Post by hawkeye on Nov 27, 2023 0:33:47 GMT
With a set of weapons both familiar and less so scattered around the ring, the FAWNatics are particularly excited to see who will be using the arsenal to their advantage and who will be on the receiving end.
The All Hallows’ Evil crowd aren’t held in suspense for long as the captivating groove of Priyanka Chopra and Pitbull’s "Exotic” breaks through the buzz, heralding the imminent arrival of the Subcontinental Siren.
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sPhhZg9v9NU ).
Having procured a new palanquin for her epic, illustrious ride to the ring, a set of musclebound men clad in gold loin clothes and sandals carry the conveyance. Atop is India’s most dangerous export and a former World Champion.
Excited yet repulsed by the appearance of the Empress, the despicable Singh draws the enmity of nearly every arena occupant.
AMARA SINGH
The behemoths haul the ornate bed upon which the Bollywood Bombshell lies. As the ‘exotic’ grappler is carried toward the squared circle on the curious conveyance, the assembled batter her with boos.
As the men reach their destination, the announcer greets the spectacular arrival of the Subcontinent’s most acclaimed warrior.
"Tonight’s next match is a Calcutta Street Fight. There are no count-outs and no disqualifications. Every weapon of war a combatant can find is absolutely legal!”
The crowd roars its approval, likely hoping for the next woman out to demolish the despised Empress. The announcer resumes his message.
“First. Standing 5 feet 6 inches tall and weighing in at 133 pounds from Cawnpore, India…the Empress and the Bollywood Bombshell…AMARA SINGH!"
The greased goliaths lower the palanquin until it is even with the apron. Singh gracefully slides from bedside to ringside, Amara slipping from beneath a sparkling golden robe, revealing the curvy form beneath.
The momentary striptease draws a round of rabid applause within the jeers, Singh dropping a pearly sneer upon the peasants. She moves through the ropes, taking center stage.
Amara is clad in her iconic and lavishly designed, gold bra with matching gold and red, lacy harem pants, her feet bare. Singh’s raven tresses fall just past her shoulders in wild waves, dark copper skin glowing under the lights. The Bombshell raises a microphone to her full rosy lips.
“For one night only, I have decided to reclaim my roots from the contemptible Raven. All Hallows’ Evil may be known as the place where I was humiliated by that scrawny bird. But after tonight, it will also be known as the show where I reclaimed my formidable and frightening reputation. So bring out the sacrifice!”
Smirking at the jeers, the Bollywood Bully scans the environs both inside and outside the ring, making note of as many weapons as she can see.
The Indian grappler moves to the corner furthest from the ramp and readies for all-out war, stretching her limbs, her dark pools never leaving the upper stage, ready for the victim’s arrival.
"And her opponent, hailing from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania... She stands five feet, seven inches tall, and weighs in tonight at one hundred and forty pounds... she is the Fit Queen, MABEL POWERS!”
Mabel's entrance is a mesmerizing spectacle. She strides through the curtain and sashays to the center of the stage, sporting an ear-to-ear grin. In accordance with tonight's theme, she wears a traditional Indian saree and dances to the tune of Bollywood music. With a graceful move, she pulls her saree off, revealing her wrestling attire underneath. The music then switches to a high-energy workout track and Mabel is clad in snug-fitting black sports briefs, which daringly showcase the curve of her glutes, and a supportive white sports bra that accentuates her well-endowed bosom. She runs her hands down her athletic figure, then raises her arms for a double bicep flex that earns an uproarious cheer from the crowd. Her sporty attire accentuates her athletic build, and she ties her hair into a tight ponytail to complete the look.
MABEL POWERS
In black wrestling boots adorned with matching knee pads, she strides down the ramp. Along the way, she gleefully slaps the hands of fans, basking in their adoration. As she reaches the apron, she doesn't miss a beat. With a seductive grin, she slides one leg over the middle rope, pausing to tease the crowd with a playful booty jiggle. She makes her way into the ring, greeting the arena's eruption of cheers and whistles.
Standing in the center of the squared circle, Mabel points an inviting finger at the crowd, who respond with fervent excitement. She takes a tour around the ring, charming the audience with her affectionate smile. Her confidence and charisma are palpable, and the fans can't help but be drawn to her. In the far corner, she begins her warm-up, bouncing playfully and maintaining her captivating smile. Mabel's presence is empowering, and the audience can't help but be captivated by her strength and allure.
The audience is buzzing with anticipation as Mabel carefully assesses the surroundings. Tables, steel chairs, and ropes lie scattered around the ring, each one a potential instrument of destruction. As she looks around at the chaos that's about to unfold, Mabel's confidence remains unwavering even if she is new to this style of match.
Singh glances up and down at her foe, seemingly suitably impressed this physical specimen will be a challenge.
As the bell rings, Amara circles out of her corner, Powers joining her in making a circuit of the squared circle. The Empress kicks a garbage can lid and a kendo stick under the ropes, apparently interested in keeping the Street Fight a more straightforward wrestling test for the time being, perhaps hoping to feel out what she has in Mabel.
Slowly, the destroyer-class grapplers close their gap and Amara raises her arms high and forward, wriggling her fingers, offering Powers a test of strength.
Eager to show her stuff, the Fit Queen laces her digits with those of the Subcontinental Siren. Arms flex against each other as stances widen. Perfect pearlies grit and grind as each woman tries to overpower the other.
Slowly but sure and to Singh’s disbelief, Mabel slowly takes control, rolling her wrists over those of Singh. The Indian begins to lower in a slight bridge under the mounting pressure, Amara’s arms quaking as they descend, Singh shaking her head as the crowd lights up.
In the process of being sent to a humbling end to the exam, a desperate Amara lurches forward and drives a knee into the unprotected belly of her adversary.
Mabel groans as she doubles at the waist, eyes bulging after being impaled. Keeping her grip tight, Singh uses her now ‘superior’ strength to force Powers to her back to ‘win’ the contest, Mabel’s shoulders planted to the canvas for the…
ONE…
TWO…
The Fit Queen shoves off the canvas, twisting to her back, drawing Amara along with her.
Halving her grip to one of Singh’s arms, Powers pulls it between her thighs and applies a scissors, starting to lock down a submission grip before Singh can scuttle her way to the ropes and lay one over the bottom cable.
“LEGGO. COUNT!” Amara squawks, first at Mabel, then the ref.
But Nick Castle only shrugs in reply.
“No DQs, Amara,” Castle reminds.
Wincing in pain, the veteran Singh quickly takes another tact, getting her bare feet on the canvas and pumping her golden-brown legs to roll Powers onto her shoulders in a tight cradle for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Mabel releases her scissors to flop out of the pinning predicament. Loose from each other, the women scramble to their feet and charge toward each other, Singh showing her savvy, driving another raised knee deep into Mabel’s navel to beat her foe to the attack.
A bursting exhale escapes the brunette’s lips as she’s bent deep at the waist from the impact. A raised double axhandle from Singh crashes down between the lowered shoulderblades of her opponent, driving Powers to all fours.
Gathering a kendo stick laying on the edge of the apron, Amara pulls it through the ropes and lifts it overhead as Mabel starts to rise.
WHACK.
The bamboo cracks harshly across the spine of Powers, Mabel’s back arching in anguish, her face etched in pain.
Far from done, the Empress swings again.
