Bloody Plushies - Masuyo Ai vs. Seren Morgan

On the contrary, Masuyo had a deep appreciation for art. Sure, she wouldn’t consider it one of her hobbies, nor something she would bother with in free time, but she understood it. Tradition ran deep in her veins. Art was something they all took at some point or another. Watercolour paintings spoke the most to her. Bright, colorful, the wet saturation that catches the eye against the paleness of the background.

Suppose Seren was going for a similar theme, trying to make the Demon’s face explode with a bright red color. Contrary to popular belief, however, her skin didn’t make for the best canvas.

The bottle smashed against the ground, nearly sending a shard into Masuyo’s eye as he reeled back and knocked the doll breaker away with a backhand. She was anticipating a charge, but it didn’t come straight away. Seems her weapon being used against her had slowed Seren down a bit. Good. Masuyo needed the break anyhow.

Her hand slid over the shards, clenching her fist over them as she pressed down and stood up. As much as she would have loved to press her attacker in this state, a practically broken leg had to disagree with her. Instead, she merely took to leaning against the side of the ring, trying her best to dull the pain with unrelated thoughts. Her eyes never leaving her opponent as the woman felt the need to insult her character. Nice.

“Excuse me?” She scoffed. “Do you see this? All of this?” Her open hand flourished about her face, fully encircling it before stopping to complete the frame below her chin with her palm. “This is a work of art, Philip Stein.”

What was a Philip Stein, anyway? And why did she care?

Pain simply had a way of frying the mind. It was something she’d picked up on in her amateur career. People getting angry. The insults flying back and forth. The temptation to use illegal moves. To bring her down one way or another, even if they destroyed themselves in the process. It was similar, yet completely different, from what was going on now. They were both angry, that much was the same, but they seemed to have crossed another threshold she hadn't realized until now. Maybe she really had slipped into another dimension after Seren’s arrival. None of it seemed real.

So why was she enjoying it so damn much?

A wicked smirk plastered on her face and the occasional twitch of the eyebrow, half out of pain and half out of excitement, beckoned for more. Her bum leg was saying otherwise, however. It may have been a fair assessment to say that she shouldn’t bother using But she could stand. That was all she needed to get through this.

Masuyo was content to simply lean against the ropes as she watched her opponent prepare herself. Smiles gracing their lips, a mad gleam in their eyes as the audience devolved into an incoherent mass of screams and madness around them. Her hand reached out and grabbed the bottom rope, using to keep herself balanced as she adjusted to the lack of response in her left leg. No way was she pulling off any leg locks anytime soon, and going up against a Muay Thai sadist probably wasn't doing her any favors either. Had to be smart about this, as eager as she was to get back in the fray.

Her hand reached around to her back, messing with the wrappings as she slid her thumb between her fingers with minor adjustments of her digits. She winced every now and then, a bit of discomfort welling up off her fingertip. Her smile twitched, but only slightly.

And this was where they stood. Two warriors, licking their wounds, losing their minds, locked in endless combat. Couldn’t think of anywhere else in the world she’d rather be right now.

Seren held the last shard of glass between her teeth, tongue protruding past her teeth and lips to push it to the floor while she uncharacteristically stuck her tongue out at Masuyo in what could be called a playful manor. There were very few things that came across as genuine with the doll maker, though that could be contributed mostly to her being far and away an unrelatable creature of swirling chaos.

They were more than aware of how dire things had become, all the blood shed in particular up until this point. While neither woman would yield, there would come a point where the choice wasn't one that they could readily make themselves. Seren didn't care. She would go on until her body shut itself down. Flesh and blood was an unfortunate limitation not even she was able to surpass. Her eyes glanced to her corner for but a moment, shaking her head with a huff.

If you say so. The doll maker snickered to the voices no one else was privy to, slowly running through a mental checklist of her facilities. Her fingers flexed in a small wave, making sure she could still feel them. The gushing crimson stream had, for the most part stopped save for when her arm was flexed to and extreme. Her hands both ached for different reasons, fingers jerked from their sockets, glass piecing her flesh, all things considered she was taking both well. Her attention was drawn back to her opponent fully again.

