Post by bigfan on Oct 1, 2016 4:15:49 GMT
---A video posted to the FAWN website and social media channels---
The camera came into focus on Camille Cosworth sitting on a leather sofa, presumably located in the living room of the luxury condo she shared with her girlfriend.
“Okay, babe. We’re rolling,” called Yoona Park’s voice from off camera.
“Hi, I’m Camille Cosworth,” said Camille. “I am --”
“Hi, I’m Troy McClure,” the Korean interrupted. “You may remember me from wrestling films such as ‘Becky Clayton: Five Minutes of Glory’ and --”
“Yoona!” Camille shouted. “Don’t interrupt my speech!”
“Your intro was awful. Try it again. Cut!”
The video briefly flickered and focused on Cosworth again.
“My name is Camille Cosworth,” she continued once more. “I have a message for the Church of Eternal Midnight --”
“You’ve merely adopted the dark,” Park interjected with a lilting baritone voice. “I was born in it… molded by it…”
“Cut,” Camille groaned in frustration as she walked over to the camera.
The video flickered again and Cosworth was back in the couch. “Adelaide Brewster, in recent weeks --”
“When Gotham is ashes, then you have my permission to die!” Yoona interrupted again.
“CUT!” Camille yelled, causing the video to flicker yet again.
When Cosworth appeared again, she was visibly annoyed. “Are you done screwing around with the Bane impressions?”
“Actually, I was doing Mad Max,” Park said from behind the camera.
“Whatever! Just stop interrupting and let me finish!” Camille huffed. She took a few deep, calming breaths before continuing, “Adelaide --”
“THEATRICALITY AND DECEPTION!” Yoona suddenly bellowed.
Cosworth threw a sofa cushion at the camera, knocking it askew and causing the video to flicker for the fourth time. When the image returned, the cushion was back in place and Camille appeared absolutely furious.
“I’ve had it with your crap, Adelaide,” she growled. “You and your Church have a bone to pick with me?! Fine. Whatever. I’ll wrestle you any time you want. All you have to do is ask. But showing up at House Shows unannounced and stealing time from the local girls who need the exposure to build their careers? That’s low, even for your bunch of sanctimonious bullies. I’m done playing these ridiculous games. You want me? Then face me in a proper match at the FAWN Arena. Don’t bother responding, I’m sick of your talk. No one’s scared by your dumb gimmick. No one’s joining your crappy Church. Just shut up and meet me in the ring.”
“Yeah!” Park whooped. “There’s the anger and emotion I was looking for! Seriously Cam, you had the charisma of a public service announcement in all your earlier attempts.”
“Ugh, Yoona, I love you, but sometimes you are just so freaking infuriating,” Camille sighed with a shake of her head. “Anyway, don’t forget to cut the botched takes before you post the video.”
The video cut to black.
----FAWN Arena----
“You SUCK!” Camille yelled at the Korean sitting next to her in the audience. She hadn’t bothered to check her video after Yoona uploaded it, and now she was seeing it for the first time on the FAWNtron in its full uncut glory.
“Sorry babe,” Park apologized, not at all sounding contrite. “I was going to edit the video, but then I got bored and started browsing PornHub instead. Did you know that I’m ranked 5334 on searches for ‘Japanese lesbian sex wrestling?’ Those racist rat bastards can’t even tell the difference between Korean and Japanese!”
Cosworth was at least sixty percent sure that her girlfriend was joking, but her curiosity got the better of her. She retrieved her phone from her bag, opened the browser, tapped the top result for ‘Frequently Visited’ sites, and was interrupted by the ring announcer’s voice coming through the PA system.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the following match is scheduled for one fall with a thirty minute time limit. Introducing first from San Antonio, Texas, coming in at five foot six and one hundred and thirty pounds...Camille Cosworth!”
CAMILLE COSWORTH:
Immediately following the announcer was the opening beat of Camille’s ring anthem, co-opted from the ‘Batman v Superman’ soundtrack. Normally she would have preferred to go without the introduction, as she felt that flying into the ring unannounced and accompanied only by stirring music made for a much more dramatic entrance. Her battles with Adelaide were becoming a very personal affair, however, so it seemed appropriate to have her name called out before the match.
“Well, that’s my cue,” Camille said as she stashed her phone in her bag once more. “Yoona, please, please, please promise you’ll stay here no matter what, okay?”
“Don’t worry about me, just go kick her ass,” Park replied.
“Promise me!” Cosworth insisted.
“Alright, alright. Geez, calm your tits, Cam. I promise,” Yoona said rather unconvincingly.
Camille decided that was as good as she was going to get so she started on her way to the ring, walking slowly at first then picking up her pace as the tempo of the music increased. Once the pair of searchlights converged on her location in the audience, she sped up into a sprint for the ring before jumping off the barricade, grabbing the top rope, and flinging herself into the middle of the ring with a somersault. The music reached a crescendo as she rose to full height from her landing, revealing to the audience her black leggings, Converse sneakers, and a tight-fitting ‘Tap Out Tour 2015’ tank top commemorating Sydney Deschain’s farewell tour a year ago.
For whatever reason Yoona had disdainfully rolled her eyes at the choice of shirt, but Camille paid it no mind. Deschain had gone undefeated in her final outings prior to retirement, and one of those victories had come at the expense of Adelaide Brewster. Cosworth hoped to replicate that feat now, and perhaps the reminder would even throw Brewster off her game.
After the Wonder Woman theme came to a close, the announcer resumed his duties.
“And introducing her opponent, representing the Church of Eternal Midnight, she hails from Oxrun Station, Connecticut and coming in at five foot six and one hundred and nineteen pounds.... She is the Weeping Angel, the Daughter of Darkness, The Queen of Nightmares. This is…ADELAIDE BREWSTER!”
ADELAIDE BREWSTER:
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The lights died as her name reached the rafters and the speakers answered the call, not with Midnight Syndicate but with the quietly eerie pop of Lorde’s ‘Glory and Gore’.
For a moment there was nothing but darkness and pinpricks of cell phone light, then a few lights on either side of the stage ‘whoomped’ on to reveal a sea of ankle deep fog. Still no sign of the Churchgoer and that was the way it stayed until a cold blue light illuminated the gloomy recession leading to the curtain. A figure swung down from the ceiling of that narrow throat, a figure hanging by her knees from a bar suspended just out of camera view. Arms crossed over her chest, Adelaide Brewster opened her eyes, then twisted loose and landed on her feet just as her anthem warned, ‘Now we’re in the ring and we’re coming for blood.’
Heading for the squared circle after a moment to survey her feeding grounds, Adelaide stretched her arms wide, which let her limber up while simultaneously providing the FAWNatics with a great view of her ring attire. In place of the antique ball gown, top hat and velvet number that it sheathed was a blood red one piece made of a mesh just fine enough to allow the discerning eye a glimpse of matching black bra and briefs lurking beneath. Her outfit was completed with a clunky black belt complete with a buckle done up as a snarling wolf’s head and matching black boots and pads.
Reaching the ring quickly because no one quite dared extend a hand, Adelaide slunk under the bottom ropes, popped to her feet and took ownership of a corner on the far side of the ring. Paying no attention to the presence behind her back, the Weeping Angel climbed to the second rope, titled her head back and ‘pppfffwoooooshed’ a cloud of Red Mist out over the first couple rows of fans. Blood properly let, she climbed down and turned her attention to her opponent.
“Hello again, sister,” Adelaide said in a voice that sent a tingle up Camille's spine. “If you don’t care to listen to me talk, then so be it. A picture is worth a thousand words anyway…”
Brewster made a grand, sweeping gesture with her arm towards the large plasma screen above the entrance ramp. Right on cue the screen started playing a looping slideshow of three pictures, each one featuring a young wrestler -- beaten, bloodied, and bruised. The large majority of FAWNatics looked at the images in silent, morbid confusion as the trio of girls were not wrestlers they had seen before.
