Koyuki Sanada vs Sara Connor - Blood and Steel

She won.

There was no way out for Sara, nothing the American could conceivably do to escape from this predicament. Koyuki swiftly repositioned herself, using the sudden shock of being smothered against the turnbuckle by her own clothing to slip out of the ring, her good hand still gripping the fabric, and emerge behind the turnbuckle for maximum leverage. Sara's flailing hit nothing. Her wild trashing hit nothing. Her random, desperate lashing out hit nothing because there was nothing left to hit. Koyuki was right behind her, using the turnbuckle as a pivot and tug and tug until what precious air in that soaked sports ran out and Sara went still from air deprivation.

It said a lot about the intensity of the situation that neither captor nor captive noticed or cared that Sara was fully bare-chested through it all.

Koyuki used only one hand. The other was just too sore, too painful, and it burned every time she so much as made a small gesture. Even closing her hand into a fist hurt, let alone trying for a weak strike. But that was fine. One hand was enough to finish this grueling match. She let go of the fabric for the briefest of moments, as if giving Sara a reprieve, only to spitefully jerk her back against the pole, slamming her head into it and tightening the fabric choke. She dug her heels into the side of the ring, her face lined with silent effort, pulling with all her might. With how much strength Koyuki was pouring into violently suffocating Sara, it seemed almost more likely that she would be decapitated long before she suffocated.

Or not.

It seemed Sara's head was stronger than her sports bra. Koyuki felt the ripping of fabric before she heard it. She couldn't escape it. She was in too deep. Like a child pulling on a rope in tug-of-war, when the other side let go all of the sudden, all you could do was be sent flying backwards. And so Koyuki found herself grasping half of Sara's sports bra, teetering briefly on the outer edge of the ropes, before she fell backwards and down onto the hard concrete floor outside the ring, her body twisting mid fall so she fell onto her front rather than hurting her back-

Right instincts, wrong situation. She fell on her arm. Her bad arm.

She screamed. No grunts, no hisses, no quiet contortions of rage. Just a flat-out scream of pain. Someone with a better sense of humor might have mused, bitterly, that it took herself to finally get that reaction out of her. Instead, all Koyuki could do -would do- in the moment, was trying to prop herself up on her good arm, slowly dragging herself to her feet.

She’d lost.

Sara was trapped, absolutely and completely, which wasn’t even the worst thing about it. Being in tight spots was something she could handle. She couldn’t always be on the offense, sometimes things wouldn’t go her way. But being held in place by her own sweaty bra? Smothered in a mix of sweat, blood, and phlegm? Gross, disorienting, and more than a little embarrassing. Sara wasn’t a prideful woman by nature, but she couldn’t lie - she was suddenly glad this wasn’t a public match.

Appearances were the least of her problems at the moment, though. While she couldn't tell what was happening, really, she had enough awareness to realize it was nothing she liked. Things eased up for a second, only for her head to get snapped back, whipping her skull against the harsh metal.  She lashed out, swung, kicked, scratched, thrashed, but nothing was working, nothing was landing. She was a fish on the hook, doing nothing but tiring herself while she waited to suffocate.

It was a shitty way to end a match, about the worst way Sara could think of. Thank Fuck it wasn’t happening.

Sara didn’t put too much money into her wrestling attire. She didn’t go cheap, but she didn’t spend more than she had to in order to get good, functional attire. All she asked was that it held up after multiple uses and fit her well enough to not be a hindrance. Her gear wasn’t designed to withstand direct punishment, and it damn sure wasn’t designed to be stretched and pulled like Koyuki was doing. There was a fine limit to what it could take, and she finally reached it when the garment snapped.

Sara flopped forward, barely getting her arm up in time to protect her face as she fell, and not wholly succeeded. She took a good smack on the nose, but in a way, that helped - the pain gave her some clarity. Enough to realize what had just occurred, and what the shrill, annoying noise was.

Koyuki was screaming. God, it sounded so good.

It was a shame Sara didn’t have the time to savor it. Instead, she threw herself into a roll and tumbled out of the ring, landing on stumbling feet. Her body was giving her the clear message that she needed to stay down, take a moment to rest, recover, but she ignored all the warning bells. No way was she letting this moment go.

Sara rushed over to Koyuki’s fallen form, brought her leg up, and just started kicking and stomping. Wild, merciless strikes with the heel, not even caring too much where they landed, going for quantity over quality and cursing the whole way. ”Fuckingfuckyoufuck!”