WHACK.
If anything, the connection is more impactful and Mabel staggers away, vertebrae curled as she tries to make space from her attacker.
But the Siren isn’t done pushing her advantage with the weapon in hand. Singh raises the stick high, planning to bring it down on the crown of Powers’ skull until the Fit Queen pivots into a side kick, gutting Amara, the bamboo trickling from her grasp. The bug-eyed Indian draws in deep breaths as she takes a u-turn.
With the weapon dropped beside her, the brunette snatches it off the deck and brandishes it like a baseball bat. And when Amara turns to face her foe, fists raised protectively, Powers goes ‘batter up’ and hits a home run across the roiling tawny midriff of the former World Champion.
Amara’s face is a blend of shock and pain as she hugs her tummy and hops around the confines in stinging anguish. It doesn’t get any better as Mabel THWACKS her across the expanse of her back, sending Singh stumbling into a corner where she turns and eases into the buckles back-first.
Having tossed the stick aside, the Fit Queen is racing toward her target, taking flight from several feet out and SPLASHING Amara under a wave of Mabel. When Powers bounces away from the collision, a shellshocked, glassy-eyed Amara plops to her backside, sinewy, golden-brown legs extended in front of her, arms hanging limply at her sides.
A resplendent Mabel raises an arm high as she heads for the opposite corner, the crowd rallying even louder than before. Turning, she takes off in a sprint toward Singh, leaping as she closes, this time her legs leading the way toward a Bronco Busting of the Empress.
But the devious Singh pulls a trash can lid from behind the ring post and places it in front of her, edge forward and vertical. A wide-eyed and airborne Powers’ undercarriage SLAMS into the rim of the steel rather than Amara’s chest and face.
As Mabel’s crotch is dissected by the lid, many in the crowd turn away in sympathy pain. Powers, in a gawd awful amount of the real thing, rolls away from the fateful impact, hands buried between her thighs, howling in agony, her kitty crushed.
As The Fit Queen groans and struggles to her hands and knees, she desperately tries to crawl away from her determined opponent, seeking refuge. However, The Bollywood Bombshell has other plans. She moves swiftly, straddling over Mabel, and with a swift motion, flattens her into the canvas by delivering a thumping butt-drop onto Mabel's back. The impact forces the air out of her foe's lungs, leaving Mabel writhing in pain on the mat.
"Let's finish this quickly!" Amara snarls and grabs hold of Mabel's upper body by the shoulders. She tucks one of Mabel's arms behind her thigh, preparing for a potentially match-ending Camel Clutch. However, before Amara can fully lock in the hold, Powers quickly retaliates.
"Urghh..NOO!!!" Mabel reaches back and grabs Singh by her hair, preventing her opponent from applying the painful submission move.
"ARGHH...LET G-WOAH!!!" Singh bleats.
Mabel executes a snapmare from her knees, hurling Amara over her shoulders and granting herself a brief moment of respite.
Amara, arching her back and struggling to her feet, quickly scans the ring for an advantage. Her eyes lock onto a nearby steel chair, and she snatches it up.
The Fit Queen, showing her quickness and agility, springs to her feet and delivers a precise dropkick to the steel chair, causing the seat to crash into Amara’s face. The impact sends the Empress stumbling in a backpedal, dazed and in pain. With Singh thwarted, the crowd erupts in cheers, impressed by the agility and skill on display in this intense street fight.
The Subcontinental Siren drops the steel chair and crashes into the corner.
The Magnetic Marvel's confidence radiates as she sprints into the opposite corner of the ring. She raises her arm, rallying the crowd to her side, and measures her opponent, Amara still recovering in the corner.
With a burst of energy, Mabel charges across the ring, picking up incredible speed. She launches herself off the canvas and crashes into Amara with a powerful corner splash, squashing her opponent against the turnbuckles.
"URGHH!!!" Singh grunts in pain. She staggers out of the corner and Mabel lifts Amara across her body. With Singh in her grasp, Mabel showcases her impressive strength as she hoists and shifts Singh onto her right shoulder. The Fit Queen pivots to the center of the ring and drives Singh down into the canvas with an earth-shaking powerslam.
Powerslam (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mBCZKwQz-ds&pp=ygUPZnJvbnQgcG93ZXJzbGFt)
Powers hooks Amara's leg and covers for the...
ONE!
TWO!
THRNOOO!!!
It's a near fall, Amara kicking out in the nick of time much to the crowd's disappointment.
Mabel looks to maintain her advantage, moving to the ropes and rolling out of the ring.
She immediately begins searching under the apron, hoping to find a useful weapon to help her gain even more of the upper hand in this street fight.
Mabel grins as she successfully retrieves a table from underneath the ring. She slides the table back into the ring, the crowd roaring in anticipation of the chaos about to unfold. Mabel follows the folding furniture into the ring and quickly sets it up while the former champion struggles to her feet.
As Mabel moves towards Amara to collect her, the Bollywood Bombshell pulls a mysterious bag from the corner of the ring and dips her hand in. As the Magnetic Marvel pulls Amara back to her feet, the Siren throws a handful of turmeric spice into Mabel's face, creating a cloud of yellow powder that blinds The Fit Queen. Mabel coughs and sputters, her vision obscured as the spice stings her eyes.
"HAH! I knew you ladies can't handle spice!" Amara cackles as Mabel staggers back to the center of the ring.
As the distance between Amara and Mabel grows, The Bollywood Bombshell charges towards the disoriented Mabel and delivers a Spinning Heel Kick, sending The Fit Queen crashing to the canvas.
Spinning Heel Kick (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zYYXUEpG0AY&pp=ygUcc3Bpbm5pbmcgaGVlbCBraWNrIHdyZXN0bGluZw%3D%3D)
Amara dives down and covers Powers for the...
ONE!
TWO!
THRNOOO!!!
Mabel's instinctual kickout keeps her in the match and she wisely retreats to the outside to clear her eyes of the turmeric spice with some water from the fans. Amara argues with the referee, frustrated she didn't secure victory.
Singh soon joins The Fit Queen at ring side, stalking from afar and behind before charging her with a clothesline but NOO!!!
With her vision restored, Mabel seizes an opportunity to regain control of the match. She ducks under Amara's stretched right arm, leaving the Bollywood Bombshell startled.
The crowd roars in approval as The Fit Queen smashes Amara with a forearm, turning the tables.
With the momentum swinging in her favor, The Magnetic Marvel doesn't hold back. She delivers a couple more forearm shots to Amara's face, stunning her foe further and, with a swift and powerful motion, Mabel whips Amara toward the nearby steel barricade.
"ARGHH!!!"
The former World Champion screams in anguish after impact before falling to her knees.
The crowd roars in excitement as The Fit Queen observes her fallen opponent. She takes a moment to rally the crowd, building anticipation as Amara slowly rises to her feet near the barricade.
With a burst of speed and precision, she charges toward Singh and delivers a boot to her foe’s face, sending the Bollywood Bombshell tumbling over the barricade and into the first row of the spectator's area, eliciting cheers and gasps from the audience.
Amara retreats deeper into the crowd and Mabel relentlessly pursues her opponent. With every unsteady step by her opponent, Powers catches and continues to pummel Amara, delivering a flurry of punches and kicks. The crowd surrounds the action, their cheers and excitement growing with each strike.