Camille, however, instantly recognized them as the local wrestlers who had rescued her from Adelaide at a recent House Show in Miami. She had parted with them as friends, and seeing them in such a pitiful state turned her face ghastly pale with rage.
“The Church of Eternal Midnight paid them a visit recently,” Brewster explained, each and every word dripping with menace. “We offered them a chance to avoid such ugliness and violence, if they would bend the knee and show penitence. Do you know what those fools said?”
Cosworth silently glowered in response, her brow creased in anger.
Adelaide scoffed derisively, “They said, ‘That’s not what Camille would do.’ So they resisted, like you. They fought, like you. THEY LOST, LIKE YOU! THEIR BLOOD IS ON YOUR HANDS, SISTER! THIS IS THE RESULT OF FOLLOWING YOUR EXAMPLE AND --”
Camille had heard enough. She burst forward and stuffed Brewster into a corner so quickly that referee Craig Long couldn’t even manage to signal for the opening bell before Cosworth smashed a triplet of Shoulder Blocks into her opponent’s chest.
“Hey!” the referee called, “Get her out of the --”
Before he could finish his command, Camille wrapped both hands around the back of Adelaide’s neck and flung her two-thirds of the way to the opposite corner with a massive Beal Toss. Brewster bounced once from the impact and quickly rolled out of the ring to regroup, somewhat caught off guard by her opponent’s uncharacteristic aggression.
“Such anger…” commented Adelaide as she stalked around the ring. “It’s all futile, however. Those chattel were angry too, and look where that got them. Take a good look at those pictures, Camille Cosworth. That will be you in a few minutes.”
Brewster slid back into the ring and walked to the center with arms raised and fingers curled, challenging the rookie to a Test of Strength. “Show me your strength, sister. Let me see just how inept and inadequate you really are.”
The rational portion of Camille’s brain knew that it was likely a trap, but the emotional side of her wanted to prove a point and overrode all logic and reason. Without a moment’s hesitation, she stepped forward and interlaced her fingers with Adelaide’s, locking the two wrestlers in a Test of Strength.
Contrary to her taunts, Adelaide quickly discovered that her opponent’s strength was far more than adequate and the Queen of Nightmares found herself slowly but surely bending backwards in an arch. Not wanting to concede even a moral victory, she adjusted her stance so that her left leg bore the brunt of her weight, then brought her right leg up in a Knee Strike aimed at Camille’s midsection.
The impact of the blow elicited a loud grunt from Cosworth, but her legs held steady and her grip never faltered.
“My girlfriend hits harder,” she said with a smirk as she continued to force her foe backwards.
“But can she do this?” Adelaide countered.
Camille saw Brewster’s tongue curl into her cheek to retrieve the Red Mist capsule hidden behind her teeth. At such a close range and with her hands locked, however, there wasn’t much the rookie could do except try to turn her head to the side and close her eyes when the red cloud came spewing forth from Adelaide’s lips a split second later.
“ARRGGGH! GOD! THAT STINGS!” Cosworth shrieked as a few droplets of Red Mist seeped under her eyelids.
The brief lapse in concentration was all the opportunity Adelaide needed to gain the advantage in the Test of Strength, and a handful of seconds later Camille found herself uncomfortably bent over backwards and balanced on her toes and the crown of her head, fighting to keep her shoulders off the mat to avoid the pin.
While maintaining the pair of finger locks, Adelaide straddled Camille’s hips and lifted her feet off the ground, using her body weight to make the rookie work that much harder to maintain her bridge. Cosworth bucked and thrashed trying to get Brewster off of herself, but the Churchgoer hooked in a Double Leg Grapevine to stay tightly fastened to her opponent.
“Do you feel that, Camille Cosworth?” Brewster purred as she bore down with hips while trying to wrench Camille’s legs open. “That is the feeling of inevitability. Your weakness isaaARRGH DAMN IT!”
Cosworth surrendered the bridge and twisted her torso to the side, rolling the intertwined wrestlers over so that Brewster was now on the bottom. The Queen of Nightmares still had control of her legs via the Double Leg Grapevine, but more importantly, Adelaide’s shoulders were now flat against the canvas.
Craig slid to the mat to get a better angle, and then pounded out --
“ONE!”
“TWO!”
Brewster untangled her legs from Cosworth’s and bucked the rookie off in order to break the pin.
“That was a cheap move,” Adelaide growled. “Flash pins are the last refuge of scoundrels and cowards.”
“Says the woman who just spat gunk in my face,” Camille retorted as she tried to rub the leftover Red Mist out of her eyes. “Ugh, I hope I don’t get pink eye from this…”
Cosworth would have preferred not to use her shirt to wipe her face, as she only had one and it was a collector’s item nowadays. She was still blinking away the last bits of bleariness when Brewster jumped onto her back then wrenched her head back while trapping her neck under an armpit.
With her face turned upwards towards the ceiling by the Piggyback Dragon Sleeper, Camille found it difficult to orient herself in the ring. She staggered blindly in one direction then another, desperately searching for the ropes while trying to remain upright.
“I will expose you for what you are, Camille Cosworth,” the Churchgoer hissed. “Not a hero, or an idol, or an inspiration, but just a glorified spot-monkey who’s in way over her head.”
Still having no success in navigating her way to the ropes, Cosworth decided to try for a more risky tactic. She reached up with her right hand and cupped the back of Adelaide’s head, then jumped up and belly-flopped to the mat. It was far from her most elegant maneuver and landing on her chest left her sputtering and gasping for air, but Brewster took the worst of the impact having landed on her face.
The improvised Facebuster left Adelaide rolling on the mat holding her head, and the FAWNatics cheered Camille for her creative escape. Bolstered by the show of support, Cosworth slowly pushed herself upright and walked over to her foe. The Heel Hook submission proved to be too technically nuanced for her to master in such a short time, so instead she went to work on Adelaide’s right ankle with a standing Achilles Hold.
“Toes tucked in armpit, forearm under the heel, lean back,” Camille muttered to herself, reciting the simple instructions that Yoona had given her. “Toes tucked in armpit, forearm under the heel, lean back… Toes tucked in armpit, forearm under the heel, lean back…”
Judging by the indignant screech of pain coming from Brewster, Park’s advice was solid. Rather than keep the hold locked in until her opponent either escaped or surrendered as her more pragmatic girlfriend would have, Camille decided to add her own spectacular twist. Cinching the hold as tightly as she could, Cosworth started spinning in a circle -- slowly at first, dragging Adelaide along on the mat, and then faster and faster until the centripetal force lifted the Churchgoer four feet off the ground.
Dazzled by the rookie’s innovative use of the Giant Swing, the FAWNatics fell into the time honored tradition of counting anything that repeats more than twice.
“ONE”
“TWO”
“THREE”
“FOUR”
“FIVE”
“SIX”
“SEVEN”
“EIGHT”
“NINE”
“TEN!”
After the fans helpfully counted out the tenth revolution, Camille abruptly released her hold on Adelaide’s foot. Suddenly detached from her mooring, Brewster briefly flew through the air before crashing spine-first into a set of corner turnbuckles where she grabbed onto the ropes to keep herself upright despite her throbbing ankle and her spinning head.
“You’re the one getting exposed, Adelaide,” Cosworth said. “Who are you going to scare when even a spot-monkey can -- wooAAHH CRAAAP! UNGH!”
Camille had underestimated her own dizzyness, and promptly face-planted into the canvas after taking two steps towards her opponent. Lightly smacking into the mat seemed to bring her back to her senses and she quickly scrambled back to her feet, although the tips of her ears suddenly felt very, very hot. Fortunately for her, the Churchgoer was still propped up against the turnbuckles, not having quite recovered from the combination Giant Swing and Achilles Hold.
