Blue Thunder Mask vs. Makoto Takeda II - Beat It

Match Type: Hardcore
Victory Conditions: Pinfall, Submission, or KO. No Count-Outs, No Disqualifications

***

Stone lost.

She laid on the mat, staring up at the ceiling, trying her best to make some sense out of what had just gone down, here. She wrestled a good match, or at least she thought she had. She thought she’d had Blue Thunder Mask a couple of times, but he seemed to have an answer for everything, a way to counter whatever she could throw at him. There was no trick to it, no magical fix. The man was just a damn good wrestler.

Stone sighed, closed her eyes, and accepted it for what it was. When she opened them again, though, she was surprised to see a hand near her face.

She looked up and, sure enough, Blue Thunder Mask was offering a hand her way. She quirked an eyebrow at him, not sure how to respond at first, but it didn’t take much imagination to follow his line of thought at this point. The jig was up or it wasn’t. Either way, it wouldn’t stop what was happening from happening. Just accept it.

She took the hand and let him pull her up, needing the help to pull it off. Once she was standing tall, she looked him the eye and gave him a solid nod, before looking back Makoto’s way. She was starting to make her way up the stairs, warily eyeing them the whole way. ”She’s got you in a hardore match. Small surprise.” Stone gave her neck one last crack, then moved past him and began to exit the ring, going through the ropes with her head held high. ”Good luck.”

Makoto came in through the ropes a moment later, taking off her coat as she approached the center of the ring. She tossed it over the ropes with a quick fling and adjusted her gloves as she came to stand before him. Facing off. Once more.

She stared up at him, eyes narrowed to hardened slits, and snorted. ”I’m about to bury you, dumbass. No more games.”

He helped Stone to her feet, leaving her to speak on her own. He didn't really have anything to say now he couldn't later in greater detail. If and when he pulled out of this on top anyway. He was trying to harden up, focus on the match at hand. While neither Devine or Stone had dug into him too bad with their collective offense, he had been going for awhile now. He was good, but not a endless found of stamina.

He briefly made eye contact with Stone in passing, nodding to the small heads up for the match to come. Was it a surprise? Not really. That didn't mean he wasn't worried. All it took in one missstep in a match like this and it could be over. A bat, a chain, anything in the arena. He had a feeling Makoto was capable when armed, her style screamed of that sort of punishment.

Their last match had been close. One that he had rematched and evaluated. Was it ring rust? Had he been holding back? Had he underestimated her? He was just convinced she was good, and different. He was use to wrestling in his matches, she seemed more content to brawl which put their styles at odd giving her some solid advantages over him. Despite what anyone might say about her size, she packed a far bigger punch than some men he had faced larger than himself.

Here she was, standing before him with the usual malice in her eyes. Stone had said he had become an obsession for her, a want, a need to tear him down. He had walked right into her world, passed her gaunlet and now lingered in the belly of the beast. She didn't want to win. She wanted to maim. She wanted to end him entirely.

He couldn't recall ever facing someone with so much actual ill will towards him with so little reason. She came here to kill Blue Thunder Mask the idea, possibly the man too if she could get away with it. He couldn't treat this like a normal match, this was as much of a real fight as it could get.

"It was refreshing, actually having a one on one match. No interruptions, no interferance. You might actually enjoy that if you tried it. Will this be the first time, or have you been able to actually fight your own battles at some point?" Any time he could stall for would be ideal. Makoto was fresh after all. Blue Thunder Mask watched the smaller woman closely for any signs of aggression, he didn't have the luxury to assume she wouldn't just attack him.

"It doesn't have to end like this. You can just walk away. Take the Valkyries and leave Tension, Friction, anything else having to do with the AFW. I will let it all go, you don't have to lose it all." There was one last chance to resolve this before they fought, a compromise between the two. What sort of hero would he be if he had to made the offer. This hadn't been about making a power play for the Valkyries, this was about protecting people from them after all. They both knew what Makoto's answer would be though. It had come too far now.

The talking was what pissed her off the most. More than Blue Thunder Mask’s stupid haircut, or his dumb colors, or his ridiculous mask, or even the overly refined way he wrestled.

No, what pissed her off the most, what made what would’ve normally been irritation boil over into complete and total hatred, was the way he talked to her. That condescending tone. That holier-than-thou attitude. Standing there, warning her, acting like she was the one who should’ve backed down and been afraid.

Fuck that. Fuck him.

Makoto didn’t respond to anything he said, didn’t give a single indication that she even heard what he said beyond the occasional twitch of her eyebrows. She kept her distance for the moment, waiting as the referee swapped out with one of her colleagues to start the match. The new referee slid into the ring, nodded towards both of them, and called for the bell with a wave of her hand.

The second - the exact moment, instant, nanosecond - that the bell rang, Makoto took off towards Blue Thunder Mask at full speed, closing the gap between them with lightning speed. She wanted to get inside his reach, bring the fight to her comfort zone - up close and personal.