With the fight getting further away, the ref quickly joins the crowd to officiate the match.
Trying to slow Powers’ assault, Singh grabs a fan by the arm and heaves the man at an onrushing Mabel. The brunette tosses the wide-eyed FAWNatic aside, but it gives Singh enough time to grab a bag of popcorn from another hater and throw it in the Fit Queen’s face.
Distracted for a moment by the fluffy kernels, Mabel doesn’t notice a turned Amara is folding a recently forcibly unoccupied chair and, when Powers lifts her laced fingers to deliver an axhandle blow to the skull of the Empress, the Indian grappler drives the rim of the backrest into Mabel’s midsection.
Taut abs or no, being gutted by the steel chair is enough to leave Powers bent at the waist in front of a furious Singh. Her foe on a platter, Amara lifts the makeshift weapon overhead and brings it down HARD across Mabel’s spine, forcing the grimacing Fit Queen to hands and knees.
“You throw me into this sea of peasants,” Singh shouts. “You’ve dirtied me. But I’ll destroy you!”
Amara places the chair back on the arena floor unfolding it in front of the kneeling Mabel.
The Bollywood Bombshell sinks her digits into the long dark mane of her adversary, drawing back Powers’ noggin, then swinging it forward as harshly as she’s able, THWAMMING Mabel’s face and forehead into the metal.
With the seat bent in a vague representation of the Fit Queen’s features, her head remaining on the steel plate, Singh pushes another fan off his chair and collects the folding furniture, hoping to make Mabel’s skull a sandwich between sets of steel. Straightening and raising, Singh sends it toward the back of Powers’ cranium, the masses holding their breath. Thankfully, Mabel’s able to roll out of the way and Amara CLACKS metal to metal, dropping her new chair, wincing at the bees buzzing in her stinging hands.
As the Empress shakes out the leftover tingles, Mabel reaches her feet and stumbles away from Amara, retreating toward the ring. A snarling Singh is quickly in hot pursuit, pushing through the peasants. Powers shakes off Amara’s grip from her right shoulder and swivels over the barricade. The brunette takes a step toward the ring before the Indian snatches an elbow and spins Mabel toward the front row she occupies.
A whistling superkick sizzles no more than an inch from the chin of an paying customer and SNAPS into the jaw of her copper-skinned foe, Amara suffering a violent case of whiplash from the boot sole meeting its target. Dark eyes rolling white after impact, Amara flops like a limp dishrag over the top of the barrier, Singh hung out to dry, chest, arms and head over the inside, pelvis and legs remaining in the fans’ territory.
Mabel takes a couple deep breaths as she backpedals away from the Bollywood Bombshell. She raises an arm to draw the favor of the FAWNatics, then races toward Amara, lifting a boot, and RAMMING it into the left temple of the Empress. The force sends Singh tumbling back into the field of play, Amara’s limp body pooling on the inside of the cordon, Castle soon joining her in a more careful and less painful fashion.
With a slack Singh at her feet, Mabel slowly scrapes what’s left of the former World Champion off the arena floor and muscles her next to the Spanish announce table. Face to drowsy face with her foe, Powers slides to her opponent’s side while wrapping her right arm across the chest and far shoulder of the Subcontinental Siren. Mabel grabs a handful of spandex on Amara’s near hip and launches the reeling Empress high, showing her incredible strength. And with one arm she makes splinters out of the table, sending Amara CRASHING through with a Fully Loaded (Lifting Side Slam) that makes kindling out of the surface and Singh.
Fully Loaded ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=8cqHWu6nBYQ )
Mabel takes a moment to cast her eyes in Castle’s direction. He silently responds with a nod, presuming Mabel’s asking if a pin within the mess of the demolished table will seal the deal. Assured that’s all that remains to claim her victory, Mabel dives across the splayed Singh for the inevitable…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOO!
Somehow, Amara throws a shoulder up to the groaning disappointment of the sellout throng. The look on Powers’ features is one of complete disbelief, but Nick shows her two fingers, confirming the obstinate Singh hasn’t been beaten on her home turf of Calcutta just yet.
Grabbing a wrist and shoulder, Mabel removes Amara from the rubble and pulls the semiconscious Singh to her feet, guiding her wobbly cargo to the apron’s edge. She pushes Singh to the deck and rolls her under the bottom rope, then searches under the apron instead of immediately rejoining the Empress in the ring.
Pulling out a table to the great delight of the FAWNatics, Powers slides it in after a still horizontal Amara. But the Fit Queen isn’t done. She dips under the apron and returns with a cloth bag of which the masses are immediately excited. Powers rolls into the ring with her new possession. She sets down the bag and returns to the table. Lifting it, she props it in a corner on end, ready to make another bed of splinters Singh’s final resting place for the night.
But before that final journey, Mabel revisits her cloth container, widening the draw string. The Fit Queen spills the contents across the canvas in front of her, a shower of a hundred or more tacks spreading across the mat no more than a few inches from where Amara only now begins to stir.
The Fit Queen steps over the glittering spread and ‘helps’ Singh to her feet.
“Just remember, Amara,” Powers says. “When you’re picking these out of your backside after the match. This is what you wanted.”
The powerhouse brunette dips and scoops an arm between the rubbery legs of Singh. She grunts as she vaults a softly squirming Amara onto her right shoulder, ready to body slam her into the mass of tacks. But the Bollywood Bombshell comes to life, flailing wildly and slipping out of Mabels’ grip, touching boot soles to canvas behind the shocked Powers.
Mabel spins to face her foe and is punted in the kitty by the Indian grappler, the Fit Queen rising to tiptoes, slack-jawed and silent. Amara forces her foe over at the waist and pulls the lowered head of her adversary between her golden-brown thighs, then wraps her arms around Mabel’s gulping tummy. With a loud grunt of effort, Singh launches Mabel, flipping the brunette up her body to a seated position on the Bombshell’s shoulders.
It's figuratively and literally all downhill from there as Amara showcases her own strength in abundance, POWERBOLLYBOMBING Mabel into the sea of tacks to the dismay of the crowd and the shock and awe of the Fit Queen. Mabel is at once shellshocked from the impact and howling from the stinging insertions of dozens of tacks into the skin of her back and thighs and the thin layer of spandex covering her taut ass.
PowerBollyBomb ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=AjSpD_5Lu08 )
A seated Singh, Amara’s cheeks receiving a few tacks of their own on the boundary of the spillage, holds the stacked Powers in her grip between the ‘V’ of her extended legs.
Castle stays clear, but drops nearby to slap out the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Mabel shows incredible resilience as she manages to kick out just before the three-count.
Rolling out of the tacks, she trembles in shock and pain, her back bearing the painful reminder of the tack-covered canvas. Her lips pale and her face etched with agony as she struggles to her feet.
Amara's onslaught continues as she yanks Mabel Powers up the rest of the way by her hair and shoves her foe into the corner.
The Fit Queen slumps against the turnbuckles, clearly shellshocked from the devastating Powerbomb onto the thumbtacks. Amara, unforgiving in her assault, delivers stomp after stomp, further wearing down her opponent until MABEL drops to a seat.
The Bollywood Bombshell then spots a steel chair at the opposite end of the ring and seizes the opportunity. With remarkable agility, Amara charges toward the corner where Powers is slumped. She leaps into the air and positions the steel chair right in front of her feet. With devastating force, she delivers a dropkick to Mabel's face, using the chair for additional damage.