“You’re right, I’m no one special,” Cosworth said once she had regained her bearings. “I’m just a lucky girl living out her fairy tale fantasies. And on behalf of all the spot-monkeys, all the backyard dreamers, and all the indie stars looking for their moment in the Sun, I want you to know…”
Camille reached out with her right hand and placed her fingertips against Adelaide’s stomach.
“...we are not afraid of you!”
Cosworth twisted her hips and flexed her right shoulder, impaling Brewster in the gut with a One Inch Punch.
Or at least, that was what she had in mind. In reality, her fist hit with barely the force of a love tap.
“Aww man, come on!” Camille grumbled. She tried another two times with hardly any more effect. Before Cosworth could retry a third time, Adelaide had recovered sufficiently to grab her wrist and painfully wrench her arm out and back behind her.
“You’re even more delusional than those three cretins in Miami,” Brewster sneered as she led her opponent out to the middle of the ring by her trapped arm. “At least they had the good sense to come at me with numbers.”
Adelaide gave the Wrist Lock one more savage yank, then twisted her body around and hit Camille in the side of the head with a high kick. The rookie stumbled but didn’t go down from the Arm Wrench Hook Kick combo, so the Churchgoer quickly followed up with a tight Front Face Lock.
“And thus concludes another chapter in your ongoing saga of impotent failure,” Brewster taunted as she prepared to yet again spike her opponent into the mat with a Wolfsbane DDT. “Pathetic as always, sister.”
Adelaide planted both feet on Camille’s hips, then jerked backwards. Instead of landing on her back, however, Brewster did a complete rotation and wound up back in her original position still standing along with her opponent. She was so disoriented that her grip on the Front Face Lock loosened, allowing Cosworth to shove her away.
Not quite able to hide the look of surprise on her face, the Churchgoer quickly glanced aside to the plasma screen to see the video replay of what had just happened. Apparently Camille had used the rotational inertia of the DDT to launch into a full standing front flip, thus allowing her to land safely on her feet rather than her head.
Taking note of Adelaide’s disbelief, Camille waggled an eyebrow and indulged in the faintest of smug grins, “That move was getting old.”
“Arrogant heathen!” Brewster snarled. “Don’t think that you have a chance just because you countered a single move!”
Adelaide lunged forward and smacked into her opponent with an Elbow and Collar tie up. Rather than try to overpower Camille she quickly raked her hand from collar to stomach, scratching long furrows in Cosworth's flesh, ripping open her collector’s edition tank top, and even pulling down her sports bra to briefly expose her left nipple.
Camille yelped in surprise and indignation, then immediately moved to fix her wardrobe malfunction. She was able to stuff her breast back into her bra before the cameras got a clear shot, but preserving her modesty allowed Adelaide to trap her in a Side Headlock.
“In the past I was content to beat you. But today…” Brewster growled as she pulled Camille over to the edge of the ring and dragged the rookie’s face along the top rope, ignoring the referee’s warnings. “...Today I will ruin you.”
Reaching a corner, Adelaide released the Headlock and grabbed a handful of hair to repeatedly smash her opponent’s head against the top turnbuckle.
“I will defile you.”
BWUNG!
“I will debase you.”
BWUNG!
“I will leave your image so blackened and tarnished that no one could draw inspiration from your example ever again!”
BWUNG!
“Alright! That’s it!” Craig shouted. “Do that again and I’ll disqualify --”
“BACK OFF, CHATTEL!” Adelaide screamed at the referee. Nevertheless, she stopped ramming Camille’s head into the turnbuckle, instead opting to throw stunned rookie headfirst through the top and middle ropes.
Cosworth hit the thinly padded cement with a dull thwack then skidded to a stop against the steel barricade, moaning in agony. Having disposed of her opponent like garbage, Brewster mounted the top turnbuckle and faced the crowd with eyes closed and arms held out at her sides, relishing the chorus of boos and jeers coming from the FAWNatics.
Once the referee’s count reached “TWELVE!” Adelaide cut short her dark revelry and dismounted from the turnbuckle. She prepared to go haul her opponent back into the ring to continue the beatdown, but she was surprised to see that Camille had already managed to drag herself to a semi-upright position leaning backwards against the steel barricade.
Even more shocking was the fact that the rookie appeared to be lightly chuckling.
“I admit it, I am no match for you,” Cosworth said through a crooked grin.
“Have you come to your senses then, sister?” Brewster asked. “Have you accepted Darkness into your heart and soul?”
“Haha, no. Nothing like that,” Camille laughed. “It’s just that I know something you do not know…”
The Churchgoer’s expression darkened and her eyes narrowed into thin slits.
“You see, Adelaide --”
Cosworth grabbed a shoulder strap of her ruined tank top then yanked it off completely with one hard tug, revealing her black sports bra and earning a massive pop from the audience.
“-- I am not left-handed.”
Camille threw the tank top at the Churchgoer’s head.
Adelaide angrily swatted away the garment before it touched her face, obstructing her line of sight for a scant second or two. Once the offending shirt was out of her field of vision she returned her gaze to her opponent, only to find an empty patch of floor.
Eyes widening slightly, she looked to the left and found nothing.
She looked to the right, and found nothing.
“I am FASTER than you,” a voice behind her called.
Adelaide whirled around on her heels and saw Camille calmly standing in the middle of the ring with her hands at her sides.
Brewster sprang at her opponent and was immediately hit by an open handed slap so swift that she didn’t even see Cosworth’s arm move and so powerful that it sent her sprawling to the mat.
Quickly recovering from that indignity, Adelaide rolled onto her back and swiveled her head around, but once again she could not find her opponent. Just as she started to push into a seated position, Camille dropped from the sky and drove a pair of knees into her stomach.
Sent into a retching, coughing fit by her own signature Twitch of the Death Nerve, Brewster couldn’t do much besides grab onto Cosworth’s wrist when the rookie clenched a vise-like hand around her throat.
“I am STRONGER than you,” Camille said flatly as she took advantage of Adelaide latching onto her forearm to drag the Churchgoer upright with one hand.
Brought face to face with her opponent, Brewster quickly used her tongue to retrieve a Red Mist capsule from behind her molars and bit into it to release the sticky red fluid. Just as she was about to blow it into her captor’s face, however, Cosworth’s hand tightened around her windpipe and stopped her from exhaling.
Camille cocked her head slightly to one side and arched an eyebrow as she watched the Red Mist turn into Red Drool and leak from the corners of Adelaide’s gagging mouth. Content in having made her point, Cosworth pivoted towards the nearest corner and forcefully threw the Churchgoer into the turnbuckles.
The top turnbuckle hit Brewster right between the shoulderblades and she somehow stayed on her feet after bouncing off, albeit bent over at the waist, gagging, and gripping the top rope for support. Adelaide’s reprieve was brief, however, as Camille broke into a running start, slung her body through the top and middle ropes next to Brewster like a boomerang, and smashed a perfect Tiger Feint Kick into the Churchgoer’s face on the way back.
The jarring impact broke Adelaide’s hold on the top rope and she dropped down to her hands and knees. Noting the change in elevation of Brewster’s head, Camille deftly adjusted her body to drop down in between the middle and bottom ropes as she followed through on her kick. Taking advantage of Newton’s First Law of Motion, Cosworth rotated her body into a second, lower Tiger Feint Kick to once again slam the soles of her sneakers into Adelaide’s head.
And when Brewster landed facedown on the mat, Camille dropped down again -- this time between the bottom rope and the mat -- to hit Adelaide in the head for the third time in as many seconds with a final Tiger Feint Kick that was really more of a Baseball Slide.
With the FAWNatics serenading her with a chant of “HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT!” after the trio of continuous Tiger Feint Kicks, Cosworth twisted her hips, bicycled her legs, and broke into a beautiful Spinaroonie that ended with a kip-up to her feet.
