PhDoom vs. Big Barda - Comic Book Women

What was with this woman and the damn hammer? She was holding onto the thing like it was her baby, clutching it tight, refusing to even let it go for an inch. Barda was starting to think the stupid thing was like her security blanket or something. She just would not let it go, no matter what.

Barda got her hand tight around Doom's skull, enjoying the feel of the smaller skull within her palms. It felt like a toy, something she could just crush if she put enough force into it, and a deep, dark part of her was itching to try it. Still, after releasing Doom's beloved hammer, she was vulnerable, and she paid the price immediately as Doom hit in her abs once again, making her sore stomach cry out with renewed pain, sending agony throughout her middle.

She stumbled forward, gagging, but she'd come to far to fall back again - if she lost this advance and gave Doom more space, the little punkette would likely take her head clean off her shoulder. "Cope with this!" Keeping one hand held tight on Doom's excuse for a haircut as she drew back with the other, taking careful aim. She raised her fist up and brought it down with authority, throwing an ironic hammer blow right in the bitter brawler's face, a heavy strike from above.

Doom watched the pain playing out across Barda's face with a sickly approving grin. While pain shot through Doom's neck, with the buff cosplayer roughly manhandling her the way she was, it was almost worth it to see the anger and displeasure playing out across Barda's face. Grunting in pain through gritted teeth, Doom nevertheless tried to eke out a laugh, as her hammer found its mark.

The work that Doom had been doing on Barda's core seemed to be paying off well, for the brawler, but it was hard to tell for certain. Barda was a large woman, and she'd been able to demonstrate her considerable strength several times, already. Doom had no idea how much the woman had in the tank, or how much the damage she'd been able to thus far might possibly hinder her powerful opponent. However, even as she felt Barda's hands pressing in on the sides of her own skull, a strange part of Doom was looking forward to finding out. The pain it sent through Doom's skull was excruciating, kept her from thinking clearly, and it was all she could do to keep any kind of focus, at the moment. Without another option, Doom could only try to keep her head in the fight, and wait to see what her opponent's next move would be.

Of course, Doom wouldn't have to wait long, as Barda brought down a heavy blow to the center of PHDoom's forehead. The shot was solid, seemed to have a lot of strength and anger behind it, and most notably caught the center of Doom's hairline squarely. With the way her blood had been pumping through this match, and the added tension of Barda's previous hold, it wasn't hard for Barda's strike to hit thin flesh, and draw a small cut across Doom's forehead. A thin trail of blood beginning to run between Doom's eyes.

The sensation sent a sense of shock through the educated brawler, waking her up, a bit. Doom leaned back, pressing her still-aching shoulders against the barricade. From there, she used her position for leverage, raising her feet to Barda's aching midsection. “The Comics Code wouldn't have approved of that, now, would they?” Doom asked, as she kicked her legs forward, trying to use her thick boots to push Barda off of her.

As the fight raged on, Barda was starting to wonder what Doom's deal was. She was dressed weird, but that wasn't an unusual thing for an AFW wrestler - if anything, it was the people who dressed normally that tended to stand out. And there were more than enough heels to go around in Friction, so just her being a jerk wouldn't have been much to say by itself.

But no, it was her whole demeanor. Barda knew some people didn't care what the crowd thought, but Doom actively seemed to hate them. It was like Barda didn't even need to exist, like it didn't matter who was in the ring or what was going on or anything. Whoever, whenever Doom was fighting, this would've gone down in a similar way. Maybe without all the geeky chatting, but similar.

Barda managed to drag her to reality with that blow, finally getting back her offensive stride, and she aimed to keep it as long as possible. Doom dropped and tried to kick her in the stomach...and succeeded, driving some wind out of Barda and making her stagger back. But that didn't mean she was free.

As Barda stepped back, she grabbed Doom by the ankles and tried to drag her along the floor, hopping back a few steps to smack her about.

Feeling Barda's toned abs buckling a bit from Doom's blow brought a smile to the brawler's face, gave her a little bit of room to breathe. Their match had been building steadily from the opening bell, aggression and anger mounting in both women with every blow, every insult, and Doom was feeling more and more confident that she was bringing out some fresh anger in her opponent. Barda seemed hell-bent on hurting Doom, at this point, and as the two women crowded the barricade, she could feel the satisfying discomfort and worry on the part of the fans closest to them.

It was perhaps a bit of an assumption, that the fans gathered here tonight weren't really ready to see an actual fight. No, the brawler corrected herself- Doom does not assume. Doom knows. And a real fight was exactly what Doom and Barda was giving these cloying perverts, regardless of what the statuesque cosplayer might have had in mind, originally.

Regardless of what Doom might have thought of her intentions before, however, it was clear that Barda was serious about the fight, now. Yanking Doom away from the barricade, the fighter was dragged hard across the ringside mat, her shoulders bouncing hard off of it a few times. The collision hit Doom across the bruises on her back that had been beginning to form when she'd hit the barricade, just moments ago, drawing frustrated grunts from the brawler.

