Edgar Shaw vs. Felina Rodriguez - Never Back Down

If there was one thing that Felina could always count on, it was her legs. They were strong, honed from nearly two decades of strenuous training, and she’d built her kickboxing career on making them deadly weapon. Precision, power, speed - she had it with them, and her spinning heel kick was one of the best moves in their arsenal. Her kicks rarely disappointed, and this wasn’t one such time - she hit Edgar spot on.

It was just a shame that the rest of her body wasn’t up to the task.

The second she connected, Felina collapsed to mat, laying flat as her body gave out. Too much. Too fast. Just getting out that kick had taken out a deep chunk of her precious reserves, and it hadn’t even worked as well as she would’ve wanted. He was still standing. She wasn’t.

”Damn it. Damnitdamnit…” She grabbed the middle rope and start to pull herself up into the corner, doing her best to stand on two solid feet, and get stable. It was a slow process, however, and she knew he wouldn’t let her go long before taking the fight to her.

Edgar didn't approach right away. He knew better. He could feel the slight wobble in his legs, but wasn't about to give her or anyone else the satisfaction of taking Shakey steps forward and falling on his face. She had broadsided him good, though it looked as though that might have been one of her last sputters before burning out.

Once he felt comfortable stepping away from his position, he did so in a slow circle to ease himself into movement again. He added a bit of bounce in his step, trying to showcase how ineffective the kick was, at least on the surface. He knew he was going to need to ice this once he got back stage. Had she been anyone else, he would have given them more credit… maybe.

It had quieted him down. Regardless of how pissed he might have been, or how much he disliked Felina, that had been a smooth move, one that he knew deep down, if she hadn't been so ripped up, might have knocked him out if she had hit it better. It was humbling to part of him, though he wasn't like to admit that while they were in the ring.

He considered waiting. Doing the honorable thing, to finish out this fight right with both of them standing. It came back to one thing though. The cheap shot in the beginning of the match. Regardless of how hated he might be, how despicable what he was doing in the ring tonight was considered, she ultimately gave him the justification. It wasn't just the fact she was a woman anymore. It was the fact she would do the same to him if the roles were reversed. She didn't deserve the benefit of mercy.

He had given her extra time to rise with his own recovery, but it wasn't enough to see her up fully. He was cautious now, sliding in closer with his arms up protectively. Her being against the ropes worked in his favor, limiting her room to do more fancy kicks. He was looking to take advantage of that.

When he reached her, he leaned in to shove her up against the ropes with a boot, trying to keep her off balance. A quick left jab shot out, looking to crack Felina in the jaw, to square her up nice, possibly daze her for the large right hook that followed, trying to send her back to the canvas. “Stay down.”

Felina tried to stand back up. She really did. She gripped the ropes tight, pulled her way up from one to the next, and for a moment it looked like she might pull it off, might get to her feet and make a real stand - but then the weight of the match came down on her again. The trauma her back and legs had taken the pounding her skull had endured, the cumulative tool was just too much, and down she went again, back on her knees, back in real pain.

And how here he came, moving in like a shark around its bleeding pray. He wasn’t in a hurry, he didn't have to be, didn't seem worried in the slightest. That was an insult in itself, more than anything he could’ve said. Felina had fought all over the world, taken on opponents of all shapes and sizes, beaten most of them, and now she was being stalked by this loudmouthed jackass. Why? Where’d it go wrong?

There was little time to ponder that now. He was on her, he was close, coming right as she started what would’ve likely been another failed attempt to get up. His boot pinned her to the ropes, and she just had the presence of mind to get her arms up in defense.

That saved her from the jab, taking it right on her padded fist without much problem. The hook, however, was another thing entirely. The blow circumvented her guard, crashing against her face, and down she went once more.

Felina took a hard tumble to the canvas and rolled once, before ending up on her chest. She might have stayed there for a moment, too, if not for Edgar’s next words.

”No.”

The word came out more as a groan than anything, before Felina began to push off the floor once more, forcing her way up with every defiant bone in her body. Slow, sluggish, but she was doing it.

The moment his knuckles caught her cheek, that was the moment he followed it through, driving it in hard, using his weight to throw her to the canvas. How many times did he have to knock her down? How many times was going to have to keep hitting this woman before she got the picture?!

He shook out his hand as he glared down at Felina, rounding her as she tried to pull herself up. He raised a foot, pressing his boot to the back of her head to drive her face back down into the mat to pin her down. “You are a piece of work. The fuck do you have to prove to me? To all these people? You got some dyed blue douche sitting over there looking like he’s about ready to call a funeral home and you won't tap. Why, huh?”

He stepped off of her head, only after giving it a hard shove into the canvas. He crouched down beside her, propping a knee down on a shoulder to keep her from throwing a wild shot up at him. “Are you just this dumb or this fucking selfish? You aren't going to win. If you are lucky, you are going to leave here under your own power. That depends how much you care about your friends and family.”