“I AM BETTER THAN YOU!” Camille roared at the top of her lungs, not because she was particularly angry or emotional, but because it was the only way she could hear herself over the pounding in her ears. In fact, her heart felt like it was about to burst out of her ribcage, her breathing was rapid and shallow, and there was the distinct, metallic taste of blood in the back of her throat -- all telltale signs of the incredible strain her body was under during her Ninety Seconds of Awesome.
Her opponent was still not finished, however. While the triple Tiger Feint Kicks would be highlight material for years to come, it was hardly a match ender. The last two kicks in particular didn’t carry all that much force and were more for show than anything else. As such, Adelaide was already starting to struggle to her hands and knees.
Grabbing a handful of Brewster’s mesh bodysuit, Camille hauled the Churchgoer to the middle of the ring and stood her upright on wobbly legs. With her target properly set up, Cosworth sprinted for the ropes, bounced back, and exploded into a Flying Knee cribbed from her girlfriend’s arsenal of moves.
With her strength and speed augmented by her Ninety Seconds of Awesome, Camille jumped a good deal higher than necessary. Combined with Adelaide slightly ducking at the last moment, the high flying rookie managed to sail completely over her intended target.
No matter, Cosworth thought to herself as she landed on her feet and continued her run. She would simply rebound off the opposite set of ropes then nail Brewster with a Lariat on the return trip.
Camille turned as she approached the ropes and leaned into the cables with her back, stretching them out to their limit before they snapped back and launched her in the opposite direction with even more speed.
Rapidly closing on her opponent, she drew back her right arm for a massive, KO-inducing Lariat. Just before she could decapitate Brewster, however, Cosworth felt a hard, bony fist slam into her breast just to left of her sternum.
Given the Churchgoer’s dazed state, it was hardly a textbook Heart Punch -- it wasn’t so much a punch as it was simply holding out a fist and letting Cosworth run into it. At first it even seemed like Adelaide had gotten the worst of the exchange, as the collision actually left Brewster flat on her back clutching her painfully jammed wrist. Meanwhile, Camille had come to a dead stop on her feet, seemingly no worse for the wear.
The seconds that followed proved the contrary.
After being frozen in place for a few moments, Camille lurched into motion again. She hunched over slightly and brought both hands to her chest, clutching at the fabric of her sports bra. She lifted her head slightly, fixed her gaze on the referee, and silently opened and closed her mouth several times.
Then Cosworth dropped to her knees, and the FAWN arena that was raucous just a few moments ago went deathly quiet.
She reached towards Craig Long with a trembling left hand as her mouth hung agape with no sound coming out save for the occasional croak.
“Camille!” Long shouted, alarmed by the frightened, desperate look in the rookie’s eyes. “Camille! Can you --”
Cosworth keeled over onto her right side, and then rolled onto her back. Save for the rapid fluttering of her chest and the wild, to-and-fro darting of her eyeballs, she laid absolutely still.
“Camille, can you continue?” the referee repeated as he dropped down next to his charge.
“No! Please, call the medic!” Camille cried out.
Or at least she would have cried out if her rapid hyperventilation hadn’t made speech impossible. In actuality, she could only managed a series of high pitched wheezes. Craig stood up and seemed ready to call for the bell anyway, when Adelaide roughly shoved him aside.
“Don’t get between me and my prey,” she warned ominously.
With the official cowed into compliance for the time being, Brewster turned her attention to her paralyzed opponent. She knelt down next to Camille and cradled the rookie’s head in her lap, then brushed a few locks of sweat-matted hair away from Cosworth’s face. It would have made for a tender scene, had it not been for the absolutely murderous gleam in the Churchgoer’s eyes.
“There’s no fairy tale ending for you, Camille Cosworth,” Adelaide purred. “In our story, the brave adventurer gets eaten by the monster.”
Having declared her intent, Brewster sank her teeth into the side of Camille’s neck. After about ten seconds of sucking, she suddenly reared back and spewed a cloud of Red Mist into the air.
“Oh yeessssss,” Adelaide hissed. “The thrum of your carotid against my lips! The taste of your fear on my tongue! It’s… intoxicating! More! I must have more!”
Brewster went back for a second feeding, only this time she also slid a hand under the waistband of Cosworth’s leggings to apply a Crotch Claw in an attempt to get the rookie’s blood pumping even faster. With Camille unable to provide any physical resistance, a pair of intruding digits slipped into her and began massaging her genitals from the inside.
In her current state she couldn’t derive an iota of pleasure from Adelaide’s manipulations, but the physiologic response was beyond her control, and soon Cosworth felt her body starting to betray her mind. While her muscles were already too burned out to engage in any dramatic, involuntary hip thrusting or back-arching and her hyperventilation stifled any moans that might have escaped her throat, her heart rate still shot through the roof and she felt like she was suffocating, unable to get enough oxygen in her lungs no matter how desperately she panted.
Soon her vision started to dim, even as the heat and wetness in her groin grew and grew and grew. Her eyes rolled back in her head, her consciousness slipping away as her overworked heart was no longer capable of keeping up with the demands of her body. She was vaguely aware of something or someone lifting her arm before letting it lamely fall back down, and then there was the sound of a bell ringing three times.
“It’s Midnight, Cinderella,” was the last thing Camille heard before her brain shut off.
When she opened her eyes again, Cosworth found herself looking at a low ceiling with fluorescent lighting. She was still lying on her back, but underneath her was a cot rather than canvas-covered plywood. With the haze of unconsciousness quickly dissipating from her mind, Camille realized that she was in the backstage infirmary.
She propped herself up on her elbows and looked down. Camille saw that she still in the same clothes she had been wearing in the ring, and that was when she noticed the large, wet stain in the crotch of her leggings. Flopping back down to the cot with a despairing wail, Cosworth covered her face with both hands and was about to curl into a ball and cry when she heard a cheery, chipper voice call out from right next to her.
“Hey babe, how are you feeling?”
Camille pulled her hands away from her face and turned her head to the right.
Yoona was sitting on a stool next to her cot, sporting a split lower lip and a black and blue right eye that was almost swollen closed.
“YOONA!” Camille shouted, suddenly forgetting her own ailments. “WHAT HAP --”
“Fell down some stairs,” Park lied with a dismissive shrug. “Don’t worry, I heal fast. I’ll be pretty again in a week.”
“OH MY GOD! YOU’RE SO STUPID! WHY, YOONA?! WHY?! YOU PROMISED ME YOU’D STAY OUT OF THE RING!”
“I would have, but the rest of those Church dipshits came into the ring after the bell,” Yoona explained. “Gave some infomercial spiel about Alien Jesus or something. Fuck if I know, it was long and boring and I wasn’t paying attention. Anyway, after their lame-ass speech they started trying to tear off your clothes. Now if it were up to me you’d be buck-ass naked all the time, but I know you don’t like to show your titties in public, so I had to go lay down the law.”
“Yoona…” Camille said softly, both concerned and touched that her girlfriend would try to fight an entire faction of vicious heels to protect her dignity.
“Pffttt… I’m fine. Forget about it,” Park chuffed with a wave of her hand. “How do YOU feel?”
Humiliated.
Defeated.
Terrified.
All words that ran through Cosworth’s head before she settled on…
“Not good,” Camille said glumly, doing her best to downplay just how devastated she felt.
“Well, I think you should feel great,” Yoona said with a grin so wide that it caused her split lip to start bleeding again. “You were totally fucking her up after you went Inigo Montoya on her ass. You just need a sparring partner you can go apeshit on to practice your moves, and I know just the person. Next time you wrestle that cockbag --”
“I don’t think I want to wrestle Adelaide again...” Cosworth murmured.
“Oh, fuck that defeatist bullshit!” Park snorted. “You’re going to wrestle her again, and you’re going to squash her like the shit-eating roach she is. Trust me.”
Camille didn’t quite dare to believe that, but nevertheless she found Yoona’s faith in her reassuring. Trying her best to present a brave face and a stiff upper lip, she gave a weak smile and nodded.