Amara drags the limp and battered Mabel away from the ropes. With a sinister glint in her eye, she hooks Powers' legs, looking to execute a pinfall attempt to secure the victory. The referee gets into position, ready to make the crucial count.
ONE!
TWO!
THR—NOO!!
Powers defiantly kicks out at the very last moment and the crowd erupts in cheers and amazement as the match continues.
Amara, visibly shocked and frustrated, argues vehemently with Castle, insisting she had Powers pinned for the three-count. She points at her own hand, three raised fingers to emphasize her claim.
Castle shakes his head, refusing to reverse his decision, insisting that it was a 'TWO' with exaggerated gestures.
Seizing the opportunity amidst the heated argument between Amara and the referee, Powers crawls to the ropes to pull herself back to her feet. Her back is still visibly marked from the earlier thumbtack incident and she's clearly in pain, but the crowd rallies behind her, sensing a potential turnaround in the match.
Amara begrudgingly accepts the referee's decision, realizing the fight must continue. She refocuses her attention on her opponent, now back on her feet, and charges towards her adversary. Amara tries to deliver the clothesline with an extended right arm, but Mabel ducks under, returning with one of her own as Amara spins to face her.
"COME ON! GET UP!" Mabel yells as Amara scrambles to her feet and hits her with a second clothesline. The crowd roars in approval as Powers starts to mount a remarkable comeback.
With each successive clothesline, three then four, she wears down Amara into a punchdrunk state.
"LAST REP!" Mabel yells and delivers the final one that hits like a freight train, flipping the Bollywood Bombshell inside out. Amara lies face down on the mat, her body demolished and wracked with pain.
"Alright! Last exercise! Let's do this!" Powers shouts, despite her exhaustion, determined to remain a powerhouse in the match. With Amara struggling to stand, Mabel seizes the moment and positions her for the Gorgeous Bomb.
She hoists the Bollywood Bombshell onto her shoulders for payback, displaying her incredible strength.
The audience is in a frenzy, knowing they're about to witness a colossal move.
Mabel steadies herself and, with a deep breath, lifts Amara even higher into the air by her waistband. However, right before she can deliver the match-ending Gorgeous Bomb, Amara clamps Mabel's head between her thighs and sends the Gym General flipping in the air with a Hurrricarana!
Hurricarana (https://youtu.be/MBS-jGfK7M0?si=j3w_KwKqxTW2Y8_f)
Ending sitting on Mabel's chest, Amara manages to seize one of Mabel's legs and remains riding for the...
ONE!
TWO!
THR-NOOO!!!
Mabel kicks out and breathes a sigh of relief knowing it might have been a three count if Amara captured both of her legs.
More shocked than hurt, the Fit Queen manages to find her footing before the former World Champion and seizes the Empress by the hair.
In a desperate move, Amara, on one knee, resorts to a low blow, her arm slipping between Mabel's thighs and delivering a painful forearm strike to the Fit Queen's most sensitive region. Mabel's eyes widen and she grimaces in agony as she staggers back, clutching her lower abdomen.
Amara picks up the steel chair from before ruthlessly swinging it, connecting with Mabel's back in a deafening smack.
The chair's impact sends a shockwave of pain through the Fit Queen's body and she crumples to the canvas, writhing in agony as the crowd gasps in response to the brutal assault.
"This is what peasants like you deserve!" Amara yells, her voice piercing through the arena even as she delivers another brutal chair shot to Mabel's back, making sure to take any resolve out of The Gym General. The sickening sound of metal against flesh resonates through the venue and the Fit Queen's flattened frame convulses in pain.
Amara's anger and frustration are palpable as she tosses the chair out of the ring. She paces around the writhing Mabel, her face contorted with a mix of fury and triumph. Finally, she places her foot firmly on the back of her downed opponent, raising her arms triumphantly in a cocky and defiant pose, instigating boos from the crowd.
As wonderful a money shot as standing on Mabel’s battered spine surely is for Gladiatrix, the Street Fight rages on, Singh stomping the vertebrae up and down across Powers’ vulnerable back.
The Indian leaves the Fit Queen a mewling mess after a dozen ‘dance steps’.
Her foe’s backbone bruised, it’s time to be broken by Amara’s ultimate weapon, a finisher no one’s ever escaped.
The gloriously glistening Singh strides to the ropes, slides through and drops to the floor. She peeks under the apron and emerges with a foot-long length of chain.
Amara menacingly whips the metal to the canvas-sheathed plywood, making a disturbing CLACK, leaving the FAWNatics in a worried silence. Singh rolls back in under the bottom rope, rising and reaching Mabel as the brunette’s made all fours.
The Empress mounts her adversary in a standing, forward-facing straddle, wrapping the chain around her balled right fist, then drops her pear-shaped backside into the base of Powers’ spinal column, forcing the grimacing Fit Queen flat to the canvas, Singh riding her foe.
Snatching Mabel’s left arm, the Bollywood Bombshell posts it over bended knee, Amara having maneuvered to her infamous crouch. She quickly does likewise with the right, both Powers’ wings captured.
A sneering Singh raises the supercharged fist high, drawing a thunderous set of boos from the crowd, then pounds it into Mabel’s forehead.
All hope leaves the building as Powers’ body slackens noticeably. Things only get worse when Amara cups laced fingers under Mabel’s chin and pulls back violently on the sinewy upper half of the brunette, bringing the full force of her infamous Camel Clutch into play.
Amara expertly uses her torque to force Mabel’s teary-eyed gaze first to the rafters then behind her as Power’s tortured form is made a sickening ‘C’ shape. Amara moves to a bridge, drawing a yelping Mabel’s upper half with her, her foe’s vertebrae stretched to the snapping point.
And when it seems Singh cannot be any crueler, the Indian halves her grip under Mabel’s chin, unspooling the chain from her right hand, letting it dangle. The Bombshell slips the free end into her left hand and gives up the cup, instead using the chain across Mabel’s throat to fortify the torturous Clutch.
Her windpipe being closed in addition to the agonizing arch made of her spine, Mabel can take no more, spastically tapping her surrender on Amara’s left shin.
Castle immediately calls for the bell and it tolls no more than a second behind his frantic movement.
But Amara won’t let go!
The ring announcer hurriedly gives the result, hoping it might salve Singh.
“Your winner of the Calcutta Street Fight…by submission…AMARA SINGH!”
Still the Empress won’t release her peasant, choking the life from Powers while trying to snap her back.
Mabel’s taps grow weaker until the brunette’s consciousness leaves her.
The pleas from Castle are drowned out by the jeering masses and only when a bevy of muscular backstage crew begin running down the ramp does Singh seem satisfied.
She drops the chain, allowing Mabel’s chin and forehead to ‘thunk’ to the mat, Powers’ backbone finally returning to an angle her maker intended.
Amara rises and hovers over the steaming wreckage left of the Fit Queen.
“Don’t come to my turf and tell me you’re a queen,” Singh shouts. “Or you’ll end up like this bytch!”
Amara uses a bare foot to shove Mabel to her back and plants her tootsies on Powers’ softly rising and falling bosom.
“Scrape this loser out of my ring and send her back to the gym. She can train lumpy losers while she dreams of being a real wrestler!”
