Zarya Volkov vs. Makoto Aihara - Iron and Gold [FWC]

"Ooof!" Zarya grunted, surprised that it did hurt, but the impact still wasn't enough to gain more then a step backwards on the part of the Russian. A moment later her feet were planted and she moved to grab the Judoka in a front-headlock, more to control her then to do damage. At first, that is.

"So angry. So emotional! Admit it. None of this would be happening... if..." Zarya's right knee rose, aimed for Makoto's belly!

"...you weren't..." Again her knee rose, attempting to slam into her stomach.

"...so weak!" A third and final knee attempt from Zarya. Whether Makoto suffered the full effect of the barrage or managed to defend herself, the Iron Soldier would shove her away like so much garbage. And as she did so, she grabbed hold of the back of the Judo Babe's Gi! A sound of protest arose from the audience as the whole arena realized what the Russian was trying to do. Further dishonor the Japanese fighter by ripping off her gi.

The punch didn’t do much. Of course it didn’t do much. It probably wouldn’t have done much if Makoto had been at her full strength, and she certainly wasn’t that right now by any stretch of the imagination. It was an act of defiance, a desperate attempt to prove that she wasn’t one to be bullied around and taken lightly.

For her efforts, she got her head crushed into Zarya’s beefy arm.

That was indignity enough, being locked in this headlock like a helpless child, but it seemed Zarya was never the type of woman to keep things simple. One knee hammered into her stomach, with enough force to launch her feet off the canvas. Another followed, and another after that. When Zarya did release her Makoto was so busy coughing and wheezing that she scarcely even noticed that her gi had been ripped clean off.

At first. But the cold air told her soon enough, and she immediately went in a small panic. Crawling forward while she grasped her stomach, she found herself moving towards the only other person in the ring, looking up at the referee with pleading eyes, hoping that she might find some humanity there and end this…

The conflict that flickered briefly in Isa's jade green eyes was genuine. On one hand the sight of Makoto, wordlessly pleading with her for some semblance of mercy, some relief from the pain and humiliation, repulsed her. On the other hand, Isa Kubota's was a nationalist, and Makoto was legitimately something of a hero to many, a well known wrestler and gold medal winner. Isa didn't actually enjoy seeing her embarrassed by Zarya. In her secret heart of hearts she wanted Nippon to prevail. 

Then, the moment passed and Isa's gaze turned cold. She didn't want Japan to be dishonored, but that weight was on Makoto's back. If she was too weak to carry it, that was her problem. 

"A uniform does make you what you are, a Judoka of the highest order. Stop cowering and fight. I intend to do my job, so either defeat your opponent or get beaten by her. Either way, those are your only options for getting out of this." Isa crossed her arms beneath her breasts, ending the subject. She'd count the pin or submission if Makoto managed it but she wasn't going to lift one finger to help her against the cruel Russian. 

Zarya, tired of the exchanged, charged forward to close the distance between them, trying to hide her lingering limp. She bent down to shove Makoto onto her back and, succeeding there, proceeded to grab for her throat, looking to wrap her fingers around Makoto's neck and pin the Judo Babe to the mat that way. 

"Cute... but no ones going to help you." 

No help there. Of course.

Makoto had no idea who this ‘referee’ was, but she could tell a few things about her from this incident alone. She was cold. She was merciless. It wasn’t even the same sick, twisted pleasure that someone like Anesthesia would’ve gotten from watching her beaten, but something darker. Like she was looking down on Makoto as nothing more than dirt, or a pathetic insect about to be crushed.

There’d be no help coming from that avenue. And, as if that wasn’t proof enough, Zarya descended on her and solidified the fact.

There was no struggle, no fight. Makoto didn’t have the time or energy for either of it, as the Russian Ravager flipped her over. The only thing that got her going were the hands around her neck, squeezing tight, powering down, taking the life away from her.

She kicked. She squirmed. She let out silent screams and beat against Zarya’s arms, but none of it got her anywhere.

Zarya Volkov looked into Makoto's eyes and knew the Judo Babe was closed to breaking. She suspected it was that last desperate, wordless plea for mercy, gone unanswered, that'd been the final nudge towards despair. That... and complete physical exhaustion. It was a delicious sight, and yet, not what Zarya wanted, for it was not what she'd been paid for. She wanted Makoto hurt, humiliated, but not completelu broken in spirit. That spark of fire had to remain.

The completely unbiased referee merely looked on with vague disgust at Makoto's weakness as she was blatantly choked. The russian mauler lessened her grip almost imperceptibly. She didn't want Makoto going out just yet. 

"Somehow I expected more from you..." Zarya  got onto her knees, to leverage more of her weight into controlling the Judoka's feeble efforts to escape. With her free hand, she let hee fingers trail up Makoto's inner right thigh before she cupped the judo babes mound through her shorts in a clear gesture of ownership. 