Koyuki figured Sara would need a breather before she tried to launch her next offensive. She had taken quite a beating, suffered near-suffocation, and was more than likely concussed from the number of times Koyuki had laid the smackdown onto her dome over the course of the fight. Along with other grievous injuries, that gave her Koyuki a small bit of time to collect herself, soothe the horrible thundering in her bad arm, and find her feet before they re-engaged. She snuck a peek at Sara, smacking down onto the ring floor face first but clearly not out, and returned her attention to herself, managing to get herself up on one knee-

The sound of something very fast, very slick, and very wet was punctuated by the heavy patter of feet. Koyuki turned just in time to see Sara streaking right towards her, a boot raised right before collision, and-

Agony wracked her sides as the foot drilled into her waist. There was the hiss again, seething and frustrated, a controlled admission of pain. She expected Sara to hit her sides again and again and again, finding one weak spot and slicing into it until she broke. It was what she would have done. Instead, that second blow never came. Or rather, it went elsewhere. Sara struck her on the upper back, foot smashing down hard. Another hiss. Then the waist again, then on her bum, then the next blow struck her on the shoulder. Each one an explosion of pain that spiralled outwards to the rest of her sore, sore body, each one eliciting a hiss-

And then one landed on her spine. At the exact place where Sara had clawed deep into her.

Now that one elicited another actual indignant scream.

But underneath Koyuki's position of weakness, underneath the pain and Sara's unrelenting assault, underneath the vain thought that she might need to get her Irezumi checked out after this fight to fix any cosmetic damage, Koyuki thought only one single thing:

Pathetic.

Sara 'Android' Connor was lashing out with 100% anger and 0 precision. She was pure vendetta and no vision. She let vindictiveness guide her hand into wild, sloppy tactics that won her a short-term advantage. Could she have turned back the tide of the fight if she had fought more intelligently? Koyuki supposed they would never know. She knew, however, that she had to wait, had to weather a few more blows, had to let Sara get in a few more touches while she waited for the right moment-

There.

Koyuki's first target was Sara's crotch but the angle and the ferocity of her attacks didn't favor that approach. Instead, she waited for Sara's foot to be raised, targeting that small window of time between attack and impact to slam an uppercut into the back of her knee, seeking to topple her down.

Sara had, for want of a better word, snapped.

As much as she prided herself on collected, steely control, the Android was, underneath it all, a human being. A flawed human being. Anger had always been an issue with her, even as a child, but she had simply learned to snuff out the fans instead of fanning them, saving her rage for later, when it wouldn’t be a hindrance. She had learned to keep her mind clear and unclouded, free of the blinding fires that could engulf them. Far more often than not, it served her well.

Just not today. There was a limit to everything, and Koyuki had pushed her right past the barrier. Underneath it all, a part of her was trying to reign it in, a part that would’ve been successful more often than not, but today? It simply was not happening. Sara didn't care about precision, or about using the least amount of energy for the high amount of damage. She wasn’t paying attention to how much her lungs hurt or how the blood was seeping into her right eye. She coughed and wheezed, sputtered out curses through her hacking, not even bothering to properly clear her throat before she started the assault.

Her only concern, her sole focus, was to kick Koyuki as many times as possible before her body gave out. Until one of them stopped moving. She would’ve been content to keep at this for hours, if that was what it took.

She had considerably less time than that.

Sara was bringing her leg up for another stomp, this one aimed at Koyuki’s skull, attempting to mash it between her heel and the unforgiving floor, really drilling it in deep. It might have worked, too, if not for that fiery flash of pain in her upper leg. She never even saw what she was hit with - all she knew was that, out of nowhere, her leg hurt, and it was bucking, and she was going down. Sara crashed on her ass, her injured leg recoiling on reflex. In her fury, as she could do was keep lashing out with her good leg in a vain attempt to keep striking Koyuki, but even now she could realize how futile that was.

"Is that all, miss Conar?"

Koyuki was a flawed human being too, not that she tended to see it that way. What others saw as character lapses, she dismissed as the opinions of people who failed to live an uncompromised life, who dragged themselves from day to day with no higher goal or greater aspirations. She was prideful, yes, irritable, and with a quick temper. Often dour. Xenophobic? Deeply so. But none of these things she saw as flaws. Pride was honor. Anger meant you knew your worth when said honor was threatened. Dourness meant you bent and scraped and put on a false face for no one's pleasure, and the alleged xenophobia meant loyalty to Japan over the intrusions of foreign malarkey. The everyman's idea of personal failings meant nothing to her because they lived sad, mundane lives.

But if Koyuki had to point out a personality trait she considered a flaw, it was her undeniable capacity for cruelty.

From a young age, she was a natural bully, and she looked back on many of her actions in those early days with disgust... for all the wrong reasons. Cruelty exercised for its own sake was an indulgence, an exercise in placating insecurity. As a young girl, she did not have the confidence to stand under her own power and sort to bring down others both physically and socially for the express purpose of soothing insecurity. That, for Koyuki, was unacceptable. As she grew into more responsibilities under the Yakuza, she sought to curb the side of her that lashed out for its own sake.

No, cruelty was meant only to be employed tactically, soullessly, and separated from the wants and needs of the ego. Towards a definitive goal.

You know, like the complete destruction of the physical and mental destruction of Sara Connor.

