Koyuki Sanada vs Sara Connor - Blood and Steel

The momentum of Koyuki's vicious elbow strike took both right into the turnbuckle, but before the Yakuza captain could follow her brutal instincts and pummel the gash over Sara's eye until there was nothing left, Sara dropped her failing guard and wrapped her arms around Koyuki, catching her in a classic boxer's clinch. Koyuki was forced a step back, right before she regained ground and clinched right back, wrapping an arm around Sara's tight frame as she sandwiched her against the turnbuckle. Sara's forehead was pressed against the taller girl's cheek, her breath coming in hot and heavy against Koyuki's neck, just as Koyuki's blew against the side of her head. Sara was wet, well-muscled, and smoldering from the exertion of their bout, and Koyuki was more determined than ever to break down her considerable strength.

Good instincts, Koyuki had to admit. Desperate, maybe, but good instincts. It kept her from raining hellfire down on Sara's newly created weak spot, bought her some time from the beatdown Koyuki was very ready to inflict upon her against the ropes with nowhere to run, and gave her the chance to create the briefest of windows to escape from the corner and reposition herself.

Although peeking from above at the grim determination in Sara's eyes, something told her the last option wasn't what the American was going for.

The answer of what Sara planned to do was promptly answered with a vicious kneeshot to the gut, Sara's leg digging into the narrow space between them to land one right Koyuki's well-formed abs. Koyuki hissed in pain, and that hiss turned into an open moan of agony as that same knee found her cunt next. Fire exploded in her private bits and Koyuki's face contorted into a screaming snarl she was trying and failing to contain.

Okay, Sara. Okay then.

Height had its advantages. Height meant that what Koyuki needed to do to really hurt Sara was to smash her against the turnbuckle, forcing her into an angle where Koyuki was slightly elevated over her, so that she could raise her head slightly, and slammed her fuckin' chin down into Sara's gash. She would then try to slam Sara again, driving her lower and lower in their shared clinch, and then chin-slam her in the wound again, repeating it again and again and again.

She was going to paint the corner red with Sara's blood.

Koyuki was close now, so close that Sara could feel her heart beating against her own chest, thumping away with the staccato rhythm. It was hard to be sure, but it felt like the pulse was in rhythm with her, following each other like the steady beat of a war drum. One two, one two, one two. Faster with each second, like even that was a competition between them.

Just an absent thought, one of the many that were swirling through her brain right now,  the soft undercurrent under the roiling sea of rage on top. As the cut above her eye leaked, Sara’s world turned red, covered in the dark, reddish hue, but she could see Koyuki’s face even through that. A good thing, too, because it meaned she didn’t have to miss that lovely look when the point of her knee drove into the bitch’s crotch.

Priceless. Absolutely priceless. Sara wished she could get a picture of that face and put it on her cellphone’s wallpaper.

Her joy and the grin that came with it were shortlived. Koyuki saw to that when she slammed her against the corner, using her damn height to press in, the lanky bitch. Sara gritted her teeth and started to push out, only to take a sharp stab on the face, a jutting blow from the chin.

It was such a weird way to attack that Sara didn’t even realize it was on purpose, not until the second time it came down. Then the realization dawned: Koyuki was trying to peck her to death. Each blow made the gash above her eye that much worse, bringing her close to irreversible damage.

It wasn’t a good spot to be in. Sara only had one way to go, and that was down. So she might as well not go there alone, right?

After her third, maybe fourth, blow on the brow, Sara reached up from the clinch and gripped Koyuki’s hair, yanking it back and putting a stop to her chin stabbing all at one. At the same time, she tucked her head in and jumped up, hoping to smack her opponent in that same chin with the top of her skull.

God, she hoped it made Koyuki bite her tongue. Might’ve even prayed for it, if she’d thought anyone listened.