"Do you think you're old friend Aigle is watching? Maybe I will face her next. Only I won't waste time playing games with that one. I'll just... end her career, and you will visit her in the hospital. Can you see it? Stepping into that cold room. Aigle on the bed, hooked to machines. You look into each other's eyes and see the same thing. Broken women who will never fight again. 

That's what going to do to you, Aihara. To both of you. "

It would’ve been easy to give up. Too easy. Makoto was already quite certain she wasn’t winning this match, but there could always be a chance for another, fairer rematch in the future. Zarya was a beast of a woman, an unflinching juggernaut, but she wasn’t invincible. More than once, the Judo Babe had gained some ground in their battle, and she was confident she could do more in a second encounter.

All she had to do was cut her loses, let this go, and fight again another day.

Makoto considered it. She almost did it. There was a brief moment where she eagerly wanted to accept the darkness and pass out. End the match, end the torture.

Then Zarya had to go and mention Aigle, and that idea flew away.

Her legs flew up, with one wrapping around Zarya’s shoulder and the other coming about her head, while she pulled that choking arm in through the middle. She was weak and weary, true, but the triangle hold didn’t need that much power to be effective. Makoto had more than enough skill to make up for it.

”You don’t say her name!” She spat in Zarya’s face as she powered down. ”You don’t!”

From the very beginning, starting with the secret, clandestine meeting to plan Makoto's humiliation and destruction, Zarya Volkov had been careful to keep one salient point in the forefront of her mind. Never.... Never underestimate a Judoka. No matter what the size difference might be, a true master of the discipline was always a threat. Zarya had left herself forget that, so caught up in her impending and absolute victory. 

The shock of being caught in the triangle choke cost her precious seconds and her vision was already swimming by the time she began struggling, grasping for ropes that were too far out of reach. The russian glared at Makoto with wild, furious eyes, teeth bared, spittle flying with every increasingly ragged breath like a trapped, rabid animal. The referee, shaking off her own shock, bent closer. 

"Do you... give up?" The words spoken in a tone of disbelief, as if the very idea that Makoto might actually triumph has never been a real consideration. Zarya didn't even waste time spouting defiance as she continued to struggle. It seemed all Makoto had to do was find some way to hold on!

The look of pure rage on Zarya's face was a fearsome sight to behold, and any other time, in any other circumstance, Makoto might have been cowed by it. Zarya was easily one of the most destructive, dominant foes she'd ever faced, and her rage was clearly a horrible thing.

But she shouldn't have mentioned Aigle. She didn't have the right to even speak her name.

Whatever energy Makoto had left was poured into this singular, maddening effort. She ignored everything around her - the crowd, the ‘referee’, the mounting pain in her body. The only thing that mattered was squeezing the life out of Zarya’s body.

But she wasn't going down. Not yet.

Makoto glared back at her just as hard an d redoubled her efforts, even using one of her hands to throw a couple of quick punches in Zarya’s face. Throwing anything and everything at the Russian in one, final attempt to win.

The crowd was roaring, chanting, cheering, rejuvenated by the most unlikely of comebacks. To Zarya Volkov the clamor was just a low buzzing noise droning endlessly in her ears as grey crept along the edges of her vision. It was impossible, and yet, she has only herself to blame. She'd known all along what Makoto was capable of, and now she was trapped, clinging to consciousness.

In a moment of desperation, Zarya bit down on her own tongue, hard enough to draw blood. The pain sharpened the edges of her fading vision, and she put all of her remaining strength into one final push to escape the choke. She got her feet underneath her, first the right, then the left, and started to rise, lifting Makoto off the mat with her. 

The Iron Soldier was running on auto-pilot, her eyes blank and glazed, her lips curled into a teeth baring snarl that looked all the more intimidating as rivulents of blood trailed from the corners of her mouth as she hauled the Judoka up higher, fighting off the urge to pass out all the while... 

... before driving the Judo Babe down to the mat with everything she had left!

Makoto could hardly believe it.

It was happening right before her eyes, she could feel Zarya waning between her legs, and even so, she still had trouble processing what was potentially going down.

Even though it seemed far longer, this match - if you could really call it that - had only gone on for five or so minutes, ten at most. During that time, she’d wrestled with this monster, this unflinching beast of a woman, and seen her shrug off move after move, taking the best she could offer and standing tall. Through all that, it seemed like nothing could bring her down, so Makoto was understandably surprised when it looked like she’d accomplished the impossible.

It was a brief, fleeting moment of satisfaction, and one she’d cherish for all the ten seconds it lasted. It passed the moment she was lifted off the floor, brought high into the air, and sent crashing to the mat with ungodly force.

”No-”

One syllable of protest was all she had time for before the thunderous impact. Her back hit the floor and the hold was immediately dropped as her body went into wild spasms. She might have done more than that if she’d had the energy for it, but there wasn’t enough to lift for simple things like writhing. All she could do was lay there, broken and spent, utterly unmoving.