“Okay, Yoona. I trust you.”
The camera came into focus on Camille Cosworth sitting on a leather sofa, presumably located in the living room of the luxury condo she shared with her girlfriend.
“Okay, babe. We’re rolling,” called Yoona Park’s voice from off camera.
“Hi, I’m Camille Cosworth,” said Camille. “I am --”
“Hi, I’m Troy McClure,” the Korean interrupted. “You may remember me from wrestling films such as ‘Becky Clayton: Five Minutes of Glory’ and --”
“Yoona!” Camille shouted. “Don’t interrupt my speech!”
“Your intro was awful. Try it again. Cut!”
The video briefly flickered and focused on Cosworth again.
“My name is Camille Cosworth,” she continued once more. “I have a message for the Church of Eternal Midnight --”
“You’ve merely adopted the dark,” Park interjected with a lilting baritone voice. “I was born in it… molded by it…”
“Cut,” Camille groaned in frustration as she walked over to the camera.
The video flickered again and Cosworth was back in the couch. “Adelaide Brewster, in recent weeks --”
“When Gotham is ashes, then you have my permission to die!” Yoona interrupted again.
“CUT!” Camille yelled, causing the video to flicker yet again.
When Cosworth appeared again, she was visibly annoyed. “Are you done screwing around with the Bane impressions?”
“Actually, I was doing Mad Max,” Park said from behind the camera.
“Whatever! Just stop interrupting and let me finish!” Camille huffed. She took a few deep, calming breaths before continuing, “Adelaide --”
“THEATRICALITY AND DECEPTION!” Yoona suddenly bellowed.
Cosworth threw a sofa cushion at the camera, knocking it askew and causing the video to flicker for the fourth time. When the image returned, the cushion was back in place and Camille appeared absolutely furious.
“I’ve had it with your crap, Adelaide,” she growled. “You and your Church have a bone to pick with me?! Fine. Whatever. I’ll wrestle you any time you want. All you have to do is ask. But showing up at House Shows unannounced and stealing time from the local girls who need the exposure to build their careers? That’s low, even for your bunch of sanctimonious bullies. I’m done playing these ridiculous games. You want me? Then face me in a proper match at the FAWN Arena. Don’t bother responding, I’m sick of your talk. No one’s scared by your dumb gimmick. No one’s joining your crappy Church. Just shut up and meet me in the ring.”
“Yeah!” Park whooped. “There’s the anger and emotion I was looking for! Seriously Cam, you had the charisma of a public service announcement in all your earlier attempts.”
“Ugh, Yoona, I love you, but sometimes you are just so freaking infuriating,” Camille sighed with a shake of her head. “Anyway, don’t forget to cut the botched takes before you post the video.”
The video cut to black.
----FAWN Arena----
“You SUCK!” Camille yelled at the Korean sitting next to her in the audience. She hadn’t bothered to check her video after Yoona uploaded it, and now she was seeing it for the first time on the FAWNtron in its full uncut glory.
“Sorry babe,” Park apologized, not at all sounding contrite. “I was going to edit the video, but then I got bored and started browsing PornHub instead. Did you know that I’m ranked 5334 on searches for ‘Japanese lesbian sex wrestling?’ Those racist rat bastards can’t even tell the difference between Korean and Japanese!”
Cosworth was at least sixty percent sure that her girlfriend was joking, but her curiosity got the better of her. She retrieved her phone from her bag, opened the browser, tapped the top result for ‘Frequently Visited’ sites, and was interrupted by the ring announcer’s voice coming through the PA system.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the following match is scheduled for one fall with a thirty minute time limit. Introducing first from San Antonio, Texas, coming in at five foot six and one hundred and thirty pounds...Camille Cosworth!”
CAMILLE COSWORTH:
Immediately following the announcer was the opening beat of Camille’s ring anthem, co-opted from the ‘Batman v Superman’ soundtrack. Normally she would have preferred to go without the introduction, as she felt that flying into the ring unannounced and accompanied only by stirring music made for a much more dramatic entrance. Her battles with Adelaide were becoming a very personal affair, however, so it seemed appropriate to have her name called out before the match.
“Well, that’s my cue,” Camille said as she stashed her phone in her bag once more. “Yoona, please, please, please promise you’ll stay here no matter what, okay?”
“Don’t worry about me, just go kick her ass,” Park replied.
“Promise me!” Cosworth insisted.
“Alright, alright. Geez, calm your tits, Cam. I promise,” Yoona said rather unconvincingly.
Camille decided that was as good as she was going to get so she started on her way to the ring, walking slowly at first then picking up her pace as the tempo of the music increased. Once the pair of searchlights converged on her location in the audience, she sped up into a sprint for the ring before jumping off the barricade, grabbing the top rope, and flinging herself into the middle of the ring with a somersault. The music reached a crescendo as she rose to full height from her landing, revealing to the audience her black leggings, Converse sneakers, and a tight-fitting ‘Tap Out Tour 2015’ tank top commemorating Sydney Deschain’s farewell tour a year ago.
For whatever reason Yoona had disdainfully rolled her eyes at the choice of shirt, but Camille paid it no mind. Deschain had gone undefeated in her final outings prior to retirement, and one of those victories had come at the expense of Adelaide Brewster. Cosworth hoped to replicate that feat now, and perhaps the reminder would even throw Brewster off her game.
After the Wonder Woman theme came to a close, the announcer resumed his duties.
“And introducing her opponent, representing the Church of Eternal Midnight, she hails from Oxrun Station, Connecticut and coming in at five foot six and one hundred and nineteen pounds.... She is the Weeping Angel, the Daughter of Darkness, The Queen of Nightmares. This is…ADELAIDE BREWSTER!”
ADELAIDE BREWSTER:
The lights died as her name reached the rafters and the speakers answered the call, not with Midnight Syndicate but with the quietly eerie pop of Lorde’s ‘Glory and Gore’.
For a moment there was nothing but darkness and pinpricks of cell phone light, then a few lights on either side of the stage ‘whoomped’ on to reveal a sea of ankle deep fog. Still no sign of the Churchgoer and that was the way it stayed until a cold blue light illuminated the gloomy recession leading to the curtain. A figure swung down from the ceiling of that narrow throat, a figure hanging by her knees from a bar suspended just out of camera view. Arms crossed over her chest, Adelaide Brewster opened her eyes, then twisted loose and landed on her feet just as her anthem warned, ‘Now we’re in the ring and we’re coming for blood.’
Heading for the squared circle after a moment to survey her feeding grounds, Adelaide stretched her arms wide, which let her limber up while simultaneously providing the FAWNatics with a great view of her ring attire. In place of the antique ball gown, top hat and velvet number that it sheathed was a blood red one piece made of a mesh just fine enough to allow the discerning eye a glimpse of matching black bra and briefs lurking beneath. Her outfit was completed with a clunky black belt complete with a buckle done up as a snarling wolf’s head and matching black boots and pads.
Reaching the ring quickly because no one quite dared extend a hand, Adelaide slunk under the bottom ropes, popped to her feet and took ownership of a corner on the far side of the ring. Paying no attention to the presence behind her back, the Weeping Angel climbed to the second rope, titled her head back and ‘pppfffwoooooshed’ a cloud of Red Mist out over the first couple rows of fans. Blood properly let, she climbed down and turned her attention to her opponent.
“Hello again, sister,” Adelaide said in a voice that sent a tingle up Camille's spine. “If you don’t care to listen to me talk, then so be it. A picture is worth a thousand words anyway…”
Brewster made a grand, sweeping gesture with her arm towards the large plasma screen above the entrance ramp. Right on cue the screen started playing a looping slideshow of three pictures, each one featuring a young wrestler -- beaten, bloodied, and bruised. The large majority of FAWNatics looked at the images in silent, morbid confusion as the trio of girls were not wrestlers they had seen before.