There was something incredibly satisfying about that slick, wet sensation of drawn blood. Of course, Koyuki wasn't a dyed-in-the-wool sadist or someone who got off on pain; violence was simply a means to an end, not an end itself. Spilled blood simply represented progress towards the goal of beating the shit out of your opponent, and she was making excellent headway in the goal that was Sara Connor. Every time her chin connected with her opponent's gash, her chin was painted more and more with the blood of her foe. It soaked her cleft fully, splashed small parts of her lips and nose, and one errant splot even ended up on her forehead.

And she wasn't going to stop until Sara became a pirate.

It was hard to look directly at Sara when she was chin-smashing her into the turnbuckle, but the brief flashes of red and blonde she drew her head down told her that Sara's gash was giving her a good ol' serial slasher movie makeover. Koyuki had every intention to blind the fuck out of Sara, and she wasn't picky on whether it came from the copious amounts of blood obscuring her vision or swelling her eye until it could see nothing.

Unfortunately, Sara had other ideas. Just as she raised her head for yet another gash-opening blow, she felt her wet hair being violently yanked back and she found herself being forced to face the ceiling. Another patented Koyuki hiss, this one the most irritated one yet. Sara had a great gift at disrupting her momentum. Stubbornly, she fought against Sara's yank, trying to inch her way back down towards Sara's head regardless of the damage it would do to her $100 dollar haircut. She might have succeeded too if Sara didn't decide to sabotage her efforts with a vicious headbutt to the chin.

Spittle and sweat flew skyward. A smear of fresh gash-blood painted itself on the lower right side of her cheek, but it didn't take that for Koyuki to see red.

She pressed her full still-sore right arm to Sara's neck, holding her against the turnbuckle even as Sara continued yanking away at her ponytail, trying to put some distance between their bodies, trying to widen the clinch, trying to drive Sara's neck back enough so her gorgeous, well-formed belly muscles were starkly exposed-

So she would abandon her side of the clinch, throw back a clenched fist, and pummel her opponent's abs with her left arm, sending fist after fist after fist digging viciously into that toned tummy. Koyuki struck her as if she was trying to break through to the other side, trying to tear right through Sara and impale the smaller woman on her arm.

And frankly, she would if she could.

Stupid as it was, Sara was starting to look forward to that hissing sound Koyuki kept making every time things didn’t quite go her way. First and foremost, it was a sign that this woman wasn’t the unflappable instrument of Yakuza will that she was making herself out to be. She could be pissed off, too. Enraged. They were both getting under each other’s skin, the only question was who would make the most out of that.

It was a happy byproduct of something more substantial, as her hair pulling was enough to force Koyuki off and keep her eye out of the crosshairs, if only for a few more moments. You worked with what you had, and right now, the only thing Sara had to throw at this woman was the top of her skull. It was more than a little desperate, but they’d long passed the part of the match where she gave a shit about appearances. She needed to get Koyuki down, one way or the other, and the surprise shot was a good step towards that.

It connected. Clean. Quick. Savage. It must’ve had some real effect, because Koyuki’s response was hard and swift, ramming  her up against the turnbuckle with authoritative force. It was a bad enough spot to be in for any reason, and the intentions were made clear soon enough.

Gut shots. The first one sunk in deep, right on the belly button, and knocked around the salad she’d had for lunch. A second followed, and a third, and Koyuki seemed perfectly content to keep that going until her fist came out the other side of Sara’s body.

Enough of this. She needed out of this corner, and the only way she could see how was to make it too much trouble for Koyuki.

The clinch was done at this point, so Sara abandoned it altogether. She let of Koyuki’s hair and brought that hand up to her face, pressing it back with her full palm, obscuring her vision and being a general nuisance. It wouldn’t do much more than piss her off even more, but that was all Sara wanted. That and to push her back, get a little room of her own.

With that space made, Sara returned fire in her own way, throwing right hooks at Koyuki’s midsection, aiming for a couple of stiff liver shots to knock the wind out of her and screw up her insides.

From the very moment that Sara relinquished her grip on her hair and palmed her face, Koyuki knew exactly what her next move was going to be.