As the match had gone on Masuyo's cunning and ruthless nature seemed to only grow. The doll maker couldn't help but wonder why she had suppressed it until now, this was by far the version she preferred. The real demon, perhaps one of he greatest playmates. She had been a pale imitation of what she was now when the match had begun, so much so it was as if she were completely reborn. Baptized by arterial spray, reborn as her one true self. She had seen these things play out in the reverse in the past, the hardened falling to pieces. To see one who not only bettered themselves as they wallowed in the bit, but embraced it as Seren had, was a treat.

Seren slowly began to circle Masuyo, moving around her back towards the ramp way. The demon favored her wounded leg, making little to no effort to hide it even if she could. While this presented Seren with the easiest avenue to cripple the opposition, she knew better than to outward assault it. Something akin to rushing a gunman in a long hall, or a small force meeting a mob at a choke point. Predictable engagement. if she pressed the attack on the limb now, there was only one way to come at it, and the demon would be waiting to punish her.

She wouldn't readily hand Masuyo an edge by going for the obvious path, she rarely had done so up to this point. No, there would be plenty of easy opportunities for her to shatter the woman's leg and leave her in ruins. For now, she'd make use of a different tactic.

Her steps had become more playful and mocking, the ease in which she was able to remain mobile. It's not as if Masuyo could give chase as she was. She pressed her heel down on one of the long chains spattered with blood from both women, sliding it closer to herself. her dead eyes never left the demon, even as she crouched down to gather the chain up in her hands. As she rose to her feel, she reeled the ends of the chain in, allow for slack to build between her hands. Once one end was short enough, she began to slowly twirl it with a steady rotation of her wrist. Rearmed and ready to press her advantage.

“Fuzakeru na.” She said as more of a series of chuckles than words.

As much as the pain was distracting her, those long strides didn’t miss Masuyo’s attention. It was the most life she’d seen in Seren for quite awhile now, and she was using it to mock her. Admittedly, there was some amusement in that. She had an interesting sense of humor, the Welsh bitch.

More interesting was the fluid nature of movements, like a lioness stalking about in the savannah. Masuyo couldn’t help but be drawn to the blood dripping from the woman’s hands as she circled around her. The pain didn’t seem to bother her. This was the only woman, in a long time, that seemed to outmatch Masuyo in terms of endurance.

And now she had the chain back. That didn’t bode well for the MMA maven. Between a bum leg and the endless pain surging through her system, she was in an even more precarious position than before. Baring her teeth, she quickly reached under the apron, grabbing for the first thing her hand could reach. No time to think. A...bokken?

Seren gets a whip of steel, she gets an oversized stick. Wonderful. However, she couldn’t help but let out a grim little chuckle at the discovery. She felt fate’s hand at work here.

Masuy may have been the only prodigy of aikido to grace her family name, but in their six-hundred-year history, martial arts came as naturally to her pedigree as the blood flowing through their veins and air filling their lungs. MMA was her specialty, but it was by no means her first choice. She experimented with every aspect of combat she could get away with, including swordsmanship. Of course, out of all the ways she could have gone about it, out of all the possible ways to swing nothing but an oversized stick at someone, she had to choose Jigen-ryu.

All-or-nothing. Everything you have must be put into one swing without even a single thought towards the outcome. Follow through with the motion. Put your soul into the first strike. The only strike. The second shouldn’t even be considered. It doesn't exist. It was never there. It never will be.

That inevitably would lead to the question that everyone found themselves asking sooner or later, including Masuyo: What happens if you miss?

Die, of course.

“You get to go to the next world. It’s an honor, isn’t it?” She muttered to herself as her eyes trailed down to the handle. With her leg, aggression was out of the window. The distance was too wide. Her fate was in Seren’s hands. She clicked her tongue and rustled with fingers on her free hand, making sure everything was still in place. She winced slightly as she did, the irritation between her fingers being the only reward she was receiving thus far.

She pushed herself away from the ring. Couldn’t keep relying on it any longer. She rested the sword on her right shoulder, looking towards her adversary as she kept her other hand beside her hip and curled into a fist. She eyed the chain as it whirled beside the doll breaker, hearing its malevolence ring through the bloodstained air between them. Masuyo felt it in her heart, resonating with her core and the beat of her heart. She heard it call to her from the void, beckoning them both forward. They were standing on the precipice, and below, she could almost feel the heat of the inferno, hear the cries of the damned. The Demon kept her gaze forward and smiled at her companion.