Feeling that pain again snapped Doom to attention. The cosplayer's power was forcing Doom to get creative, which she was beginning to take grim satisfying in. Relying on the strength of her toned core, Doom curled upwards in a sit-up, choking back a moan of effort while trying to bring herself as close as she could to her opponent's head. Reaching out with an open hand, Doom reached up for a fistful of Barda's long dark hair, hoping to entrench her fingers as deeply as she could into the woman's locks. It wasn't as brutal a tactic as Doom would have liked, a bit “catfight-ey” for Doom's usual taste, but between the pain surging through her back and the deeply compromised position she was in, it was the best the brawler could muster.

Barda was, she thought, a very tolerant and patient woman. She could count on one hand the times that she'd been truly angry about something, when she'd experienced real rage. She had a very short list of things that could tick her off that much, and it was specific enough that few of the items ever got hit.

But right around the top was having her hair grabbed. That always stuck in her craw. Always. And sure enough, that was exactly what was she did.

Barda let out an enraged grunt as Doom's fingers sank into her hair and pulled, straining the scalp, fell like she was about to tear out a clump at any second. In a way, it was a good sign, a signal that Doom was starting to grow desperate and resort to frantic tactics just to get out of the pickle she was sinking to. On the other hand, it hurt. A lot. So she was putting a rather immediate end to it.

She reached down and grabbed Doom, too, but instead of yanking her hair, she put her hands around a lower target: Doom's neck. Squeezing tight, she lifted the brawl up and surged forward, going towards the ring steps at ramming speed, with Doom's head as the focal point.

As the roar of the crowd rung in Doom's ears, she realized how close she was to the lot of them. It was a very different experience, being right at the edge of the audience, as opposed to glaring down from the ring or the entrance ramp at them. Their voices in Doom's ears as they cheered her opponent onward, their disapproval for Doom's rougher tactics, all came through in a much more clear, personal tone than she'd ever experienced before. Which only served as a reminder of her disdain for the cloying, sycophantic perverts that comprised the AFW audience.

Doom hoisted herself up in Barda's grip, slightly, as she grabbed a fistful of her opponent's hair. Hair-pulling was hardly Doom's usual style, but at the moment any measure of leverage was a good one. Doom attempt to wrap her legs around the muscular woman's midsection, attempting to almost perch on her larger foe so that she could alleviate some of the massive pressure from Barda's grip on her.

Doom's stomach lurched a bit, as she felt the cosplayer rushing forward. The throbbing in Doom's head and the roar of the crowd made it harder for Doom to focus on where exactly they were, at ringside, but it didn't take a seasoned veteran to know that Barda was planning to use Doom's body as a battering ram against something a hell of a lot harder than she was. Without much time or recourse, Doom gave Barda's hair another yank, this time using the hammer clutched in her other hand to bring a sharp blow to her opponent's face. It wasn't the hardest blow Doom could muster, not from this position, but Doom hoped it would be enough to slow her juggernaut of an opponent down, some, and do a bit of damage to a sensitive area.

However, the two were already well in motion, by that point, and Doom's back and head collided hard with the ring steps. The collision drew a loud, uncharacteristic shout of pain from the brawler, forcing her to completely release her grip on Barda, and simply lie back against the steps. Her every toned muscle gleaming with sweat, her chest rising and falling heavily as she attempted to regain her breath, Doom could only struggle to try and block out the pain of that collision. She could hear the crowd grow even louder, after her thunderous impact with the steps, and Doom opted to latch onto that sound, hoping that her hate would help keep the world around her somewhat in focus.

The crowd was cheering, but Barda was savvy enough to realize they weren't meant for her. Not exactly.

The crowd was on her side, but it wasn't a matter of them liking her or anything. She was still a newcomer, a relative unknown, and Doom had just as much as exposure as she did, if not more. No, the crowd wasn't cheering for Barda to win, they were jeering for Doom to lose. Barda was just the instrument of revenge, and it didn't matter who was in the ring, really. The fans would have been swaying the same way.

And she was fine with that.

They started to roar as Barda ran forward, looking to smash Doom right into the steel steps for what she was hoping would be a brutal finishing move...but it turned out that wasn't in the cards. Not exactly. Barda was going forward, that was happening whether Doom wanted it to or not. But she wouldn't be conscious for it.

Doom shot the hammer into the mighty giants face, and Barda felt the life immediately start to seep out of her. Her legs became weak. Her head was swimming. Vision blurry. She was falling, taking Doom with her, and the last thing she remembered before the darkness covered everything was Doom's stupid face scrunched up in pain. So at least she had a pleasant image to go out on.

Doom heard a sound like thunder, then, for a moment, nothing. When she opened her eyes again, the arena seemed very underwater. Muffled, the lights overwhelming, every sound muffled and every physical sensation drowned out by pain. Doom would have felt at the back of her head, checked for blood, if she would have found herself able to use her arms, at the moment. Or anything else, for that matter.