Out came the fists. Makoto laid into him with pure offense, punches from the left and the right, wild and quick, trying to pressure him and see how far back she could push him before he crumbled.

It was clear Makoto didn't want to talk. That wasn't much of a surprise. He wasn't much in the mood to be very diplomatic, the offer had been more out of obligation in keeping to his character than anything else. There was next to no way should would have ever actually taken him up on it, she was too stubborn to back down. She didn't disappoint, greeting him with silence and what looked to be annoyance judging by her body language.

She was already taking him far more serious than their first encounter. Already tossing her jacket aside, hunkering down for what he expected was going to be all out aggression. It made sense. Overwhelm, get an early advantage. Blitzkrieg brawling, it suited her. That was a serious problem. She was a serious problem, period.

He dictated his matches at his own pace and predicted his opponents from what he thought would be their best move. It was like chess to him, thing several steps ahead. That had proved to hinder him more than anything. She was a passionate person, and it came across in her fighting. It made her unpredictable, wild, and put him at a disadvantage. He didn't like being reactionary, but he had to be. He had come too far to risk it all on a shotty call.

To his surprise she had to attacked him outright. He could only assume it was just another means to dig at him if she won. Doing things within the rules, clean… not that there would be any rules come the bell. He had a dislike for matches like this, as one might imagine. Extreme stipulations in general rubbed him the wrong way. It wasn't even the supposed lack of skill involved, it was the career shortening potential for cheap pops that did it.

As the bell sounded, she came at him like a bat out of hell. She was faster than he remembered, or maybe he was just worn down from the two prior matches. He hadn't been ready, arm not even raised nor his stance steadied. He was quick to backpedal, jerking away from her first wild hooks until he could plant himself to put up some manner of defensive.

Arms raised he tucked his body in making himself a solid wall, bobbing from side to side to try to mitigate some of the damage as she pummeled him. It was clear he was no boxer, so out of his element right now it was painful, figuratively and literally. He grit his teeth as he was forced to take her blows, recalling just how stiff a puncher she really was. When he felt he could find an opening he would raise a leg, kicking out with his boot to try and shove her back, he needed to get himself some room.

To an outside eye, it might’ve seen like Makoto was applying a tactic, here. Blue Thunder Mask was hurting, winded from his two matches, and he’d been trying to stall her earlier. This ruined those plans outright, forced him to fight on her terms, not his. She was in his face. She was commanding. She was dictating what the pace of the match would be, and if he wasn’t able to keep up with it, well, too bad. She’d happily run him over.

In reality, though, it was a bit simpler than that. Makoto had been waiting to punch his stupid face in since the last time they met in the ring, and she was just so eager than she couldn’t contain herself.

So she came and she came hard, tearing up right into his face and unleashing a load of pent-up hell. The first punch whiffed, getting nothing but air, but she just growled and pressed on, not wanting to allow him any space. That paid off, too, because she was able to close in and start laying into him.

Oh, he got his arms up, tried to play defense. Tried to. But even though he was managing to block his punches, she could tell it was taking a toll. Wearing away on him. Sapping him. Sooner or later, that shell would crack, and he’d have to take all the damage she dealt.  It seemed like he knew that, because he tried to kick her away, clearly looking to put some distance between them. Smart move. Wouldn’t work.

Instead, she stepped to the side, just enough so she could grab the ankle and wrap her arm around it. At the same time, she brought her other arm up, held it high, then drove her elbow hard into his knee, drilling the edge right into the tender spot where the femur was.

Or tibia. She often got them mixed up.

He lurched his weight forward with a heavy push kick aiming to throw Makoto back to follow after with his own early aggression. A sound idea, though his form was sloppy. His arsenal of strikes outside of most wrestling mainstays wasn't nearly as refined as the rest of his technique which was something she had been quick to capitalize on.

He understood the magnitude of how bad it was she had read the move and intercepted it just before she brought her elbow down. The crowning blow sent a sharp pain shooting along his leg all the way up to his spine. His body tensed, neck bulging a bit as he clenched his jaw. It was hard not to instantly clutch for the limb to try and cradle it. He couldn't now though, she wasn't going to just let him go with a pat on the leg.

Blue Thunder Mask jerked his body to the side, pushing off the canvas with his grounded boot. Unlike his initial kick, his enziguri was a sweeping force of devastation. A swift cutting kick taking him up off the ground to attempt to bury his boot into her collar. While his form given the circumstances was near perfect, it suffered from one glaring flaw. It was predictable.

If a gun was held to Makoto’s head and she was forced to admit some things she liked about Blue Thunder Mask, she would have to concede, she did admire the guy’s gusto. When he went into something, he went 100%. Didn’t hold back. Didn’t flinch. He probably could’ve been a real badass if he wasn’t so obsessed with acting like a choir boy and looking like a clown.

So, yeah, she liked a few things about him. Just a few. Unfortunately, admitting those like just made her hate him even more.

