the ladder, Miranda twisted and fought, wrenched and clawed, pounded and scraped, but she couldn’t extricate the Cleft Note. Little by little her efforts slowed, her limbs went sludgy and her head dipped low. In less than twenty seconds she was too woozy to throw so much as a slap and in thirty seconds one foot slipped off the ladder. Sensing the shift in her blonde’s weight, Eliza forced herself to move up one more rung, then she pushed off and down, hurling Miranda from the heavens to the depths with ring-rattling THAWHAM!
“Stay down.” Eliza croaked. “For the love of god, stay down you crazy bytch.”
No answer, not that the champ waited for one. She only took a deep breath, reached up and grabbed hold of the belt. Her third tug pulled it loose and Bliss screamed with joy when the bell clanged.
“Ladies and gentlemen, your winner… and STILL THE FAWN WORLD CHAMPION… ELIZA BLISS!”
Nick Castle patted the ladder, inviting Eliza to return to the canvas, but she shook her head ‘no’. Instead she raised the belt one handed and trained her attention on a camera watching from one corner. “This is mine!” she told everyone within the sound of her voice. “This is MY story and it doesn’t end until one of you bloody kills me, because THAT’S WHAT IT’S GOING TO TAKE TO WRESTLE THIS AWAY FROM ME!” Holding it two handed now, Eliza raised the title overhead and showed it off for the redlining crowd until All Hallows Evil faded to black.