Koyuki Sanada vs Sara Connor - Blood and Steel

That was, in fact, how Koyuki Sanada wanted it.

Sara moved quickly and Koyuki's stance shifted the very moment she exploded forward towards her, closing the distance between them in a blink of an eye. Sara was everything she wanted in an opponent - fast, strong, mean, and, above all else, the strong and silent type who was oh so irritable underneath the stoic surface. Koyuki didn't know whether Sara caught the whole thing, but the very slight shift in her demeanour told her she at least caught the intent behind it, even if the words may have eluded her.

Good.

Sara's straight right came at her, blinding fast, and Koyuki responded by bouncing off the ropes to meet her with a straight left, their fists colliding with a violent, audible bone-rattling clash that left Koyuki's hand screaming in a painful impact that stabbed all the way from her knuckle through her arm. It wasn't a smart move on paper. There were dozens of things she could have -should have done- to meet her in that exchange, but Koyuki chose to gamble on Sara's pride in continuing to match her in this impromptu test of strength.

Then Sara swung low, and Koyuki repeated her gesture, meeting Sara's blow in an intercepting downward swing that forced their knuckles together once again. This one was a lot less graceful in its collision and the awkward way their fists met chipped at least one nail on her hand, but if Sarah's reciprocated, she would begin to ease out her fingers, trying to entwine them between Sara's hands, so they could get a good grasp on each other's sweaty fingers and palms.

If her opponent was willing, she had every intention to press her opponent all the way back across the ring, break her pride, and throw her out of the ring.

What did Sara know about Koyuki? Really? Not much, in truth. She didn’t know what the woman liked, or if she liked anything at all. Didn’t know her preferences. Her tastes. Had no clue which way she swung, where she had learned to fight, not what she did in her spare time. Everything she could surmise came from their time as associates and their time in the ring so far, but in a way, that was all she needed to form some solid opinions - namely, she had the inkling that the two of them were quite similar.

Their next attacks seemed to comfirm that, as their fists shot out and found each other, crashing together in a painful mix of flesh and bones. Despite her best effort, Sara couldn’t keep from crying out at the impact as it traveled down her arm, shocking her nerves, but she wasn’t going to give up her position. Not a step. Not that easy.

It would seemed that Koyuki was of the same mind once again, as their fists met again lower. This time there was no pulling back. Instead, their fingers locked and arms pushed forward, the recognized position for a test of strength, a direct confrontation.

Was Sara willing? More than willing.

She planted her feet and surged forward as Koyuki did the same, their two bodies meeting in the middle for a clap of flesh. Sara lost a step in the initial encounter, but gained her ground back away, take a step forward and then another on top. It was there that she held her position, rooting herself to the canvas and pressing forward, chest to chest and hand to hand and head to head. Muscles strained, veins swelled, bones cried out for relief.

Not. An. Inch.

Every. Single. Inch.

As she suspected, Sara readily accepted her challenge. Their fists turned to hands and found each other, their chests smacked into each other with the satisfyingly wet thwack of sweat and meat, and their heads made violent contact once more. Koyuki stared deep into Sara's eyes, into her soul, no hint of effort or hesitance in them despite the obvious strain that either girl was exerting in their contest. In contrast to Sara, all the American managed to wrench out of her was a single annoyed tsk as she felt the sheer strength of Sarah's resistance holding her in check. If nothing else, Koyuki was a much better person at concealing fatigue and injury. Where one would expect a grunt, she gave nothing. Where one would expect a howl of pain, she gave only a gasp.

Sara's initial push caught her off guard, forcing her back a step, then another, before Koyuki held her ground... and came roaring back with a vengeance. Her nails now digging hard into Sarah's hand, she doubled her effort, the corner of her mouth lifting up in a snarl of renewed effort, as she went all-in on the test of strength, pushing not simply with her arms, but also her chest and head, as if she was trying to drive her whole body right through Sara's.

And if she could, she would have.

Sara never gave much of a shit about art, but even she could see the beauty in this situation. Two bodies, working against each other, giving everything, pouring every scrap of power they had into overcoming the other. It was hard for her to find a single muscle on her body that wasn’t devoted to this, that wasn’t straining towards the breaking point, that wasn’t burning. There was no way that she and Koyuki were 100% matched, one of them had to have the advantage in some respect, but damned if she could find where the give was.

Every time she tried to muscle her way past Koyuki in one direction, she found herself pushing a wall.

Every time she attempted to work her way into a weak side, she was pushed back.

It was a raw test of power, but it couldn’t go on forever. Something had to give, and she had no way of knowing whether it would be on her side or not. Could go either way at this point. Uncertainty.

Fuck that.

As much as her pride wanted to keep pushing forward and show this woman who ruled the ring, some common sense had to come into play, searching for better options. She threw her all into one final, strong push, then abruptly reversed tact - instead of pushing, she pulled hard, twisted about, attempting to turn Koyuki’s force against her and whip her to the mat in a single, forceful motion.

Unlike Sara, Koyuki had no intention of using some cheat trick to cut their contest short. She wasn't above trickery and deception, but she employed it in the spirit of the contest, not to completely derail it and leave no definitive victor.... and she thought Sara was the exact same way. So imagine Koyuki's surprise when she encountered the next surge of strength from Sara's well-muscled body directed her way, responded in kind, and suddenly found herself with nothing for all that force to push against.

She caught Sara's eye as that bitch reversed trajectories, selflessly aided her forward momentum by pulling and twisting her along, and Koyuki found herself scrambling, feet desperately trying to find pause, as she found herself hurtling forward and then to the side as Sara finished her arc, sending her sprawling to the ground on her back. It was not, as they call it, a happy landing. Pain shot through her back.