Save me a seat.

The two woman stood opposite each other for what felt like hours, days, weeks, months.. in reality it had only been seconds. The Doll Maker watched the demon arm herself with a wooden blade, an interesting find beneath the ring. She found herself curious of what other oddities she might find should she look.

Later, perhaps. This changed the landscape, her lovely lamb had fangs now, the ability to bite back. It was an exciting prospect but one that threatened her intentions. Their fight had bee. A grueling affair, and will blood spilled upon the mats as it was, the fortitude of both women was being tested. This contest, no, battle, could end at any moment.

The twirling length of the chain whistled as she spun it violently with quick flicks of her wrist. Each link slipped between her fingers as she fed the slack back to the whirling metal weapon making sure the whip would be able to cover the distance she wanted. Most saw her chain as a bigger threat. Cold hard metal, no bend, no break. They had seen the damage both women had done with it to one another, the sanguine speckles along the dulled surface we're an easy reminder.

Seren saw it another way. She held in her hands an unwieldy tool for her purposes while the demon had armed herself with something simple, something blunt, something that could easily be used against her, but most insultingly, it was boring. What a pitiful weapon for a demon. She almost would have rather do the woman be armed with a real blade. Still, it was something to be respected.

Had the match been fresh, she wagered that bokken would have done precious little good against her. Now? It was questionable how well her body would hold up. She had taken so many blows to her head and arms at this point, spilled so much of her life upon the floor, it was a wonder she still remained upright.

The metal links blinked against the mats at her boots now as it spun, it had been allow d far more space to breath now that she couldn't spin it at her side. It was time now. As her arm extended upward she let the last few metal links glide through her fingers so the chain was held tight between her hands while the rest swing wildly over her head.

Masuyo was a woman who masqueraded as a demon. A freakish woman who had belonged in a circus side show. Watch if you would, ladies and gentlemen, a this woman, this thang transform before your very eyes. She had witnessed it, as had the crowd. Now it was time to whip the animal into submission mission. Her plaything had taken far too many liberties tonight, it wasn't proper to make a fool of the host like this.

It was an impossible task to hide her grin, the demon amused her so. All of this had. Even the bitter taste of her follies would be remembered fondly, she knew. It was a shame they were so battered, so beaten, so broken. She wanted this to last forever. It wasn't to be though.

With a wide swing she began to windmill her arm through the air, whipping the long length of the chain out vertically at Masuyo in a violent arc. Heavily weighted with momentum behind it, the malleable design of the chain might not have even existed as it came down at the demon as if it were one solid object. Seren was quick to yank the chain back, set to continue to crank her arm to send the chain down at the woman over and over, though it would never reach the power of the first swing, not as it was made to drag along the floor with every subsequent rotation.

If at any point the chain coiled around something of value on Masuyo’s person, she would not hesitate to cease the spinning flail to instead pull hard to attempt to drag the demon forward to the ground. She didn't care if it happened to be the woman’s weapon, a limb, or even her head. She wanted her vulnerable again so she could continue dismantling her opponent bit by bit.

The samurai wandered betwixt fields of silvergrass. Her hand rested over the handle of her sword as her fingers ran through the reeds glistening in the moonlight. Beyond the torii gate, she saw a demon holding a chain in one hand, and a horned mask in the other. It offered the mask to the samurai, inviting her to the realm beyond the gate. The warrior looked pensively for a moment and stood her ground, drawing her sword from its sheathe. With an amused laugh, the demon threw the mask aside and met the samurai with a clash of steel. The blood from their battle soaked the soil and became a field of scarlet. Beneath the leaves of spider lilies, the mask turned to ash and night fell once more over the land.

...

Masuyo felt outside of herself, beyond the limits of her body. It was going beyond physical pain at this point. It was transcending into something unrecognizable yet eerily familiar. Is this how Seren felt all the time? Every night?

...she loved it.

The pungent smell of blood turned her senses wild. Masuyo had bled before; she'd agonized and hurt for days and weeks at a time. She had felt that viscous texture so many times, but never to this extent. Never this far. The Demon was covered in the stuff. It stained her clothes, it clung and dripped from the split ends of hair, she tasted it on every bud and between every ridge of her tongue.