The camera fades on the close-up of a smirking, sweat-slickened Amara, looking as dominant as she’s been since losing the top spot in the organization.
The All Hallows’ Evil crowd aren’t held in suspense for long as the captivating groove of Priyanka Chopra and Pitbull’s "Exotic” breaks through the buzz, heralding the imminent arrival of the Subcontinental Siren.
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sPhhZg9v9NU ).
Having procured a new palanquin for her epic, illustrious ride to the ring, a set of musclebound men clad in gold loin clothes and sandals carry the conveyance. Atop is India’s most dangerous export and a former World Champion.
Excited yet repulsed by the appearance of the Empress, the despicable Singh draws the enmity of nearly every arena occupant.
AMARA SINGH
The behemoths haul the ornate bed upon which the Bollywood Bombshell lies. As the ‘exotic’ grappler is carried toward the squared circle on the curious conveyance, the assembled batter her with boos.
As the men reach their destination, the announcer greets the spectacular arrival of the Subcontinent’s most acclaimed warrior.
"Tonight’s next match is a Calcutta Street Fight. There are no count-outs and no disqualifications. Every weapon of war a combatant can find is absolutely legal!”
The crowd roars its approval, likely hoping for the next woman out to demolish the despised Empress. The announcer resumes his message.
“First. Standing 5 feet 6 inches tall and weighing in at 133 pounds from Cawnpore, India…the Empress and the Bollywood Bombshell…AMARA SINGH!"
The greased goliaths lower the palanquin until it is even with the apron. Singh gracefully slides from bedside to ringside, Amara slipping from beneath a sparkling golden robe, revealing the curvy form beneath.
The momentary striptease draws a round of rabid applause within the jeers, Singh dropping a pearly sneer upon the peasants. She moves through the ropes, taking center stage.
Amara is clad in her iconic and lavishly designed, gold bra with matching gold and red, lacy harem pants, her feet bare. Singh’s raven tresses fall just past her shoulders in wild waves, dark copper skin glowing under the lights. The Bombshell raises a microphone to her full rosy lips.
“For one night only, I have decided to reclaim my roots from the contemptible Raven. All Hallows’ Evil may be known as the place where I was humiliated by that scrawny bird. But after tonight, it will also be known as the show where I reclaimed my formidable and frightening reputation. So bring out the sacrifice!”
Smirking at the jeers, the Bollywood Bully scans the environs both inside and outside the ring, making note of as many weapons as she can see.
The Indian grappler moves to the corner furthest from the ramp and readies for all-out war, stretching her limbs, her dark pools never leaving the upper stage, ready for the victim’s arrival.
"And her opponent, hailing from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania... She stands five feet, seven inches tall, and weighs in tonight at one hundred and forty pounds... she is the Fit Queen, MABEL POWERS!”
Mabel's entrance is a mesmerizing spectacle. She strides through the curtain and sashays to the center of the stage, sporting an ear-to-ear grin. In accordance with tonight's theme, she wears a traditional Indian saree and dances to the tune of Bollywood music. With a graceful move, she pulls her saree off, revealing her wrestling attire underneath. The music then switches to a high-energy workout track and Mabel is clad in snug-fitting black sports briefs, which daringly showcase the curve of her glutes, and a supportive white sports bra that accentuates her well-endowed bosom. She runs her hands down her athletic figure, then raises her arms for a double bicep flex that earns an uproarious cheer from the crowd. Her sporty attire accentuates her athletic build, and she ties her hair into a tight ponytail to complete the look.
MABEL POWERS
In black wrestling boots adorned with matching knee pads, she strides down the ramp. Along the way, she gleefully slaps the hands of fans, basking in their adoration. As she reaches the apron, she doesn't miss a beat. With a seductive grin, she slides one leg over the middle rope, pausing to tease the crowd with a playful booty jiggle. She makes her way into the ring, greeting the arena's eruption of cheers and whistles.
Standing in the center of the squared circle, Mabel points an inviting finger at the crowd, who respond with fervent excitement. She takes a tour around the ring, charming the audience with her affectionate smile. Her confidence and charisma are palpable, and the fans can't help but be drawn to her. In the far corner, she begins her warm-up, bouncing playfully and maintaining her captivating smile. Mabel's presence is empowering, and the audience can't help but be captivated by her strength and allure.
The audience is buzzing with anticipation as Mabel carefully assesses the surroundings. Tables, steel chairs, and ropes lie scattered around the ring, each one a potential instrument of destruction. As she looks around at the chaos that's about to unfold, Mabel's confidence remains unwavering even if she is new to this style of match.
Singh glances up and down at her foe, seemingly suitably impressed this physical specimen will be a challenge.
As the bell rings, Amara circles out of her corner, Powers joining her in making a circuit of the squared circle. The Empress kicks a garbage can lid and a kendo stick under the ropes, apparently interested in keeping the Street Fight a more straightforward wrestling test for the time being, perhaps hoping to feel out what she has in Mabel.
Slowly, the destroyer-class grapplers close their gap and Amara raises her arms high and forward, wriggling her fingers, offering Powers a test of strength.
Eager to show her stuff, the Fit Queen laces her digits with those of the Subcontinental Siren. Arms flex against each other as stances widen. Perfect pearlies grit and grind as each woman tries to overpower the other.
Slowly but sure and to Singh’s disbelief, Mabel slowly takes control, rolling her wrists over those of Singh. The Indian begins to lower in a slight bridge under the mounting pressure, Amara’s arms quaking as they descend, Singh shaking her head as the crowd lights up.
In the process of being sent to a humbling end to the exam, a desperate Amara lurches forward and drives a knee into the unprotected belly of her adversary.
Mabel groans as she doubles at the waist, eyes bulging after being impaled. Keeping her grip tight, Singh uses her now ‘superior’ strength to force Powers to her back to ‘win’ the contest, Mabel’s shoulders planted to the canvas for the…
ONE…
TWO…
The Fit Queen shoves off the canvas, twisting to her back, drawing Amara along with her.
Halving her grip to one of Singh’s arms, Powers pulls it between her thighs and applies a scissors, starting to lock down a submission grip before Singh can scuttle her way to the ropes and lay one over the bottom cable.
“LEGGO. COUNT!” Amara squawks, first at Mabel, then the ref.
But Nick Castle only shrugs in reply.
“No DQs, Amara,” Castle reminds.
Wincing in pain, the veteran Singh quickly takes another tact, getting her bare feet on the canvas and pumping her golden-brown legs to roll Powers onto her shoulders in a tight cradle for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Mabel releases her scissors to flop out of the pinning predicament. Loose from each other, the women scramble to their feet and charge toward each other, Singh showing her savvy, driving another raised knee deep into Mabel’s navel to beat her foe to the attack.
A bursting exhale escapes the brunette’s lips as she’s bent deep at the waist from the impact. A raised double axhandle from Singh crashes down between the lowered shoulderblades of her opponent, driving Powers to all fours.
Gathering a kendo stick laying on the edge of the apron, Amara pulls it through the ropes and lifts it overhead as Mabel starts to rise.
WHACK.
The bamboo cracks harshly across the spine of Powers, Mabel’s back arching in anguish, her face etched in pain.
Far from done, the Empress swings again.
WHACK.
If anything, the connection is more impactful and Mabel staggers away, vertebrae curled as she tries to make space from her attacker.
