Sophia Nechiporenko vs. Dmitri Markov Voronov - Hunter/Prey

Unlike a normal match, there was no bell here to signify when things were underway. No announcer to bring them in, no referee to direct them, nothing to say when they should start and when to stop. That being said, some things went without saying and Dmitri was fairly confident that all present could tell what his opening shot meant. The match was on.

Dmitri, to be honest, couldn’t have been happier about it, either. He didn’t prefer kicks only because of his style, because he was good at them, but because they were a more impersonal way of striking opponents. Something about landing a punch was more personal than a kick, even if the latter did more damage. There was an inherent disrespect to it, and he strove to avoid that in his matches...until now. Until Sophia.

He wasn’t proud of it, but he could push that shame away, until later. Until he was out of this room.

Feeling the moment, seeing his opponent stunned, Dmitri took a step forward and drew his fist back, prepared to give Sophia another taste, when he caught sight of the look in her eyes. That smile, soft and simple and wrong. That blood. The combination alone was enough to bring a shiver to his bones.

Dmitri paused. Hesitated. Only for a second, but a second too long.

Sophia’s boot shot hard into his stomach, planted deep, and sent him staggering away into a nearby bookshelf. His back hit hard enough to rock the wall and a few books tumbled off around him. The Communist Manifesto, War and Peace, Vladmir Putin: Life Coach. Somebody thought they were clever.

That kick had no shortage of force behind it, but while Dmitri wasn’t known for being hardy, he would never have gotten as far in Tae Kwon Do as he had if one kick was enough to keep him at bay. He pushed off the shelf and came back at Sophia, leaping toward her with a double snap kick, two strikes fired off in less than a second - the first one aimed at her chest, the other going higher, meant for her chin.

This is why studying your mark was important.

Sophia had one, singular wish for tonight: that Dmitri would not be boring. Frankly, at first, she was unconvinced. All the research she had invested in painted a very blank canvas of a man down on his luck, seeking stimulation in the throes of a lawless wrestling ring. The most pathetic kind of person.

Not very stimulating competition.

Lilith was the key she needed to turn that all around. Wasn’t it fascinating what a few simple words could change in a matter of moments? The right utterance, the right intervals, at just the right moments with the perfect intent. She’d witnessed the faceless many run towards bullets and explosions on the back of simple ‘words’. Dmitri thought he was the exception. How eager she was to prove that otherwise.

When he came back at her, he came back quick. Sophia only met his ruthless advance with the same smile that had sent him flying. Two kicks snapped at her face before she had half the chance to blink. He was fast for such a pasty-looking man. Not as fast as he needed to be, unfortunately. Her hand came low to deflect the kick aimed at her chest. Her eye kept watch on the floor and saw his other leg rising for the follow-up. Her head reeled back a few critical inches, feeling the whip of air against her chin with the snap of his kicks. Good power, good force. Someone was angry.

Sophia didn’t retreat from Dmitri’s bold advance. She pressed forward as his leg came down, leaning into her front foot, and turned herself around with a shift of her hips. The Russian kept going, spinning backward on the spot before her leg lashed out with a spinning back kick to Dmitri’s side, throwing enough weight to throw him into the wall with a direct hit.

Through the anger, through the mounting rage, through the rising urge to kick Sophia around the room, Dmitri had a plan: Keep his opponent at a range.

Even though his WLD in the AFW was abysmal, was small measure of success he did enjoy was when it came to his speed, something he could always rely on over his opponents. Most of his foes couldn't keep up with him at full tilt, and he would wager that this one would be no different. His double snap kick was one of his best moves, guaranteed to push her back and mka her keep distance.

One. She avoided it. A supple block.

Two.. She avoided that, too. Dodged. Impressive.

Sophia had good reflexes, faster than he would’ve imagined, but he could still outpace her. The moment his feet touched the floor, he was already moving into position for his next kick, bringing his leg up for a roundhouse, one that would’ve taken her out at the knees.

He had only lifted his leg up for the strike when Sophia launched her own, catching him with her timing, a perfect counter. Without a solid stance to work with, he was knocked back again, this time sent soaring, and his back slammed against the same bookshelf from before - much, much harder. So hard that, when he came crashing down, it came crashing down right behind him, falling down over his back.

The bookshelf wasn’t too heavy, made of some cheap wood, so it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been - but it was a problem, it was painful, worst of all, it put him in a poor spot. Scrambling, he did his best to push and slide his way out from under it in a hurry, but he needed precious time for that, and he had no clue what Sophia would get up to while he did. As he tried to rise, he searched around the room for her, needing a lock on her position as soon as possible.

A good call, Dmitri. For a glorified pencil pusher, he at least had some battle sense and awareness of the threat to his life. The pain would come to collect its toll one way or another. But whatever happens, keep your enemy in front of you.