Anger might have made Koyuki try for more reckless and reckless ways to injure Sara, but it also made her deeply vindictive, and she had not forgotten the American's little smashing stunt with her still-throbbing fingers. As the palm pressed against her face and the fingers wrapped around her cheeks to secure the grip, a musky blast of sweat hit her right in the face. A small part of her wondered whether she needed to debase herself like this. Sara was smaller, had taken the lion's share of the damage in the fight, and was now trapped against the ropes completely at her mercy. She was more durable than even Koyuki had expected, but she wouldn't last forever. The Yakuza captain didn't need to do what she was going to next to secure victory. It was an act of spite, pure and simple.

On the other hand, Koyuki would very much like it if Sara didn't have access to hers anymore.

She opened her mouth, slid her teeth on the edge of the palm, seeking a solid piece of flesh to hold onto. She settled for the meaty area between index finger and thumb and-

Bit the fuck down onto Sara's hand right at the same time Sara retaliated against her abs.

Koyuki did not let up on the belly war down below, but her punches to her opponent's midriff were less precise, less targeted now. Sloppier. Her full focus was on putting Sara's hand through the meatgrinder that was her mouth. For each vicious hit to her belly, Koyuki would retaliate by chomping down harder into her opponent's hand. The pain was immense. Her belly was on fire, but she pushed on with the faith that whatever Sara was trying to do to her paled to the loss of getting her hand bitten the fuck off. Somewhere after the 5th or 6th blow issued by Sara, she managed to power through the shots and press her knee into the American's belly, shackling her against the turnbuckle. Her feet stomped down on Sara's, securing them in place. The message was loud and clear:

No Escape.

With the grip on her face surely forgotten now because of the pain, Koyuki would seek to carve her way up the American's index finger, teeth scraping their way across the single most important digit of the hand, as she sliced into its length with full intent to bite it clean off if it came down to it.

In hindsight, putting her fingers near Koyuki’s mouth was a bad idea, right on the face of it. The two of them had long passed the point of respect or fighting courtesies, if they were ever really there in the first place. This woman had done things to her crotch that would require her to get an X-ray in the near future. If that stuff was on the table, then biting was definitely on. This wasn’t a fight anymore, it wasn’t even a brawl. It was a catfight at the deadliest level, not between two idiots in bathing suits, but women with the kind of skill and strength to kill people with their bare hands.

But, even with that, somehow she didn’t think Koyuki would bite her. Kind of stupid on her part. Didn’t make it hurt any less.

Though, at first, it didn’t hurt. Maybe adrenaline, maybe shock, maybe her brain just needed a moment to process what was happening, but after she landed the first shot and the bite happened, there was a second where Sara didn’t even react. She just stared at Koyuki, wide-eyed, watching her gnaw at her hand, giving her the same look she would’ve if a little alien popped out of her head. But the second bite? That registered. Raw, fiery, blistering pain, right to the bone, forcing a hoarse, primal shriek out of throat. And the bite after that was worse, and the one after that was worse, and-

Sara was starting to hate this woman. The kind of hate that could override pain, at least for a little while. It was enough for her to keep her blows going for a little while longer, but there was an end to everything, and it came when Koyuki rammed her knee into Sara’s stomach and hammered her back against the corner. She was just not letting her get out. Period.

Okay. They could play it like that, if Koyuki wanted to. Sara was making her pay for it, though. For starters, she was getting some blood of her own - she opened her mouth, jerked forward, and bit hard on the arm that had been pressing her against the corner, digging her teeth deep into the wrist, tearing into it like a piece of prime beef. At the same time, she reached around Koyuki back, dug her nails into the flesh, and ran four bloody trails down the length of her spine, carving into the flesh with tiny daggers.