But the Siren isn’t done pushing her advantage with the weapon in hand. Singh raises the stick high, planning to bring it down on the crown of Powers’ skull until the Fit Queen pivots into a side kick, gutting Amara, the bamboo trickling from her grasp. The bug-eyed Indian draws in deep breaths as she takes a u-turn.
With the weapon dropped beside her, the brunette snatches it off the deck and brandishes it like a baseball bat. And when Amara turns to face her foe, fists raised protectively, Powers goes ‘batter up’ and hits a home run across the roiling tawny midriff of the former World Champion.
Amara’s face is a blend of shock and pain as she hugs her tummy and hops around the confines in stinging anguish. It doesn’t get any better as Mabel THWACKS her across the expanse of her back, sending Singh stumbling into a corner where she turns and eases into the buckles back-first.
Having tossed the stick aside, the Fit Queen is racing toward her target, taking flight from several feet out and SPLASHING Amara under a wave of Mabel. When Powers bounces away from the collision, a shellshocked, glassy-eyed Amara plops to her backside, sinewy, golden-brown legs extended in front of her, arms hanging limply at her sides.
A resplendent Mabel raises an arm high as she heads for the opposite corner, the crowd rallying even louder than before. Turning, she takes off in a sprint toward Singh, leaping as she closes, this time her legs leading the way toward a Bronco Busting of the Empress.
But the devious Singh pulls a trash can lid from behind the ring post and places it in front of her, edge forward and vertical. A wide-eyed and airborne Powers’ undercarriage SLAMS into the rim of the steel rather than Amara’s chest and face.
As Mabel’s crotch is dissected by the lid, many in the crowd turn away in sympathy pain. Powers, in a gawd awful amount of the real thing, rolls away from the fateful impact, hands buried between her thighs, howling in agony, her kitty crushed.
As The Fit Queen groans and struggles to her hands and knees, she desperately tries to crawl away from her determined opponent, seeking refuge. However, The Bollywood Bombshell has other plans. She moves swiftly, straddling over Mabel, and with a swift motion, flattens her into the canvas by delivering a thumping butt-drop onto Mabel's back. The impact forces the air out of her foe's lungs, leaving Mabel writhing in pain on the mat.
"Let's finish this quickly!" Amara snarls and grabs hold of Mabel's upper body by the shoulders. She tucks one of Mabel's arms behind her thigh, preparing for a potentially match-ending Camel Clutch. However, before Amara can fully lock in the hold, Powers quickly retaliates.
"Urghh..NOO!!!" Mabel reaches back and grabs Singh by her hair, preventing her opponent from applying the painful submission move.
"ARGHH...LET G-WOAH!!!" Singh bleats.
Mabel executes a snapmare from her knees, hurling Amara over her shoulders and granting herself a brief moment of respite.
Amara, arching her back and struggling to her feet, quickly scans the ring for an advantage. Her eyes lock onto a nearby steel chair, and she snatches it up.
The Fit Queen, showing her quickness and agility, springs to her feet and delivers a precise dropkick to the steel chair, causing the seat to crash into Amara’s face. The impact sends the Empress stumbling in a backpedal, dazed and in pain. With Singh thwarted, the crowd erupts in cheers, impressed by the agility and skill on display in this intense street fight.
The Subcontinental Siren drops the steel chair and crashes into the corner.
The Magnetic Marvel's confidence radiates as she sprints into the opposite corner of the ring. She raises her arm, rallying the crowd to her side, and measures her opponent, Amara still recovering in the corner.
With a burst of energy, Mabel charges across the ring, picking up incredible speed. She launches herself off the canvas and crashes into Amara with a powerful corner splash, squashing her opponent against the turnbuckles.
"URGHH!!!" Singh grunts in pain. She staggers out of the corner and Mabel lifts Amara across her body. With Singh in her grasp, Mabel showcases her impressive strength as she hoists and shifts Singh onto her right shoulder. The Fit Queen pivots to the center of the ring and drives Singh down into the canvas with an earth-shaking powerslam.
Powerslam (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mBCZKwQz-ds&pp=ygUPZnJvbnQgcG93ZXJzbGFt)
Powers hooks Amara's leg and covers for the...
ONE!
TWO!
THRNOOO!!!
It's a near fall, Amara kicking out in the nick of time much to the crowd's disappointment.
Mabel looks to maintain her advantage, moving to the ropes and rolling out of the ring.
She immediately begins searching under the apron, hoping to find a useful weapon to help her gain even more of the upper hand in this street fight.
Mabel grins as she successfully retrieves a table from underneath the ring. She slides the table back into the ring, the crowd roaring in anticipation of the chaos about to unfold. Mabel follows the folding furniture into the ring and quickly sets it up while the former champion struggles to her feet.
As Mabel moves towards Amara to collect her, the Bollywood Bombshell pulls a mysterious bag from the corner of the ring and dips her hand in. As the Magnetic Marvel pulls Amara back to her feet, the Siren throws a handful of turmeric spice into Mabel's face, creating a cloud of yellow powder that blinds The Fit Queen. Mabel coughs and sputters, her vision obscured as the spice stings her eyes.
"HAH! I knew you ladies can't handle spice!" Amara cackles as Mabel staggers back to the center of the ring.
As the distance between Amara and Mabel grows, The Bollywood Bombshell charges towards the disoriented Mabel and delivers a Spinning Heel Kick, sending The Fit Queen crashing to the canvas.
Spinning Heel Kick (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zYYXUEpG0AY&pp=ygUcc3Bpbm5pbmcgaGVlbCBraWNrIHdyZXN0bGluZw%3D%3D)
Amara dives down and covers Powers for the...
ONE!
TWO!
THRNOOO!!!
Mabel's instinctual kickout keeps her in the match and she wisely retreats to the outside to clear her eyes of the turmeric spice with some water from the fans. Amara argues with the referee, frustrated she didn't secure victory.
Singh soon joins The Fit Queen at ring side, stalking from afar and behind before charging her with a clothesline but NOO!!!
With her vision restored, Mabel seizes an opportunity to regain control of the match. She ducks under Amara's stretched right arm, leaving the Bollywood Bombshell startled.
The crowd roars in approval as The Fit Queen smashes Amara with a forearm, turning the tables.
With the momentum swinging in her favor, The Magnetic Marvel doesn't hold back. She delivers a couple more forearm shots to Amara's face, stunning her foe further and, with a swift and powerful motion, Mabel whips Amara toward the nearby steel barricade.
"ARGHH!!!"
The former World Champion screams in anguish after impact before falling to her knees.
The crowd roars in excitement as The Fit Queen observes her fallen opponent. She takes a moment to rally the crowd, building anticipation as Amara slowly rises to her feet near the barricade.
With a burst of speed and precision, she charges toward Singh and delivers a boot to her foe’s face, sending the Bollywood Bombshell tumbling over the barricade and into the first row of the spectator's area, eliciting cheers and gasps from the audience.
Amara retreats deeper into the crowd and Mabel relentlessly pursues her opponent. With every unsteady step by her opponent, Powers catches and continues to pummel Amara, delivering a flurry of punches and kicks. The crowd surrounds the action, their cheers and excitement growing with each strike.
With the fight getting further away, the ref quickly joins the crowd to officiate the match.