So where was she? What happened to Sophia?

The broken accountant would look up from his disheveled state beneath a pile of literature to find not a soul left in the empty room of the decadent hotel. Where a lethal Russian operative once stood was suddenly occupied by nothing but empty air and drifting dust carried away from the broken shelf. All at once, the room creaked as Dmitri would find himself alone beneath the rubble and refuse. The only memory of the purple-haired soldier left would be the pain in his chest and a faint imprint from the underside of her standard-issue boot.

To herself, Sophia could do naught but smile and stifle her laughter as she rounded the broken figure across the room, pondering on its impending misfortune. She loved the way his face looked in distress, frustration, even that hint of anger. He was showing potential, but there had to be more than what was on the surface and what his paltry record must suggest. No, if that night with...Lilith, was it? There was a soul somewhere inside of that body. Something alive, something to break.

Heavy footsteps approached rapidly from his right. Something was running at him. By the time he thought to look at Sophia, it would be too late. A rough boot would meet his temple at the end of running kick, the impact creating a sickening clap that echoed across the frail wails and resonated in the glass of the window panes as faint screams.

The bookcase looked cheap, like something someone had bought from Target and put together in thirty minutes. Flimsy, cheap, barebones. Dmitri would attest, though, that it was quite a good deal sturdier than a cursory glance would’ve suggested, made of a strong, unbending material. Along with the books it carried, there was enough weight to pin him down for several seconds. Ten, perhaps. It might as well have been an hour.

But he did emerge, coming out of the pile in a panic. As he suspected, he didn’t like what he saw.

Nothing. ”Дерьмо.”

For half of a second, he had an idiotic thought - she had left. Found the key, escaped the room, won the match. The silliness of that idea slapped him across the face an instant later. There was no way she had found the key and left so quickly, not without him hearing her, and from the brief time he’d known her, he could already tell - she wasn’t the sort of person who would simply run away, who would simply leave a match so early.

No. She was here, and she had to be close. If she wasn’t in front of him, then that meant she had to be-

The sound of rushing footsteps drew Dmitri’s attention in the direction it was about to go, anyway. Not that it mattered. It was too late to block, too late to move, too late to do anything but take a rushing boot straight in the face, colliding with the side of his face. He had been trying to push his way up, but that blow knocked him back down again and sent him rolling into the pile of books at his side.

Head aching, world spinning, he registered only bare, base thoughts, now. Chief among them was the need, the crucial need, to stand back up, and that was what he tried to do. He reached up and found the edge of the nightstand. Gripping onto it with a fumbling hand, he pushed his way upward as fast as he could, and threw a random book towards Sophia with the other hand - or, at least, where he thought Sophia was. It was hard to tell through his blurred vision, and he wasn’t expecting much even if it found its mark, but he would take every second he could to stall.

The room was suddenly filled with the piercing sound of a cackling Russian who appeared unsteadily centered on the balance between raving madness and genuine hilarity. Quite out of character for Russia’s most decorated. But here they were.

It was his fault for making it so easy for Sophia. Surprise attacks were a favorite tactic of hers, as her comrades in arms could attest if she ever had cause to return to Moscow one day. Life was a precious and fleeting thing, which made it all the more beautiful to hold in one’s hands. She couldn’t have asked for a better target. The entire world seemed to slow to a crawl at that moment as she ran him down and watched the shock slowly enter his eyes.

To Dmitri's credit, he had decent reflexes. It wouldn’t be enough to make a difference, but it was a respectable sort of desperation. The real reward was seeing the destruction his helpless body caused stumbling up against the wall and struggling to stand up to two feet using the drawer for support. Watching him struggle, seeing him writhe. A welt would start to form soon. That all however failed to deter Dmitri in the slightest. He was keeping his eye on her, attempting to broadcast some inner strength to deter her. A cornered animal growling and threatening to show its teeth.

Wasn’t that just so endearing? Sophia's lips grew with a clear amusement in his persistence. There was potential here and she was simply dying to tease out every inch of it. [“That’s right, bitch. I’m not done with you.”]

Sophia reared her leg far back behind her and threw it forward with another kick cutting a wide arc that seemed to be aiming for Dmitri's ehad. Her target should have been the reeling Russian man open for attack. If he lost his balance and fell back to the floor, her foot would be quick to slam into his throat and pin him up against the wall.

Move.

That word kept repeating in Dmitri’s head, as clear as a warning klaxon, blaring over and over again, a steady beat that kept hammering from the inside of his skull. It was a bad time to realize this, but he’d never fought in an environment like this - he had experience in combat, plenty of it, but always in a ring or on the mat. Somewhere neutral. Places where the terrain itself wasn’t almost an opponent by itself. Here, he had to consider his placement with every step and accommodate for it.