Sara wasn't the strongest enemy she fought. She wasn't the fastest nor was she even the most durable woman she had ever faced, though she could count on one hand the opponents who had taken this amount of damage and still kept coming strong. She was, however, easily the one opponent that most effectively juggled constant aggression and desperate adaptability into a vicious package that kept the Yakuza Captain on her toes. She had come into this fight expecting a vicious but ultimately manageable brawl once Koyuki's size and strength proved too much in a war of attrition for the smaller woman, but Sara had surprised her time and again.

To the coddled American viewpoint, Koyuki's actions must have seemed like that of a wild animal with no concern for sportsmanship or the consequences of lasting damage. To the Yakuza Captain, it was nothing short of genuine respect. Resorting to such tactics was respect. Allowing herself to be provoked like this, to invest herself personally in the fight, was respect. Tearing into her the way she did was respect. Anything less than that was an opponent Koyuki would find much less engaging.

Beneath all her anger and spite and pain and ill wishes and bloodlust and her many many mental complaints, Koyuki was enjoying the fuck out of herself.

Koyuki suspected Sara would never understand that... and she didn't need her to. All she had to do was hit and be hit until she dropped.

When Sara seized onto her wrist with her teeth, the first thought through Koyuki's head was relief that she didn't go for her fingers. Her still-throbbing fingers, still sore from the stomp, were gratefully out of Sara's limited reach. Her second thought came out as a full-throated snarl. Not a hiss. A bared tooth growl that reverberated through Sara's fingers. A brief tickling reprieve right before Koyuki chomped down even harder in response to Sara's own bite! And here it was that her Koyuki's reach worked against her; if her arms were a tad shorter, she would have tried to bent it such that her elbow pointed towards Sara's throat and begin stabbing into it.

The only stabbing that happened was Sara's sharp nails as they sliced their way down the length of her slenderly muscled back. The snarl widened.

That was okay, she thought through gritted teeth, she had options. Through the growing haze of pain (and it was utter and complete pain), Koyuki was oddly clear-headed. There was a clarity that only came when you were being pushed, when your options dwindled to a handful and you had to pick the best one to soldier your way through. Men and women of character were forged in the crucible of fire, and a life unchallenged was a life unlived.

Okay then. Let's go.

Koyuki jerked her wrist to the side. She felt (and they both heard) something tear and the spiteful pressure on her wrist doubled, along with the sick, sharp jerk of heightened pain... but she was going to make it worthwhile. She jerked again, dragging Sara's head along. More pain. Jerked. Just one more. Jerked, and she got into position-

Sara's head was right next to the side of the turnbuckle and Koyuki whipped her wrist, seeking to smash Sara's head against the side of the pole. And that was not the only thing she did. Her attacks came from three points now: her vicious gnawing of Sara's fingers, the rhythmic smashing of Sara's head against the pole, and a knee that was suddenly not content to just hold Sara there, but was now digging up into her wounded belly. Sometimes they came together, sometimes they took turns. Koyuki was operating on raw animal cunning now, and she was going to break Sara at every level of her body.

And if she had the audacity to beg or quit or tap, Koyuki would double her efforts. She had too much respect for the woman to let her quit without being completely destroyed.

She would not let her be a coward.

As Sara’s nails carved into Koyuki’s skin, she could feel the skin getting captured under her fingers, the wetness dripping over her nails, and tell how deep they were going. She didn’t spend much time giving her fingernails maintenance, usually happy to keep them the league recommended length and nothing more, but they were still long enough to do some real damage. The sort of damage that would be sticking with Koyuki for a lifetime, that she’d see every time she caught sight of her back in the mirror.

Not that either of them needed those kinds of reminders to stay fresh in their memories. Sara was starting to have trouble thinking straight through the pained haze racking her brain cells at the moment, but even with that, she had the clarity to realize how far and away this was from any fight she’d had, either in her professional capacity or off-the-books. Koyuki was a rare woman. She had to admire her for that.