Trying to slow Powers’ assault, Singh grabs a fan by the arm and heaves the man at an onrushing Mabel. The brunette tosses the wide-eyed FAWNatic aside, but it gives Singh enough time to grab a bag of popcorn from another hater and throw it in the Fit Queen’s face.
Distracted for a moment by the fluffy kernels, Mabel doesn’t notice a turned Amara is folding a recently forcibly unoccupied chair and, when Powers lifts her laced fingers to deliver an axhandle blow to the skull of the Empress, the Indian grappler drives the rim of the backrest into Mabel’s midsection.
Taut abs or no, being gutted by the steel chair is enough to leave Powers bent at the waist in front of a furious Singh. Her foe on a platter, Amara lifts the makeshift weapon overhead and brings it down HARD across Mabel’s spine, forcing the grimacing Fit Queen to hands and knees.
“You throw me into this sea of peasants,” Singh shouts. “You’ve dirtied me. But I’ll destroy you!”
Amara places the chair back on the arena floor unfolding it in front of the kneeling Mabel.
The Bollywood Bombshell sinks her digits into the long dark mane of her adversary, drawing back Powers’ noggin, then swinging it forward as harshly as she’s able, THWAMMING Mabel’s face and forehead into the metal.
With the seat bent in a vague representation of the Fit Queen’s features, her head remaining on the steel plate, Singh pushes another fan off his chair and collects the folding furniture, hoping to make Mabel’s skull a sandwich between sets of steel. Straightening and raising, Singh sends it toward the back of Powers’ cranium, the masses holding their breath. Thankfully, Mabel’s able to roll out of the way and Amara CLACKS metal to metal, dropping her new chair, wincing at the bees buzzing in her stinging hands.
As the Empress shakes out the leftover tingles, Mabel reaches her feet and stumbles away from Amara, retreating toward the ring. A snarling Singh is quickly in hot pursuit, pushing through the peasants. Powers shakes off Amara’s grip from her right shoulder and swivels over the barricade. The brunette takes a step toward the ring before the Indian snatches an elbow and spins Mabel toward the front row she occupies.
A whistling superkick sizzles no more than an inch from the chin of an paying customer and SNAPS into the jaw of her copper-skinned foe, Amara suffering a violent case of whiplash from the boot sole meeting its target. Dark eyes rolling white after impact, Amara flops like a limp dishrag over the top of the barrier, Singh hung out to dry, chest, arms and head over the inside, pelvis and legs remaining in the fans’ territory.
Mabel takes a couple deep breaths as she backpedals away from the Bollywood Bombshell. She raises an arm to draw the favor of the FAWNatics, then races toward Amara, lifting a boot, and RAMMING it into the left temple of the Empress. The force sends Singh tumbling back into the field of play, Amara’s limp body pooling on the inside of the cordon, Castle soon joining her in a more careful and less painful fashion.
With a slack Singh at her feet, Mabel slowly scrapes what’s left of the former World Champion off the arena floor and muscles her next to the Spanish announce table. Face to drowsy face with her foe, Powers slides to her opponent’s side while wrapping her right arm across the chest and far shoulder of the Subcontinental Siren. Mabel grabs a handful of spandex on Amara’s near hip and launches the reeling Empress high, showing her incredible strength. And with one arm she makes splinters out of the table, sending Amara CRASHING through with a Fully Loaded (Lifting Side Slam) that makes kindling out of the surface and Singh.
Fully Loaded ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=8cqHWu6nBYQ )
Mabel takes a moment to cast her eyes in Castle’s direction. He silently responds with a nod, presuming Mabel’s asking if a pin within the mess of the demolished table will seal the deal. Assured that’s all that remains to claim her victory, Mabel dives across the splayed Singh for the inevitable…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOO!
Somehow, Amara throws a shoulder up to the groaning disappointment of the sellout throng. The look on Powers’ features is one of complete disbelief, but Nick shows her two fingers, confirming the obstinate Singh hasn’t been beaten on her home turf of Calcutta just yet.
Grabbing a wrist and shoulder, Mabel removes Amara from the rubble and pulls the semiconscious Singh to her feet, guiding her wobbly cargo to the apron’s edge. She pushes Singh to the deck and rolls her under the bottom rope, then searches under the apron instead of immediately rejoining the Empress in the ring.
Pulling out a table to the great delight of the FAWNatics, Powers slides it in after a still horizontal Amara. But the Fit Queen isn’t done. She dips under the apron and returns with a cloth bag of which the masses are immediately excited. Powers rolls into the ring with her new possession. She sets down the bag and returns to the table. Lifting it, she props it in a corner on end, ready to make another bed of splinters Singh’s final resting place for the night.
But before that final journey, Mabel revisits her cloth container, widening the draw string. The Fit Queen spills the contents across the canvas in front of her, a shower of a hundred or more tacks spreading across the mat no more than a few inches from where Amara only now begins to stir.
The Fit Queen steps over the glittering spread and ‘helps’ Singh to her feet.
“Just remember, Amara,” Powers says. “When you’re picking these out of your backside after the match. This is what you wanted.”
The powerhouse brunette dips and scoops an arm between the rubbery legs of Singh. She grunts as she vaults a softly squirming Amara onto her right shoulder, ready to body slam her into the mass of tacks. But the Bollywood Bombshell comes to life, flailing wildly and slipping out of Mabels’ grip, touching boot soles to canvas behind the shocked Powers.
Mabel spins to face her foe and is punted in the kitty by the Indian grappler, the Fit Queen rising to tiptoes, slack-jawed and silent. Amara forces her foe over at the waist and pulls the lowered head of her adversary between her golden-brown thighs, then wraps her arms around Mabel’s gulping tummy. With a loud grunt of effort, Singh launches Mabel, flipping the brunette up her body to a seated position on the Bombshell’s shoulders.
It's figuratively and literally all downhill from there as Amara showcases her own strength in abundance, POWERBOLLYBOMBING Mabel into the sea of tacks to the dismay of the crowd and the shock and awe of the Fit Queen. Mabel is at once shellshocked from the impact and howling from the stinging insertions of dozens of tacks into the skin of her back and thighs and the thin layer of spandex covering her taut ass.
PowerBollyBomb ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=AjSpD_5Lu08 )
A seated Singh, Amara’s cheeks receiving a few tacks of their own on the boundary of the spillage, holds the stacked Powers in her grip between the ‘V’ of her extended legs.
Castle stays clear, but drops nearby to slap out the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Mabel shows incredible resilience as she manages to kick out just before the three-count.
Rolling out of the tacks, she trembles in shock and pain, her back bearing the painful reminder of the tack-covered canvas. Her lips pale and her face etched with agony as she struggles to her feet.
Amara's onslaught continues as she yanks Mabel Powers up the rest of the way by her hair and shoves her foe into the corner.
The Fit Queen slumps against the turnbuckles, clearly shellshocked from the devastating Powerbomb onto the thumbtacks. Amara, unforgiving in her assault, delivers stomp after stomp, further wearing down her opponent until MABEL drops to a seat.
The Bollywood Bombshell then spots a steel chair at the opposite end of the ring and seizes the opportunity. With remarkable agility, Amara charges toward the corner where Powers is slumped. She leaps into the air and positions the steel chair right in front of her feet. With devastating force, she delivers a dropkick to Mabel's face, using the chair for additional damage.