Camille, however, instantly recognized them as the local wrestlers who had rescued her from Adelaide at a recent House Show in Miami. She had parted with them as friends, and seeing them in such a pitiful state turned her face ghastly pale with rage.
“The Church of Eternal Midnight paid them a visit recently,” Brewster explained, each and every word dripping with menace. “We offered them a chance to avoid such ugliness and violence, if they would bend the knee and show penitence. Do you know what those fools said?”
Cosworth silently glowered in response, her brow creased in anger.
Adelaide scoffed derisively, “They said, ‘That’s not what Camille would do.’ So they resisted, like you. They fought, like you. THEY LOST, LIKE YOU! THEIR BLOOD IS ON YOUR HANDS, SISTER! THIS IS THE RESULT OF FOLLOWING YOUR EXAMPLE AND --”
Camille had heard enough. She burst forward and stuffed Brewster into a corner so quickly that referee Craig Long couldn’t even manage to signal for the opening bell before Cosworth smashed a triplet of Shoulder Blocks into her opponent’s chest.
“Hey!” the referee called, “Get her out of the --”
Before he could finish his command, Camille wrapped both hands around the back of Adelaide’s neck and flung her two-thirds of the way to the opposite corner with a massive Beal Toss. Brewster bounced once from the impact and quickly rolled out of the ring to regroup, somewhat caught off guard by her opponent’s uncharacteristic aggression.
“Such anger…” commented Adelaide as she stalked around the ring. “It’s all futile, however. Those chattel were angry too, and look where that got them. Take a good look at those pictures, Camille Cosworth. That will be you in a few minutes.”
Brewster slid back into the ring and walked to the center with arms raised and fingers curled, challenging the rookie to a Test of Strength. “Show me your strength, sister. Let me see just how inept and inadequate you really are.”
The rational portion of Camille’s brain knew that it was likely a trap, but the emotional side of her wanted to prove a point and overrode all logic and reason. Without a moment’s hesitation, she stepped forward and interlaced her fingers with Adelaide’s, locking the two wrestlers in a Test of Strength.
Contrary to her taunts, Adelaide quickly discovered that her opponent’s strength was far more than adequate and the Queen of Nightmares found herself slowly but surely bending backwards in an arch. Not wanting to concede even a moral victory, she adjusted her stance so that her left leg bore the brunt of her weight, then brought her right leg up in a Knee Strike aimed at Camille’s midsection.
The impact of the blow elicited a loud grunt from Cosworth, but her legs held steady and her grip never faltered.
“My girlfriend hits harder,” she said with a smirk as she continued to force her foe backwards.
“But can she do this?” Adelaide countered.
Camille saw Brewster’s tongue curl into her cheek to retrieve the Red Mist capsule hidden behind her teeth. At such a close range and with her hands locked, however, there wasn’t much the rookie could do except try to turn her head to the side and close her eyes when the red cloud came spewing forth from Adelaide’s lips a split second later.
“ARRGGGH! GOD! THAT STINGS!” Cosworth shrieked as a few droplets of Red Mist seeped under her eyelids.
The brief lapse in concentration was all the opportunity Adelaide needed to gain the advantage in the Test of Strength, and a handful of seconds later Camille found herself uncomfortably bent over backwards and balanced on her toes and the crown of her head, fighting to keep her shoulders off the mat to avoid the pin.
While maintaining the pair of finger locks, Adelaide straddled Camille’s hips and lifted her feet off the ground, using her body weight to make the rookie work that much harder to maintain her bridge. Cosworth bucked and thrashed trying to get Brewster off of herself, but the Churchgoer hooked in a Double Leg Grapevine to stay tightly fastened to her opponent.
“Do you feel that, Camille Cosworth?” Brewster purred as she bore down with hips while trying to wrench Camille’s legs open. “That is the feeling of inevitability. Your weakness isaaARRGH DAMN IT!”
Cosworth surrendered the bridge and twisted her torso to the side, rolling the intertwined wrestlers over so that Brewster was now on the bottom. The Queen of Nightmares still had control of her legs via the Double Leg Grapevine, but more importantly, Adelaide’s shoulders were now flat against the canvas.
Craig slid to the mat to get a better angle, and then pounded out --
“ONE!”
“TWO!”
Brewster untangled her legs from Cosworth’s and bucked the rookie off in order to break the pin.
“That was a cheap move,” Adelaide growled. “Flash pins are the last refuge of scoundrels and cowards.”
“Says the woman who just spat gunk in my face,” Camille retorted as she tried to rub the leftover Red Mist out of her eyes. “Ugh, I hope I don’t get pink eye from this…”
Cosworth would have preferred not to use her shirt to wipe her face, as she only had one and it was a collector’s item nowadays. She was still blinking away the last bits of bleariness when Brewster jumped onto her back then wrenched her head back while trapping her neck under an armpit.
With her face turned upwards towards the ceiling by the Piggyback Dragon Sleeper, Camille found it difficult to orient herself in the ring. She staggered blindly in one direction then another, desperately searching for the ropes while trying to remain upright.
“I will expose you for what you are, Camille Cosworth,” the Churchgoer hissed. “Not a hero, or an idol, or an inspiration, but just a glorified spot-monkey who’s in way over her head.”
Still having no success in navigating her way to the ropes, Cosworth decided to try for a more risky tactic. She reached up with her right hand and cupped the back of Adelaide’s head, then jumped up and belly-flopped to the mat. It was far from her most elegant maneuver and landing on her chest left her sputtering and gasping for air, but Brewster took the worst of the impact having landed on her face.
The improvised Facebuster left Adelaide rolling on the mat holding her head, and the FAWNatics cheered Camille for her creative escape. Bolstered by the show of support, Cosworth slowly pushed herself upright and walked over to her foe. The Heel Hook submission proved to be too technically nuanced for her to master in such a short time, so instead she went to work on Adelaide’s right ankle with a standing Achilles Hold.
“Toes tucked in armpit, forearm under the heel, lean back,” Camille muttered to herself, reciting the simple instructions that Yoona had given her. “Toes tucked in armpit, forearm under the heel, lean back… Toes tucked in armpit, forearm under the heel, lean back…”
Judging by the indignant screech of pain coming from Brewster, Park’s advice was solid. Rather than keep the hold locked in until her opponent either escaped or surrendered as her more pragmatic girlfriend would have, Camille decided to add her own spectacular twist. Cinching the hold as tightly as she could, Cosworth started spinning in a circle -- slowly at first, dragging Adelaide along on the mat, and then faster and faster until the centripetal force lifted the Churchgoer four feet off the ground.
Dazzled by the rookie’s innovative use of the Giant Swing, the FAWNatics fell into the time honored tradition of counting anything that repeats more than twice.
“ONE”
“TWO”
“THREE”
“FOUR”
“FIVE”
“SIX”
“SEVEN”
“EIGHT”
“NINE”
“TEN!”
After the fans helpfully counted out the tenth revolution, Camille abruptly released her hold on Adelaide’s foot. Suddenly detached from her mooring, Brewster briefly flew through the air before crashing spine-first into a set of corner turnbuckles where she grabbed onto the ropes to keep herself upright despite her throbbing ankle and her spinning head.
“You’re the one getting exposed, Adelaide,” Cosworth said. “Who are you going to scare when even a spot-monkey can -- wooAAHH CRAAAP! UNGH!”
Camille had underestimated her own dizzyness, and promptly face-planted into the canvas after taking two steps towards her opponent. Lightly smacking into the mat seemed to bring her back to her senses and she quickly scrambled back to her feet, although the tips of her ears suddenly felt very, very hot. Fortunately for her, the Churchgoer was still propped up against the turnbuckles, not having quite recovered from the combination Giant Swing and Achilles Hold.