Oh, and there was the fact that he seemed to be up against a verifiable lunatic. That was going to be a problem, too.

Granted, he had that figured out a couple of minutes ago, but her maniacal cackling truly put it into focus. He was tempted to think it was an act, that no one could legitimately be like this, that she was just trying to psych him out and having solid success. It was more than that, more than some front, and this was feeling more than a regular fight, or even what the higher-ups had expected it to be. This wasn’t a battle, so much as it was a hunt.

There was a drive in her eyes as she came his way and brought that leg up. Dmitri did the calculations and experience filled in the blanks, told him how much power she was bringing his way and how he’d end up if he took it. He didn’t dodge the blow so much as he threw himself forward, avoiding it like she was coming at him with an axe - probably not too far from the truth.

Dmitri came out behind her, nearly falling to his hands and knees, stumbling but staying erect. He wanted to keep moving, make more distance, but his instincts warned him of the danger. She would run him down if he let her, hound him across the room. Again, this wasn’t like the ring, where he could make distance and recoup. Here, he either stood his ground or fell. He had to attack. Even if it didn’t do much, he had to return fire.

So, he did. He turned around to face her and kept spinning after that, building up momentum with a quick, whipping turn. It was a wild, clumsy motion, his footing was off and he’d tumble afterwards, but that was fine if he connected with what he was going for: A spinning heel kick, aimed at her upperbody, with his legs full force behind it.

So far? Unimpressed.

Sophia was already seeing the potential in Dmitri when it came to her vices and what she desired out of a compliant male subject. And despite what his record may have suggested, he appeared strong enough to withstand what would break most men.

But the temptation was so demanding. Yearning.

Years had passed since she’d fled from the frozen forests and bullets of mother Russia. Years since she’d had the taste of blood in her mouth and the thrill of breaking another in hand-to-hand combat. Even if it was during a simple spar, she just wanted to feel the grip of another’s life in her hands. Her palms felt empty and grasped for something in the night. It left her tossing and turning. Enlisting in this accursed league should have appeased her hostility, but if anything having these untouched bodies...these prime targets so close and yet unattainable…

She was desperate for something. Yuto was a waste of effort. A profitable waste, but refuse all the same. Sophia had held out hope that Dmitri would be different. So far...all she could say was that at least Yuto was a cute one.

Sophia expected to see a red mist at the end of her foot and the remains of where a pathetic would-be-accountant once sat. Instead, she whiffed the open air and kicked the cabinet onto its side, shattering the leg instantly. The Russian didn’t waste a moment in admiring her handiwork. The instant she recovered, Sophia turned around expecting to find her prey waiting for her. Her face cracked and whipped right back to the side as her feet stumbled back into the same dresser that Dmitri had just slipped away from. She brought a hand out to brace herself on the counter and planted her back firmly to the wall as she came down to a slump on the floor. The soldier raised two fingers to her cheek and winced from the instant they made contact.

[“Is that it?”] Sophia spit off to the side and slowly stood up from the floorboards. She wiped a moist trail from the corner of her lips, attempting to bring her fists up and tuck close behind a guard. “No wonder your cock was the only thing your shlyukha found amusing.”

Dmitri wasn’t a violent man - not by choice, anyway. When he was young and starting out in Tae Kwon Do, he took to it well enough, mastered the forms and the techniques with ease, but always had trouble when sparring. Even with the training gear, he held back too often. Moved too slow, didn’t put the proper force into his attacks, hesitated when he should’ve taken the initiative. It was just his nature, he was always a non confrontational boy, and it took him a long time to get over. In some ways, he never did, with old habits still following him all the way to

But he would be lying if he said that it didn't feel good tagging Sophia with that kick. Cathartic, relaxing, soothing even. It was more than that, too. It was effective. The blow sent her back, finally getting some headway. It wasn’t as if he was taking a huge advantage, she wasn’t floored all the way, but it was a welcome relief after the woman had been hounding him for the past few minutes. He took a step back after landing it, not wanting to move in too fast after putting her down and needing a few seconds to catch his breath. Seconds that Sophia used to drive her knife into him once again, talking about Lilith. Riling him up, trying to get under his skin.

It was working.

[“You talk too much.”] He grumbled the words out as she rose in, doing his best to hide his irritation and failing miserably at it. She was trying to piss him off, he knew she was trying to piss him off, but knowing about it and resisting it were different things. He did his best to keep his calm, but the temptation was too strong. She was begging for him to attack, and she’d get her wish.

He moved in again, taking a quick step, and brought his leg up as he closed in. He shot it straight out with his momentum behind it, looking to force his way past her guard and pin her against the dresser.