Amara drags the limp and battered Mabel away from the ropes. With a sinister glint in her eye, she hooks Powers' legs, looking to execute a pinfall attempt to secure the victory. The referee gets into position, ready to make the crucial count.
ONE!
TWO!
THR—NOO!!
Powers defiantly kicks out at the very last moment and the crowd erupts in cheers and amazement as the match continues.
Amara, visibly shocked and frustrated, argues vehemently with Castle, insisting she had Powers pinned for the three-count. She points at her own hand, three raised fingers to emphasize her claim.
Castle shakes his head, refusing to reverse his decision, insisting that it was a 'TWO' with exaggerated gestures.
Seizing the opportunity amidst the heated argument between Amara and the referee, Powers crawls to the ropes to pull herself back to her feet. Her back is still visibly marked from the earlier thumbtack incident and she's clearly in pain, but the crowd rallies behind her, sensing a potential turnaround in the match.
Amara begrudgingly accepts the referee's decision, realizing the fight must continue. She refocuses her attention on her opponent, now back on her feet, and charges towards her adversary. Amara tries to deliver the clothesline with an extended right arm, but Mabel ducks under, returning with one of her own as Amara spins to face her.
"COME ON! GET UP!" Mabel yells as Amara scrambles to her feet and hits her with a second clothesline. The crowd roars in approval as Powers starts to mount a remarkable comeback.
With each successive clothesline, three then four, she wears down Amara into a punchdrunk state.
"LAST REP!" Mabel yells and delivers the final one that hits like a freight train, flipping the Bollywood Bombshell inside out. Amara lies face down on the mat, her body demolished and wracked with pain.
"Alright! Last exercise! Let's do this!" Powers shouts, despite her exhaustion, determined to remain a powerhouse in the match. With Amara struggling to stand, Mabel seizes the moment and positions her for the Gorgeous Bomb.
She hoists the Bollywood Bombshell onto her shoulders for payback, displaying her incredible strength.
The audience is in a frenzy, knowing they're about to witness a colossal move.
Mabel steadies herself and, with a deep breath, lifts Amara even higher into the air by her waistband. However, right before she can deliver the match-ending Gorgeous Bomb, Amara clamps Mabel's head between her thighs and sends the Gym General flipping in the air with a Hurrricarana!
Hurricarana (https://youtu.be/MBS-jGfK7M0?si=j3w_KwKqxTW2Y8_f)
Ending sitting on Mabel's chest, Amara manages to seize one of Mabel's legs and remains riding for the...
ONE!
TWO!
THR-NOOO!!!
Mabel kicks out and breathes a sigh of relief knowing it might have been a three count if Amara captured both of her legs.
More shocked than hurt, the Fit Queen manages to find her footing before the former World Champion and seizes the Empress by the hair.
In a desperate move, Amara, on one knee, resorts to a low blow, her arm slipping between Mabel's thighs and delivering a painful forearm strike to the Fit Queen's most sensitive region. Mabel's eyes widen and she grimaces in agony as she staggers back, clutching her lower abdomen.
Amara picks up the steel chair from before ruthlessly swinging it, connecting with Mabel's back in a deafening smack.
The chair's impact sends a shockwave of pain through the Fit Queen's body and she crumples to the canvas, writhing in agony as the crowd gasps in response to the brutal assault.
"This is what peasants like you deserve!" Amara yells, her voice piercing through the arena even as she delivers another brutal chair shot to Mabel's back, making sure to take any resolve out of The Gym General. The sickening sound of metal against flesh resonates through the venue and the Fit Queen's flattened frame convulses in pain.
Amara's anger and frustration are palpable as she tosses the chair out of the ring. She paces around the writhing Mabel, her face contorted with a mix of fury and triumph. Finally, she places her foot firmly on the back of her downed opponent, raising her arms triumphantly in a cocky and defiant pose, instigating boos from the crowd.
As wonderful a money shot as standing on Mabel’s battered spine surely is for Gladiatrix, the Street Fight rages on, Singh stomping the vertebrae up and down across Powers’ vulnerable back.
The Indian leaves the Fit Queen a mewling mess after a dozen ‘dance steps’.
Her foe’s backbone bruised, it’s time to be broken by Amara’s ultimate weapon, a finisher no one’s ever escaped.
The gloriously glistening Singh strides to the ropes, slides through and drops to the floor. She peeks under the apron and emerges with a foot-long length of chain.
Amara menacingly whips the metal to the canvas-sheathed plywood, making a disturbing CLACK, leaving the FAWNatics in a worried silence. Singh rolls back in under the bottom rope, rising and reaching Mabel as the brunette’s made all fours.
The Empress mounts her adversary in a standing, forward-facing straddle, wrapping the chain around her balled right fist, then drops her pear-shaped backside into the base of Powers’ spinal column, forcing the grimacing Fit Queen flat to the canvas, Singh riding her foe.
Snatching Mabel’s left arm, the Bollywood Bombshell posts it over bended knee, Amara having maneuvered to her infamous crouch. She quickly does likewise with the right, both Powers’ wings captured.
A sneering Singh raises the supercharged fist high, drawing a thunderous set of boos from the crowd, then pounds it into Mabel’s forehead.
All hope leaves the building as Powers’ body slackens noticeably. Things only get worse when Amara cups laced fingers under Mabel’s chin and pulls back violently on the sinewy upper half of the brunette, bringing the full force of her infamous Camel Clutch into play.
Amara expertly uses her torque to force Mabel’s teary-eyed gaze first to the rafters then behind her as Power’s tortured form is made a sickening ‘C’ shape. Amara moves to a bridge, drawing a yelping Mabel’s upper half with her, her foe’s vertebrae stretched to the snapping point.
And when it seems Singh cannot be any crueler, the Indian halves her grip under Mabel’s chin, unspooling the chain from her right hand, letting it dangle. The Bombshell slips the free end into her left hand and gives up the cup, instead using the chain across Mabel’s throat to fortify the torturous Clutch.
Her windpipe being closed in addition to the agonizing arch made of her spine, Mabel can take no more, spastically tapping her surrender on Amara’s left shin.
Castle immediately calls for the bell and it tolls no more than a second behind his frantic movement.
But Amara won’t let go!
The ring announcer hurriedly gives the result, hoping it might salve Singh.
“Your winner of the Calcutta Street Fight…by submission…AMARA SINGH!”
Still the Empress won’t release her peasant, choking the life from Powers while trying to snap her back.
Mabel’s taps grow weaker until the brunette’s consciousness leaves her.
The pleas from Castle are drowned out by the jeering masses and only when a bevy of muscular backstage crew begin running down the ramp does Singh seem satisfied.
She drops the chain, allowing Mabel’s chin and forehead to ‘thunk’ to the mat, Powers’ backbone finally returning to an angle her maker intended.
Amara rises and hovers over the steaming wreckage left of the Fit Queen.
“Don’t come to my turf and tell me you’re a queen,” Singh shouts. “Or you’ll end up like this bytch!”
Amara uses a bare foot to shove Mabel to her back and plants her tootsies on Powers’ softly rising and falling bosom.
“Scrape this loser out of my ring and send her back to the gym. She can train lumpy losers while she dreams of being a real wrestler!”
The camera fades on the close-up of a smirking, sweat-slickened Amara, looking as dominant as she’s been since losing the top spot in the organization.