She couldn't bring herself to ever like Seren Morgan. But she could acknowledge something far more profound, almost respectable, lingering in the darkest confines of that twisted black thing she'd stolen for a soul.

A breath. Silence dominated a supernatural instance of pure red solace. The Demon's steel eyes cast to the heavy chain swinging like a metronome. Around and around it went, ringing in her ears over the sound of the crowd, the referee, her heartbeat. Focus. Slowly her sword fell from her shoulder to the steady grip of her bloodstained palms to point straight ahead between Seren's eyes. How many feet lay between them? Six? Ten? Could she close the distance that quickly? Could that chain take her head off? How much blood would come out if it did? What would Seren do with it after? Parade it around? Cut it open and clean the insides? Make another doll for her to fight again and again until she broke for the last time? Masuyo breathed again. The world sped forward and death touched her neck.

The chain came down and Masuyo's sword went up to strike it away. Before she could even consider the thought of a counter, the long arm of harsh metal had already retracted and shot itself out again like an undulating serpent poised to rend her apart bit by bit. Masuyo swatted again and Seren rolled it back once more. The next strike came at her from the left side. Masuyo brought the sword perpendicular to block the chain but was only saved from half the force. The length of the chain was her greatest foe now, slipping past the edge of her weapon and whipping a harsh clap to the small of her back. Slowly but surely, she could feel herself being broken and beaten beneath the crushing weight of the Doll Master's indefatigable purpose. Masuyo's knuckles turned weight as she gripped the handle tighter.

Her body wasn't the only thing as its limit. Her soul was being pushed to the brink. The first strike wasn't as bad as those that followed but it hardly mattered. The mounting fatigue and stress on her bones made even a glancing blow nearly made her collapse. But she couldn't let it end hereIf she stayed on the defense, Seren would overwhelm her. If she stopped moving, she’d take another hit. If she blinked, her head would be split open.
Another smack of metal to her cheek sent a spray of blood and saliva flying across the ring floor. Masuyo reentered her eyes, meeting the infinite darkness of Seren's pools with a blood-filled curl of her lips. She was going to make it to the top one day. Until then...until then...

"You're just in the way!" Masuyo screamed and swung back at the chain as it came flying toward her. The line of steel flew around the bokken to whip around and lash her across the back. She bit down hard on her tongue to kill the yelp on its way out. She could already feel the blood rushing out, but it avoided a direct blow to her center of mass. She could spur herself on. She was free to take another step. Her eyes shone with steel straight ahead at the monster blocking her path. Another slash came down at her from the right. Her sword came up high to deflect. Another one came down and she swung again to meet it. The sound of clashing of wood and steel echoed out from ringside in what seemed like a series of explosions. Frothing mouths shouted from over the barricade their approval and demanded more from the Demon. She was happy to oblige. With each parry, Masuyo took another step forward, ever so careful in her approach. Her leg was all but obliterated beneath this pressure. She had to favor weight to one side or risk falling over entirely, flat on her face for the Welsh monster to rend apart as she wanted.

Her heart set ablaze at the image that passed through her mind. Faced with the end, a true warrior only had one option. It wasn't particularly difficult. Be confident and advance. More. More. Swing more. Fight more. The MMA maven's arms were burning, held together by threads. Sprays of blood from her shoulders, smacks to the cheeks, upside her head. Any one of them should have rendered her unconscious, but she just kept coming. And what was with that smile on her face? Why was it getting wider? Why did it look just like the haunting visage across from her? Onward. Onward unto death.

Until the last. The chain wrapped around the length of her sword as it was raised up high and threatened to seize it from her hands. It took all of her might to maintain a firm grip with only one good leg to balance. The weapon wiggled in her hand as it was held high above her head. She couldn't reach...but her sword could. She needed another step forward. If her adversary would give her the opening to do just that, then the motion would follow. The bokken would swing down, its blunt edge wrapped in the chains of hatred that sought to bind her, towards the head of the Collector in a crushing blow onto her sickened cranium.

They called her Yasha:

A word came to her mind in these fleeting moments of "consciousness". The days when she began when she first felt blood stain her cheeks, between each sticky finger. Will she finally earn that title, Ms. Morgan?