She poured that malice into her attacks, ensuring that, when she drilled her elbow into his leg, it went in deep. He soldiered through it, but she knew the damage was done. What was more, she knew he was desperate, looking for a way to escape. And since she was holding his leg…

Yup. There it was.

Makoto ducked, just low enough to let the blow fly overhead, narrowly avoiding the hit. Good dodge, and it also meant that she could have some quality time with that leg, now that Blue Thunder Mask was on his chest.

Makoto pulled the foot close to her chest, got a good grip with both her arms, and gave it a harsh twist to the right, attempting to put him through a vicious ankle lock, a move that would pay dividends even if he didn’t tap.

Blue Thunder Mask’s leg cut the air in twain, had it actually hit it's mark it would have easily brought Makoto down. She had seen it coming though, and as he twisted it found no meaty spot to bury itself. He dropped awkwardly to his chest, face pressed firm to the mat as his lower half was still held up a bit by her grip on his leg.

Before her even had a chance to plant his hands on the mat she wrenched his ankle. He let out a loud growl through clenched teeth as he coped with the pain. His forearm slammed to the mat as he crawled backwards, back towards Makoto. Retreat wasn't an option, not in this match, so he’d have to improvise fast before she could cripple him before the match had even begun.

Once he had pushed himself backwards, he walked himself up onto his hands, extending his arms to lift his body from the mat as if the two were engaged in some company picnic wheelbarrow race. Keeping his balance was difficult with her torquing his leg, but having his own one down to keep him from teetering over aided crucially in keeping himself raised up. He pushed off the mat with a small hop to reposition his hands in one quick snap move while his weight was up, landing again with hands pressed flat to the mat.

From here he pushed himself forward, tucking his head as he tried to roll his weight forward, dragging Makoto with him if she was so dead set on keeping a grip on him. If she refused to leg go entirely, he would try to flip her up and over with him to put her on the ground along with him as he tried to travel through to roll over onto his back.

Makoto held onto the Ankle Lock tight, twisting it with everything she had, eager to end this match early if she could get away with. While she wasn’t optimistic enough to expect tapping, she did think that she could leave him hobbled and make him easy pickings for the rest of the match. Easier pickings, anyway. He’d survived Stone, but he was hurting, aching. She couldn’t lost this.

So she twisted. Harder. Meaner. She relished every little noise she got from him, and what was more, she started to think about scissoring his leg and locking in the hold. If she could just get in the right position and fall back…

”Huh?” She grunted as he suddenly switched things up, pushing up on his palms and getting some elevation and tossing her plans out the window. What he was trying to accomplish, she couldn’t figure out. ”I’ve got your fucking ankle, dumbass, just go for the ropes like a pussy and-”

Makoto was sent careening when he rolled forward, her light weight doing little to help her out when he brought momentum into the equation. She tumbled under the ropes and out on the floor below, coming down on her back. Didn’t hurt all that much, but it did piss her off, and it made her waste time. Precious, valuable time.

Makoto was on her feet in an instant, and she came roaring back into the ring like a rabid wolverine, charging hard towards Blue Thunder Mask, attempting to nail him with a knee to the face before he could fully rise.

She hadn't had him in the ankle lock for long, but she was doing her damndest to make sure he would feel it even after he worked himself free. She hadn't even thought to do anything but ramp the pain it seemed, going so far as waiting for him to try to escape to take advantage of free time to make him suffer. He knew better than to try for a rope break with her while other avenues existed. Regardless if he made it, the journey would be long and she was going to keep it locked in as long as possible.

When he threw himself forward he wasn't sure how effective it would be. There was a chance she would let go… but given how adamant she was on delivering him misery he thought she was in it for the long haul. There was a brief moment where his legs strained as he flipped, unsure if he could actually throw her weight. If he got stuck on his shoulders, there was a chance of her keeping him folded up and things would only get worse from there.

Up and over she went, the sudden relief as she flew of pressure off his leg and more importantly ankle was almost blissful. As he flopped onto his back, he carried his momentum forward to immediately sit himself up. To his surprise, it only did she hit the canvas but tumble off to the outside of the ring.

This was too good of an opportunity to pass up. As she fell out of view, he could use this time to close in. He pushed himself up, staggering as he tried to get to his feet. Between the elbow to his leg and the wrenching of his ankle, the swift movement almost floored him again. He growled again through gritted teeth, trying to keep as much of his weight off his bad leg as possible. Before he could even cover much ground though, Makoto was already back up and pissed, charging into the ring.

He couldn't make a run for her, couldn't close the distance to go for a grapple. He needed to cover more space in less time. Taking one large hopping step forward, he pivoted on his good foot and threw himself backwards to leap back at Makoto as she rose up. With an arm raised, peering back over his shoulder he tried to throw his weight back into her an hook an arm around her head. He tried to bring her to the mat by delivering a solid cutter, driving her chin down into his shoulder.