Loser. What a fuckin' loser this American whore was. How would she sleep at night without the question of who was stronger was answered? She was a fool to expect basic martial honor from some white bitch. What a loser, loser, fuckin'-

"Loser." she hissed through gritted teeth in Japanese, more than loud enough for her opponent to pick it up in the quiet warehouse. She coughed out a vicious, mirthless chuckle, more scorn and bark than actual laugh. It properly articulated the sheer amount of contempt Koyuki had for Sara in the moment. Planting an arm to steady herself as she rolled onto her front, she immediately rose to get up - far slower than she would have liked, and perhaps not fast enough before Sara made her next move.

Honor. Respect. Fair play.

Words. Just words.

Some would call Sara ruthless, that she didn’t have any sense of sportsmanship. She rarely had the patience to even acknowledge that sort of opinion. When she saw an opening, she took it. When she had an advantage, she seized it. She wasn’t given extra points for playing nice or following some unspoken rules. She was paid to win.

With that in mind, she couldn’t have cared less what Koyuki’s opinion on her tactics. She got her opponent down, she had the advantage, and that was all that mattered. And just to hammer that point home…

Sara could’ve followed up after Koyuki in any number of ways - a kick to the face, a knee to the chest, a triangle choke. Instead, she decided to tick her opponent off just a little bit more, by moving in, raising her foot up, and driving her foot down on her opponent’s fingers as she pushed her way back up, hammering her hand into the mat under her bare foot.

And tick Koyuki off she did.

Koyuki's eyes widened in shock, a brief flash of panic crossing her usually stoic face a split micro-second before the foot came down. Fingers were a delicate matter for Koyuki on many, many levels. On a cultural level, damaging fingers was equated to punishment. She had thus far avoided Yubitsume but the grim specter of it loomed over any Yakuza who took their responsibilities seriously. On a martial level, dexterity and hand conditioning was important to numerous martial arts, but chief of all kendo. Any lasting damage to them was a potentially permanent weakening of her ability to wield a sword.

On a personal level, she just had her nails manicured!

So when the foot came down on her hand and ground, ground, ground it into the mat, the pain-filled scream ripped from deep within Koyuki's soul was loud, utterly genuine, and very, very, very angry. Her retaliation was swift, wild, and vicious. Her free left hand rose and smashed into Sara's perfectly positioned lady parts - and she didn't stop at one. She kept going, sending blow after blow after blow into the American Swine's cunt as if she wanted to tear right through it.

Mission accomplished, then. Sara was looking to get under Koyuki’s skin, and it seemed like she’d just had some strong success in that regard.

It was the sort of move that would’ve gotten her a penalty from a referee, if not disqualified outright, but here? Everything was fair game, and it would be stupid of her not to take advantage of the opening when it was given to her. On top of that, it was the sort of thing that crossed nicely at the intersection of petty and effective, doing good damage to her opponent’s fist and making her offense that much harder to mount.

But everything came with a price, and the price Sara paid was…

“Ah, my cunt!” Yup, right there again, and worse than before. They were quick, wild hits, but they added up fast, more than enough incentive for Sara to back off. She threw a snap kick at Koyuki’s torso, more to make her back up than anything, and hobbled away to rub her aching crotch. Seething, she brought her fists back up after a moment to gather herself, beckoning Koyuki to come back her way.

It took very little to piss Koyuki off. She woke up angry, archived every little inconvenience, delay, and perceived slight sent her way across the day, and went to sleep seething... and she wouldn't have it any other way. Anger was good. Anger was empowering. Anger beat the soulless, complacent apathy of the modern Japanese. Anger meant she still cared to make a difference, and anyone Japanese who didn't have a shred of anger at the current state of things was either deluded or unconcerned.

Right now, the 'current state of things' was a set of throbbing fingers, and the sum total of her anger was directed at Sara Connor. The half a dozen of so low blows she managed to get off didn't even come close to sating her rage. The snap kick to Koyuki's side elicited an angry grunt and bought the American a moment of reprieve, one that Sara eagerly took to put some distance between them. But Koyuki was more than willing to pursue her retreating quarry. She pushed herself up with her left arm as Sara hobbled away, and flexed the fingers on her right arm for a brief second. Not broken. Probably should avoid hard punches, but still functional.

Then her gaze went from her fingers to Sara's retreating back, and she ran after her. No way she was giving that bitch a chance to regroup. She quickly covered distance, leaping as Sara turned around to bring up her guard, her right elbow raised high to punch through the American's guard and crash right into her face. If successful, she would attempt to push Sara all the way back to the turnbuckle by a shoving left hand and the point of her right elbow.

Sara was fairly sure she hadn’t been hit below the belt more times in her entire fighting career. Sure, accidents - and things meant to look like accidents - happened. She had thrown a few of her own when the referee’s gaze was the other way and taken some in return. But it was a rare pain for her to deal with. Never so much, never all at once.

Koyuki Sanada was trying to occupy a special, dark place in Sara’s heart. And was succeeding.

She wanted this woman, up close and personal, and it was looking like they were both on the same page with that. Koyuki was closing in fast. A straight up dash, a sprint, leading in with a blow that was going to crush through her guard. No time to dodge, either, not that she trusted her shaky feet at the moment. She was taking it head on whether she liked it or not.

So fuck it, then. Koyuki’s blow smashed through her guard and sliced her across the face, opening up a gash above her right eye in an instant, but Sara had a response for it right away. She opened up her guard as she was forced back and pulled her foe into a clinch, keeping them close as they moved. From here, she went on the offense with two knees. One aimed at Koyuki’s stomach, one aimed lower. Right between the legs.

The whole time, she looked at her opponent from the corner of her eyes, not wanting to miss a single reaction.