“You’re right, I’m no one special,” Cosworth said once she had regained her bearings. “I’m just a lucky girl living out her fairy tale fantasies. And on behalf of all the spot-monkeys, all the backyard dreamers, and all the indie stars looking for their moment in the Sun, I want you to know…”
Camille reached out with her right hand and placed her fingertips against Adelaide’s stomach.
“...we are not afraid of you!”
Cosworth twisted her hips and flexed her right shoulder, impaling Brewster in the gut with a One Inch Punch.
Or at least, that was what she had in mind. In reality, her fist hit with barely the force of a love tap.
“Aww man, come on!” Camille grumbled. She tried another two times with hardly any more effect. Before Cosworth could retry a third time, Adelaide had recovered sufficiently to grab her wrist and painfully wrench her arm out and back behind her.
“You’re even more delusional than those three cretins in Miami,” Brewster sneered as she led her opponent out to the middle of the ring by her trapped arm. “At least they had the good sense to come at me with numbers.”
Adelaide gave the Wrist Lock one more savage yank, then twisted her body around and hit Camille in the side of the head with a high kick. The rookie stumbled but didn’t go down from the Arm Wrench Hook Kick combo, so the Churchgoer quickly followed up with a tight Front Face Lock.
“And thus concludes another chapter in your ongoing saga of impotent failure,” Brewster taunted as she prepared to yet again spike her opponent into the mat with a Wolfsbane DDT. “Pathetic as always, sister.”
Adelaide planted both feet on Camille’s hips, then jerked backwards. Instead of landing on her back, however, Brewster did a complete rotation and wound up back in her original position still standing along with her opponent. She was so disoriented that her grip on the Front Face Lock loosened, allowing Cosworth to shove her away.
Not quite able to hide the look of surprise on her face, the Churchgoer quickly glanced aside to the plasma screen to see the video replay of what had just happened. Apparently Camille had used the rotational inertia of the DDT to launch into a full standing front flip, thus allowing her to land safely on her feet rather than her head.
Taking note of Adelaide’s disbelief, Camille waggled an eyebrow and indulged in the faintest of smug grins, “That move was getting old.”
“Arrogant heathen!” Brewster snarled. “Don’t think that you have a chance just because you countered a single move!”
Adelaide lunged forward and smacked into her opponent with an Elbow and Collar tie up. Rather than try to overpower Camille she quickly raked her hand from collar to stomach, scratching long furrows in Cosworth's flesh, ripping open her collector’s edition tank top, and even pulling down her sports bra to briefly expose her left nipple.
Camille yelped in surprise and indignation, then immediately moved to fix her wardrobe malfunction. She was able to stuff her breast back into her bra before the cameras got a clear shot, but preserving her modesty allowed Adelaide to trap her in a Side Headlock.
“In the past I was content to beat you. But today…” Brewster growled as she pulled Camille over to the edge of the ring and dragged the rookie’s face along the top rope, ignoring the referee’s warnings. “...Today I will ruin you.”
Reaching a corner, Adelaide released the Headlock and grabbed a handful of hair to repeatedly smash her opponent’s head against the top turnbuckle.
“I will defile you.”
BWUNG!
“I will debase you.”
BWUNG!
“I will leave your image so blackened and tarnished that no one could draw inspiration from your example ever again!”
BWUNG!
“Alright! That’s it!” Craig shouted. “Do that again and I’ll disqualify --”
“BACK OFF, CHATTEL!” Adelaide screamed at the referee. Nevertheless, she stopped ramming Camille’s head into the turnbuckle, instead opting to throw stunned rookie headfirst through the top and middle ropes.
Cosworth hit the thinly padded cement with a dull thwack then skidded to a stop against the steel barricade, moaning in agony. Having disposed of her opponent like garbage, Brewster mounted the top turnbuckle and faced the crowd with eyes closed and arms held out at her sides, relishing the chorus of boos and jeers coming from the FAWNatics.
Once the referee’s count reached “TWELVE!” Adelaide cut short her dark revelry and dismounted from the turnbuckle. She prepared to go haul her opponent back into the ring to continue the beatdown, but she was surprised to see that Camille had already managed to drag herself to a semi-upright position leaning backwards against the steel barricade.
Even more shocking was the fact that the rookie appeared to be lightly chuckling.
“I admit it, I am no match for you,” Cosworth said through a crooked grin.
“Have you come to your senses then, sister?” Brewster asked. “Have you accepted Darkness into your heart and soul?”
“Haha, no. Nothing like that,” Camille laughed. “It’s just that I know something you do not know…”
The Churchgoer’s expression darkened and her eyes narrowed into thin slits.
“You see, Adelaide --”
Cosworth grabbed a shoulder strap of her ruined tank top then yanked it off completely with one hard tug, revealing her black sports bra and earning a massive pop from the audience.
“-- I am not left-handed.”
Camille threw the tank top at the Churchgoer’s head.
Adelaide angrily swatted away the garment before it touched her face, obstructing her line of sight for a scant second or two. Once the offending shirt was out of her field of vision she returned her gaze to her opponent, only to find an empty patch of floor.
Eyes widening slightly, she looked to the left and found nothing.
She looked to the right, and found nothing.
“I am FASTER than you,” a voice behind her called.
Adelaide whirled around on her heels and saw Camille calmly standing in the middle of the ring with her hands at her sides.
Brewster sprang at her opponent and was immediately hit by an open handed slap so swift that she didn’t even see Cosworth’s arm move and so powerful that it sent her sprawling to the mat.
Quickly recovering from that indignity, Adelaide rolled onto her back and swiveled her head around, but once again she could not find her opponent. Just as she started to push into a seated position, Camille dropped from the sky and drove a pair of knees into her stomach.
Sent into a retching, coughing fit by her own signature Twitch of the Death Nerve, Brewster couldn’t do much besides grab onto Cosworth’s wrist when the rookie clenched a vise-like hand around her throat.
“I am STRONGER than you,” Camille said flatly as she took advantage of Adelaide latching onto her forearm to drag the Churchgoer upright with one hand.
Brought face to face with her opponent, Brewster quickly used her tongue to retrieve a Red Mist capsule from behind her molars and bit into it to release the sticky red fluid. Just as she was about to blow it into her captor’s face, however, Cosworth’s hand tightened around her windpipe and stopped her from exhaling.
Camille cocked her head slightly to one side and arched an eyebrow as she watched the Red Mist turn into Red Drool and leak from the corners of Adelaide’s gagging mouth. Content in having made her point, Cosworth pivoted towards the nearest corner and forcefully threw the Churchgoer into the turnbuckles.
The top turnbuckle hit Brewster right between the shoulderblades and she somehow stayed on her feet after bouncing off, albeit bent over at the waist, gagging, and gripping the top rope for support. Adelaide’s reprieve was brief, however, as Camille broke into a running start, slung her body through the top and middle ropes next to Brewster like a boomerang, and smashed a perfect Tiger Feint Kick into the Churchgoer’s face on the way back.
The jarring impact broke Adelaide’s hold on the top rope and she dropped down to her hands and knees. Noting the change in elevation of Brewster’s head, Camille deftly adjusted her body to drop down in between the middle and bottom ropes as she followed through on her kick. Taking advantage of Newton’s First Law of Motion, Cosworth rotated her body into a second, lower Tiger Feint Kick to once again slam the soles of her sneakers into Adelaide’s head.
And when Brewster landed facedown on the mat, Camille dropped down again -- this time between the bottom rope and the mat -- to hit Adelaide in the head for the third time in as many seconds with a final Tiger Feint Kick that was really more of a Baseball Slide.
With the FAWNatics serenading her with a chant of “HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT!” after the trio of continuous Tiger Feint Kicks, Cosworth twisted her hips, bicycled her legs, and broke into a beautiful Spinaroonie that ended with a kip-up to her feet.