Edgar reached down to grab hold of her braid again as he rose up, trying to drag her along by the hair, trudging towards the corner. The referee got all up his his business, threatening to call the match if he didn't let go of her hair. He could deal, it wouldn't take longer than her count to pull Felina along to try and throw her into the corner.

Leah had been watching the match unfold in silence for quite some time. Trying to curve Edgar's vulgarity now was beyond hope… thankfully the swear jar would get a hefty donation after tonight. She had inched her way back towards Army, peeking over at him every so often not really sure what to say.

“Sorry…” She spoke slightly hushed, not watching to take his attention away from the match. She was the opposite, wanting an excuse to not pay attention to it at this point. “For what it's worth I think your hair is very cool… and stylish… also a nice azure shade.” She also didn't think he was a douche, but she really didn't want to repeat that.

”Damn it, Felina…”

Army was busy twisting the apron in his hands, wringing it hard as this fight - if you could even call it that anymore - went on long past its expiration date. The more Edgar spoke, the more he found himself agreeing with him, and the more he hated himself for it. They weren’t fighting for a belt, they were fighting for a championship opportunity, and ranking meant less than nothing in Tension. Why couldn’t she just stay down?

If those question were getting to Felina, however, she didn’t show it. Not as he hammered her face into the mat, and definitely not as he pinned her shoulder down. Felina just kept on fighting. Kept on pushing. Kept on trying to rise, over and over again, drowning out his taunting with her raging growls.

Those growls turned to shrieks as she was dragged along by her hair, hauled along to the corner as the referee heckled Edgar, ineffective as ever. It was getting legit hard to watch at this, for the crowd and for Army, and he was almost thankful when Leah spoke his way again and gave him a momentary distraction.

”I, uh...thanks? I guess?” He ran a hand through his hair and shrugged. He wasn't too fazed by a fashion diss from a guy who looked like the protagonist from a low-tier JRPG.

Army was willing to just let it go at that, but the more this went on, the more he had to ask a burning a question, one that had been bothering him for the past few minutes. ”Hey. Why is your brother such a jerk?”

Leah couldn't hold back the pout at the bluntness of the question. Army wasn't the first person to ask and doubtfully would be the last. This was the first time though she had come to his defense when it came to his in ring work however. “Edgar? Well, I wouldn't say he is a jerk… he can be kinda jerky, but he isn't all jerk, you know? He has some unjerkiness in there, he just doesn't show it all the time. He is really nice to me, most of the time.” In truth Leah and Edgar had a pretty great relationship. While he often made a fuss about humoring her, he was always there when she actually needed him, even if he refused to be there when she just wanted him there sometimes.

Edgar gave Felina a hard throw into the corner, releasing her hair on the forth count. He threw out his leg, giving her another hard shove with his boot to make sure she was pushed back into the turnbuckles. “Give!” Edgar threw a hard left cross at her chin. “Up!” Following his punch he took a step in on her, putting his entire body behind a hard right elbow aimed to crack the woman across her brow.

The blond girl wrapped her arms around herself in a small self hug, swaying gently from side to side. “He’s fun, and really nice to me… other people too, ones that we know anyway. He it's just… prickly. Like a porcupine. He has lots of sharp pointy bits, but under all that he is really cute and fluffy… wait… maybe not that last part” She may have gotten distracted with her own analogy and actually been talking about the porcupine. “ Maybe like a cactus? Spiky, but dependable. He doesn't really need a lot of attention or care… yeah. He’s like a cactus.”

If Edgar had met no real resistance, he would square up his shoulders, taking his preferred fighting stance. Glaring at what remained on Felina from behind his raised guard, he would prepare to open up on her. It had been awhile since he had hit the gym properly, but he recalled his exercises on the weighted bag. Bobbing and weaving at fictitious punches while dipping in for hard counter body shots and sweeping head hooks. Now was as good a time as any, and he intended to use Felina as his target practice.

“We’re twins, so we sorta have a special bond, ya’know? My mom said that when he had his growth spurt and got taller than me, he broke the out of our mold, like our twin mold I guess. She says that's why he had so many chips on his shoulder.” She gave a small smile at that. She missed her mother… she should give her a call after the match tonight. “He isn't that much taller though, and I grew out in other ways, so I guess that makes up for it.”

Stand up.

Felina kept repeating those two words in her head, over and over, hammering them into her psyche like a mantra. It seemed like the simplest thing, the act of keeping her feet under her, but her legs kept buckling as Edgar forced her into the corner and starting wailing away on her. She was past the point of exhaustion now, her vision was blurry, and her defenses were minimal. She kept wanting to pass out. Her body craved it.

But she wouldn’t allow. Not to him. Not like this. She pointedly refused.