Somehow, that pissed her off even more. Made her dig her fingers in even deeper as she sliced Koyuki like a birthday cake. Made her bite that much harder, despite the iron taste growing in her mouth. Made her push past the hell that she was put through with Koyuki’s own teeth. Made her give in even further to this intoxicating rage.

Humans weren’t known for having that hard of a bite, nothing compared to most in the animal kingdom, but it was still enough to do some real damage in the right situations, and this was one of them. Something broke in Koyuki’s arm. She couldn’t tell what, but it was probably important, which meant that Sara couldn't afford to let go. She held on tight, a rabid dog with a steak in its mouth, never easing up as she was jerked about and pulled dragged, muttering muffled curses into Koyuki’s arm the entire time.

She might’ve been happy to keep biting away until her teeth came together, but Koyuki and the pole had different ideas. She didn't see what was happening until the last second, right before her head crashed against it and her entire world went white. The blow left her skull rocked and her knees buckled right away, her mouth slipping off her opponent’s arms. Everything was fuzzy, scrambled, and she might well have fallen forward if not for Koyuki’s knee crashing into her stomach and enforcing her command of the corner.

This fucking corner.

This was bad news, and she knew it, and her body knew it. She brought her knee up high, the best defense she could manage to protect her stomach, and threw a wild punch at Koyuki’s throat in an attempt to make her release the finger. It wasn’t much, but those were two of the shrinking number of options she had at the moment.

Earlier in the fight, a punch to the throat might have been considered a martial faux pas, a rude bit of violence that went against the unspoken rules, even in a fight that didn't really have. But after 10 minutes of crotch smashing, hand stomping, biting, clawing, and other similarly visceral acts? It fit right into the current battle frenzy. Koyuki was jerking her head side-to-side like an angry dog as she bit down on Sara's hand, tearing away at it like a shiba inu would tear away at a slice of beef, and that single erratic choice of action saved her from a clean shot to the throat. The blow struck her on the side of the neck, and she dislodged herself from Sara's hand, her bite relinquished, leaving a trail of blood and saliva dripping from her mouth.

Which became her next attack.

Without missing a beat, she spat right into Sara's face, summoning up the sum total of all of Sara's lingering blood she had drawn, her own from the effort of the bite, and her saliva and catapulting it straight at Sara's eyes. She didn't stop at one. She fired off 3 full shots, stopping only when her mouth felt like it had drained most of it away, and while this tactic might have seemed like nothing more than a petty show of disrespect or a quick distraction, Koyuki had very real intentions to finish the fight with this.

She would reach forward with her arm -her good arm that wasn't resting limply at her side- pull up the front of Sara's sports bra, and seek to wrap it over her face, practically trying to drown her in her own blood!

She was winning, she thought through the blood haze of battle. Pain, fatigue, suffering - all a far-off sensation held at bay by pumping adrenaline. She was winning. She was going to drown Sara and all the bitch could do was claw into her back like it was going to change anything. She tugged Sara's top higher, seeking to hook it over the turnbuckle, capturing her fully in a chamber of suffocation.

All other priorities - doing damage, slowing her opponent, getting out of this fucking corner - had been momentarily rescinded. Those were all situations that could be remedied in one way or the other. Losing her finger, however, wasn’t something she could really fix, especially if the crazy bitch swallowed the thing, and Sara wasn’t about to put that past her.

Her one goal with targeting the throat was to get her to release the bite, and there was a moment of relief when Koyuki gave it up. A single second, if that long, before her vision turned red once again.

Sara didn’t even know what was happening until the second spit went straight into her eyeball. A third followed after that, mucking her sight up completely, leaving her to do little more than flail about in a vain attempt to wipe the nastiness away. She was open, she was vulnerable, and that wasn’t about to get any better.

All she could do was scream in rage as her top was lifted and wrapped over her face, a muffled cry as she thrashed in the grasp of her own clothing. Thrash was all she could do, too - squirm this way and that, toss and turn and lashed out. She was a wild, random mess of missed blows and ineffective kicks, and that was all she could be.