“I AM BETTER THAN YOU!” Camille roared at the top of her lungs, not because she was particularly angry or emotional, but because it was the only way she could hear herself over the pounding in her ears. In fact, her heart felt like it was about to burst out of her ribcage, her breathing was rapid and shallow, and there was the distinct, metallic taste of blood in the back of her throat -- all telltale signs of the incredible strain her body was under during her Ninety Seconds of Awesome.
Her opponent was still not finished, however. While the triple Tiger Feint Kicks would be highlight material for years to come, it was hardly a match ender. The last two kicks in particular didn’t carry all that much force and were more for show than anything else. As such, Adelaide was already starting to struggle to her hands and knees.
Grabbing a handful of Brewster’s mesh bodysuit, Camille hauled the Churchgoer to the middle of the ring and stood her upright on wobbly legs. With her target properly set up, Cosworth sprinted for the ropes, bounced back, and exploded into a Flying Knee cribbed from her girlfriend’s arsenal of moves.
With her strength and speed augmented by her Ninety Seconds of Awesome, Camille jumped a good deal higher than necessary. Combined with Adelaide slightly ducking at the last moment, the high flying rookie managed to sail completely over her intended target.
No matter, Cosworth thought to herself as she landed on her feet and continued her run. She would simply rebound off the opposite set of ropes then nail Brewster with a Lariat on the return trip.
Camille turned as she approached the ropes and leaned into the cables with her back, stretching them out to their limit before they snapped back and launched her in the opposite direction with even more speed.
Rapidly closing on her opponent, she drew back her right arm for a massive, KO-inducing Lariat. Just before she could decapitate Brewster, however, Cosworth felt a hard, bony fist slam into her breast just to left of her sternum.
Given the Churchgoer’s dazed state, it was hardly a textbook Heart Punch -- it wasn’t so much a punch as it was simply holding out a fist and letting Cosworth run into it. At first it even seemed like Adelaide had gotten the worst of the exchange, as the collision actually left Brewster flat on her back clutching her painfully jammed wrist. Meanwhile, Camille had come to a dead stop on her feet, seemingly no worse for the wear.
The seconds that followed proved the contrary.
After being frozen in place for a few moments, Camille lurched into motion again. She hunched over slightly and brought both hands to her chest, clutching at the fabric of her sports bra. She lifted her head slightly, fixed her gaze on the referee, and silently opened and closed her mouth several times.
Then Cosworth dropped to her knees, and the FAWN arena that was raucous just a few moments ago went deathly quiet.
She reached towards Craig Long with a trembling left hand as her mouth hung agape with no sound coming out save for the occasional croak.
“Camille!” Long shouted, alarmed by the frightened, desperate look in the rookie’s eyes. “Camille! Can you --”
Cosworth keeled over onto her right side, and then rolled onto her back. Save for the rapid fluttering of her chest and the wild, to-and-fro darting of her eyeballs, she laid absolutely still.
“Camille, can you continue?” the referee repeated as he dropped down next to his charge.
“No! Please, call the medic!” Camille cried out.
Or at least she would have cried out if her rapid hyperventilation hadn’t made speech impossible. In actuality, she could only managed a series of high pitched wheezes. Craig stood up and seemed ready to call for the bell anyway, when Adelaide roughly shoved him aside.
“Don’t get between me and my prey,” she warned ominously.
With the official cowed into compliance for the time being, Brewster turned her attention to her paralyzed opponent. She knelt down next to Camille and cradled the rookie’s head in her lap, then brushed a few locks of sweat-matted hair away from Cosworth’s face. It would have made for a tender scene, had it not been for the absolutely murderous gleam in the Churchgoer’s eyes.
“There’s no fairy tale ending for you, Camille Cosworth,” Adelaide purred. “In our story, the brave adventurer gets eaten by the monster.”
Having declared her intent, Brewster sank her teeth into the side of Camille’s neck. After about ten seconds of sucking, she suddenly reared back and spewed a cloud of Red Mist into the air.
“Oh yeessssss,” Adelaide hissed. “The thrum of your carotid against my lips! The taste of your fear on my tongue! It’s… intoxicating! More! I must have more!”
Brewster went back for a second feeding, only this time she also slid a hand under the waistband of Cosworth’s leggings to apply a Crotch Claw in an attempt to get the rookie’s blood pumping even faster. With Camille unable to provide any physical resistance, a pair of intruding digits slipped into her and began massaging her genitals from the inside.
In her current state she couldn’t derive an iota of pleasure from Adelaide’s manipulations, but the physiologic response was beyond her control, and soon Cosworth felt her body starting to betray her mind. While her muscles were already too burned out to engage in any dramatic, involuntary hip thrusting or back-arching and her hyperventilation stifled any moans that might have escaped her throat, her heart rate still shot through the roof and she felt like she was suffocating, unable to get enough oxygen in her lungs no matter how desperately she panted.
Soon her vision started to dim, even as the heat and wetness in her groin grew and grew and grew. Her eyes rolled back in her head, her consciousness slipping away as her overworked heart was no longer capable of keeping up with the demands of her body. She was vaguely aware of something or someone lifting her arm before letting it lamely fall back down, and then there was the sound of a bell ringing three times.
“It’s Midnight, Cinderella,” was the last thing Camille heard before her brain shut off.
When she opened her eyes again, Cosworth found herself looking at a low ceiling with fluorescent lighting. She was still lying on her back, but underneath her was a cot rather than canvas-covered plywood. With the haze of unconsciousness quickly dissipating from her mind, Camille realized that she was in the backstage infirmary.
She propped herself up on her elbows and looked down. Camille saw that she still in the same clothes she had been wearing in the ring, and that was when she noticed the large, wet stain in the crotch of her leggings. Flopping back down to the cot with a despairing wail, Cosworth covered her face with both hands and was about to curl into a ball and cry when she heard a cheery, chipper voice call out from right next to her.
“Hey babe, how are you feeling?”
Camille pulled her hands away from her face and turned her head to the right.
Yoona was sitting on a stool next to her cot, sporting a split lower lip and a black and blue right eye that was almost swollen closed.
“YOONA!” Camille shouted, suddenly forgetting her own ailments. “WHAT HAP --”
“Fell down some stairs,” Park lied with a dismissive shrug. “Don’t worry, I heal fast. I’ll be pretty again in a week.”
“OH MY GOD! YOU’RE SO STUPID! WHY, YOONA?! WHY?! YOU PROMISED ME YOU’D STAY OUT OF THE RING!”
“I would have, but the rest of those Church dipshits came into the ring after the bell,” Yoona explained. “Gave some infomercial spiel about Alien Jesus or something. Fuck if I know, it was long and boring and I wasn’t paying attention. Anyway, after their lame-ass speech they started trying to tear off your clothes. Now if it were up to me you’d be buck-ass naked all the time, but I know you don’t like to show your titties in public, so I had to go lay down the law.”
“Yoona…” Camille said softly, both concerned and touched that her girlfriend would try to fight an entire faction of vicious heels to protect her dignity.
“Pffttt… I’m fine. Forget about it,” Park chuffed with a wave of her hand. “How do YOU feel?”
Humiliated.
Defeated.
Terrified.
All words that ran through Cosworth’s head before she settled on…
“Not good,” Camille said glumly, doing her best to downplay just how devastated she felt.
“Well, I think you should feel great,” Yoona said with a grin so wide that it caused her split lip to start bleeding again. “You were totally fucking her up after you went Inigo Montoya on her ass. You just need a sparring partner you can go apeshit on to practice your moves, and I know just the person. Next time you wrestle that cockbag --”
“I don’t think I want to wrestle Adelaide again...” Cosworth murmured.
“Oh, fuck that defeatist bullshit!” Park snorted. “You’re going to wrestle her again, and you’re going to squash her like the shit-eating roach she is. Trust me.”
Camille didn’t quite dare to believe that, but nevertheless she found Yoona’s faith in her reassuring. Trying her best to present a brave face and a stiff upper lip, she gave a weak smile and nodded.
“Okay, Yoona. I trust you.”