She was barely able to get her guard up to block his cross, and doing that knocked her guard apart and left her wide open for the elbow that came right after. It slammed her hard across her temple, and if not for the turnbuckle, she might’ve fallen flat on her back.

But she didn’t. She stayed up, stayed standing, which meant there was a bevy of new punches coming her way. Edgar came her way with expert timing and footwork, battering her back and forth with little opening to get an attack. Every time she attempted a comeback, she’d wind up taking a shot to the face or stomach, get knocked back, and the vicious cycle would begin all over again.

And all Army could do on his end was watch and wait and hope she found some way out, a faint hope that was growing dimmer by the second.

”Catcus. Right. I’m thinking he needs someone to knock those chips off…” He muttered that last bit, not really wanting to start anything with Leah. She seemed sweet, kind, gentle, funny - everything her brother wasn’t, in other words. It would’ve been hard for him to believe they were even related if he couldn’t see the similarity between them.

But something else was catching his gaze. There was something familiar about the way Edgar moved, the bobbing and weaving, the circular style. He couldn’t be sure at a glance, but it almost seemed as if…

Leah reached out to put a hand on Army’s shoulder, a look of concern painted on her face. “Armando… they aren't real chips, you can't brush them off. If they were literal chips, they would definitely fallen off ages ago when he slept or something.” She gave a comforting pat to accompany the hand on his shoulder before letting it fall away. She gave the man a small smile, the sort you would give a person when you are explaining a seemingly simple concept. She didn't mind though, she liked being helpful. “Thanks though, for being concerned. That's pretty nice of you.”

There wasn't anything sporting about beating down Felina Olin the corner. Thankfully Edgar wasn't really concerned about sportsmanship. Blow after blow, his light stinging combos started to devolve in hard weighted punches as he made her into his personal punching dummy. Nobody was surprised when the referee butted in again, giving Edgar guff for keeping her pinned in and continually asking of Felina gave up. "You done yet, huh?"

To keep the official off his back, he threw out an open palm to try and clamp his hand over her face. Stepping away, he tried to pull her along, tossing her out of the corner towards the middle of the ring. If she somehow managed to stay upright after her beating, he would round on her again, squaring up to prepare to lay into her again. Had she fallen to the mat, he would nudge at her with his boot as he walked around her while the referee checked if she could continue.

Army jumped a little when Leah touched him, not sure what to expect, but he quickly eased up when she started talking, even if what she said didn’t make all that much sense. She was a unique one, this woman. He was honestly having a hard time telling if she was just messing with him or if she was just kind of dense in general.

Simple. She was a simple woman. That was what he settled on for now. It seemed like she meant well, which was nice, considering the mauling that was going on in the ring. Felina was doing her best to weather Edgar’s storm, but even her resolve was starting to fade, as his blow dealt more and more damage. She hung on, even as he pulled her out of the corner and wailed away, struggling to keep her feet on the mat and her fists up in defense.

Each blow worsed her state, made stagger more, and her body continued to protest, threatening to fall at any second. She overrode it, however. Ignored the pain, pushed through. She was determined and focused in this refusing to fall. She was not going to fall to her knees. She was not kneeling to him.

There had to be some way to salvage this. If she just kept standing, kept fighting, she’d figure out how to win this fight and knocked this asshole out…

Leah jumped as well, started by Armando's reaction to her. He hadn't protested to pulled away, so she gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder before slipping her hand away, making a conscious effort to be more mindful about his personal space in the future. The shared silence that fell between them provided no more distraction from the action in the ring. The crowd had been worked into a frenzy at this point. It was unclear what the audience thought. Cheers, jeers, names being flung at both competitors. She couldn't recall ever seeing a reaction this polarizing in a wrestling match.

Edgar stared down Felina from the small gap between his raised arms, swaying a bit from side to side in a practiced idle motion to stay moving, reflexive. It wasn't as though he needed to go through all the motions anymore, but for whatever reason he was doing it anyway. Perhaps his sudden attempts at legitimizing their fight in the final moments was the last bit of salt to rub in the wound. While she was mounting a standing defense, her body language told him all he needed to know about how responsive she would be on the attack. He made sure to catch her eye, making his next move predictable. Pulling back with his left, she stepped in for a cross. he faded the punch early before it ever had a chance to hit it's mark, dipping down low to the opposite side, cocking back his right.

With another lead in step, he pushed forward, fingers clenched so hard he heard his knuckles pop. His stance tightened, upper body shifted towards Feline. With a raw burst of power his arm snapped upwards to slice clean through her guard to bury his fist below her chin. He followed through with the motion, rising with the punch to drive the uppercut harder, further, so much power compacted into this one blow the sheer force of his momentum could have carried someone off their feet before the punch itself was even a factor. Edgar's Gazelle Punch, while traditionally used as a counter punch lost very little with it's simple standing variation. Even the effect of the surprise was substituted for a reactionary punishment towards the initial feigned punch that came before it.