Doom blinked her eyes again and again, head swaying from side to side, she tried to struggle her way towards consciousness. She could hear the idiots in the crowd chanting … something. It took Doom a few seconds of surveying the arena in her bleary-eyed, half-awake state, to realize that her opponent was indeed resting right on top of her. It took a few seconds more for Doom to remember the hammer blow she'd managed to land to Barda's face, as to the reason for that. Regardless, Doom could only lie there for a moment, a splitting headache rampaging through her head like a bat out of hell.

Doom found herself worrying that the collision might have resulted in some kind of concussion. The way her back was stinging, the brawler was at least mostly certain the metal edge of the steps had managed to cut into her skin, in a place or two. Also, the more the thought about it, the more Doom began to suspect that she might have a concussion, or something. “Bah,” Doom grunted, to herself, as she tried to squirm out from beneath Barda's statuesque form. “No matter … Doom is …”

Except that it did, in fact, matter. Barda might not have gotten the full power of the charge that she'd intended, but the strike against the stairs did more than enough damage to an already aching back. As Doom braced her hands against the steel steps for leverage, she looked down at Barda, seeing the powerful cosplayer utterly limp and unconscious on top of her. It was massively inconvenient, of course, but with her head swimming in pain and the crowd's obnoxious and persistent chanting ringing in her ears, Doom would take whatever source of satisfaction she was able to get. It had taken a hell of a lot of work to get Barda to this point, and Doom wasn't above congratulating herself for the accomplishment.

Pressing her arms against the steps, Doom began to wedge herself out from beneath the cosplayer, managing to pry her slender body free, into a mostly-standing position. Still uneasy on her feet, struggling to keep herself upright and in control, she tried to take in her surroundings. The ref girl was leaning over the ropes, trying to assess the competitors' conditions. Angrily and clumsily, Doom tried to wave her off, while she sized up Barda, and decide what move to make next.

Barda went away for a little while.

Things were just black. Dark. Lifeless. If she had to guess, it was like being dead. Heck, maybe she was. Maybe the hammer snapped her neck and she would just spend the rest of eternity in a void. Nothing. No thought. No movement. No life, nothing. Just. Out.

The sound of the arena came back to her after a few moments, flooding into her ears like the roar of a coming tide. She was alive. Didn't much feel like it, but she was. She blinked a few times as she roused, groaning and moaning all the way as she placed her hands to floor and started to push up, taking a nearly herculean effort just to bring herself up to the knees.

She was half-surprised that the bell's ringing hadn't woken her up. Doom had a golden opportunity, there. Barda was vulnerable, wide open for a pin, couldn't have been a more tempting target if a bow was tied around her waist. But Doom hadn't taken the pin, which probably meant she wasn't in any condition to. Very good to know, at least.

She looked up - sure enough, Doom was there, as if waiting for the fight to continue. "...not done yet." Barda ground her teeth and started to climb up after the bitter brawler, staggering to the left, stumbling to the right, but surely and slowly crawling after her.

Getting free of Barda's weight, Doom took a moment to try and stretch her muscles, catch her breath for a bit before things got hot and heavy once again. Her head was still swimming with the pain of her collision against the stairs, but Doom was confident in assuming she'd caught the best of their exchange. The only question in the bitter brawler's mind was what would come next. In the chaos of their collision, Doom had released her hammer, given up on hurting Barda for the moment, her sole focus was on getting herself free.

Doom took a few steps away from Barda, while the statuesque cosplayer was still prone, and tried to prep herself. Her opponent was a massive woman, and Doom wasn't exactly certain how she could get her back in the ring. Under normal hardcore rules, a pinfall or submission had to happen between the ring ropes, for some damnedable reason. Doom wasn't certain if AFW still held to the same idea, but either way Doom was trying to figure out how she could get such a great deal of dead weight back up into the ring. However, as Barda seemed to spark back to life, struggling to her feet, it seemed that Doom's concerns were a moot point.

Still, as Doom watched Barda struggle on her feet, still seeming more than a bit punch drunk. For Doom, the arena had just begun to come back into focus, and she was just now beginning to feel ready for her opponent. As Barda staggered and stumbled forward, Doom set upon her mercilessly. With one hand, Doom clutched onto the waistband of Barda's trunks, while her other hand clutched the cosplayer by the neck. Using her opponent's unbalanced steps to her advantage, Doom swung at her hip, thrusting Barda back towards the ring, trying to use momentum to lift Barda above the apron and plant her on the apron, just beneath the bottom rope.

The crowd seemed to be flaring back to life, as Barda continued the fight. More than anything, Doom hoped to shut that hope down, and shut those blithering and optimistic fans up. Doom's head and back were still aching from her stair-side collision, but she felt she still had the advantage, here, and the educated brawler wasn't willing to give up an inch, at this point. Whatever she was able to do to her opponent, after this, Doom's focus was squarely and sharply focused on putting her opponent through as much pain as possible.