"Is that all, miss Conar?" she repeated, slowly dragging herself up to her feet as Sara fell. Her initial response was a lashing leg, striking her on the thigh. She buckled slightly, staggered unsteadily, but did not fall. No, she would stand where Sara fell. That was the difference between them. She drew herself to her full height, standing tall and proud, looming over her grounded foe. It was clear as day between the two of them who had taken the lion's share of the damage. Both girls were clearly spent and hurt, but if you asked who looked more like they had been mauled by a bear, all hands would be pointed at Sara.

Koyuki stared, her eyes drifting to her opponent's bare chest, as if it was the first time she had actually deign to take notice. Nice tits. She was tempted to pop them too. Her hand went to her belt, unbuckling it from her pants, and it seemed for a moment as if Koyuki was planning to fuck her.

Alas, no.

She began wrapping her belt around her fist, armoring it up in leather and metal, letting it coil down her hand and upper arm, all the while staring down at Sara Connor.

"If there's anything you want try? Try it. I wait. After that?" Koyuki shrugged. "You done."

”The fuck did you say to me?”

Sara’s throat was sore. She hadn’t even noticed it before now, but with all the screaming and howling and likely inhaling her own blood and sweat, her throat was a raspy, shredded mess. It’d take two packs of Halls before it felt normal again, and she wasn’t looking forward to that. Her voice came out gasping and sick, a wheezing noise, but she hoped, sincerely, that the utter contempt came through her tone all the same. She wanted to make sure Koyuki understood just how much hate she had right now.

She had been here before, after all, only with roles reversed. More than a few times, she’d stood over some opponent who bit off way more than they could chew. Her client would ask her to go above and beyond, put on a show and make the loss sting, and she knew how to do that. Beating an opponent was one thing, anyone could do that, but making that defeat an utter humiliation? That required a sense of art. Spirits weren’t that easily broken.

Being on this side was different. For someone else, anyone else, it might’ve been a humbling experience. For Sara, it just pissed her off.

Koyuki repeated herself, but Sara still couldn’t believe she heard the words, and not just because of her fucking accent. The bitch was standing tall, standing over her like she wasn’t hurting as much as anyone could tell she was. Trying to look superior, like she was the queen. Lording it all over her.

Is that all? Is that all? ”You fucking-”

Sara tried to push her way up, only for her leg to remind that no, that was definitely not happening in the foreseeable future. She plopped back down on her chest. Koyuki was doing...something with her belt. She didn’t even register it, really.  Didn’t think about the pain or the risks, didn’t think about what was coming next. All she wanted to do was hurt this woman, fuck the cost.

Like a wild, wounded jackal, she crawled forward, dragging her bad leg behind her, and swung at Koyuki’s leg. A failing, ineffective last gasp. A death rattle.

If Sara Connor had even the tiniest ounce of warrior spirit, she would thank Koyuki for this someday. The Yakuza Captain could have simply demanded her surrender or wrenched a submission out of her with an armbar, but she chose to let Sara go out on her shield, to brave defeat with honor and dignity as Koyuki gave the American's body the last painful push into unconsciousness. Her cruelty served a purpose here: it allowed Sara to spend the final moments of the contest defiant and resisting, not simply going gently into the night.

Of course, her cruelty served its original purpose too; she enjoyed poking at things until it fell apart. It started with bugs as a child, then frogs, then something a little more warm-blooded, then her peers at school, and then Koyuki decided she wanted things that fought back. And Sara did fought back, and now it was time to see how much more she could take before she fell apart.

The American swung that last weak blow and it batted against her thigh. She didn't even buckle. Koyuki was wounded, no doubt. Tired? Undeniably. She was slick with sweat and hurt and even the parts of her that weren't bitten or beaten up would be sore for the week to come, but clearly whatever she was feeling paled against what she had inflicted upon Sara. She had nothing left. Her gas tank was empty. Her spirit was willing, but the flesh fell short.

What a damn shame.

Still focusing intently on wrapping the belt around her hand, Koyuki lifted up her bare foot and grinded it down onto the offending hand. Was that her bad hand, the one that had been bitten bloody? She couldn't tell from up here. Her vision wasn't working that well after such a grueling fight. Oh well, better play it safe. She lifted up her other foot and nochalantly stomped down on the other hand, grinding it into the concrete too.

She didn't once looked at Sara.

To the surprise of no one - if anyone had been watching this, anyway - Sara’s last stand didn’t get her very far. She barely had enough energy to swing that arm at all, much less do real damage with it. The blow bounced off Koyuki without so much as making her move, as if it had been a playful tap from a child. She couldn’t even be sure that the woman noticed the blow. She just kept on doing what she was doing, paying her the absolute bare minimum of attention.

That was the worst of it, Sara realized. Koyuki could have ended this minutes ago. It wouldn’t take much at this moment. Just a good knee to the face, maybe two, and she would’ve been out like a light. She could’ve wrapped her hands around Sara’s throat and throttled her out. Probably could’ve put her to sleep with an aggressive enough headlock, even.

But no. She was dragging this out. She’d already plucked the wings off the butterfly, now she just wanted to see it dance for a while before she snuffed it out.

Fucking bitch. ”You fucking-”

Sara’s curse was cut short when Koyuki’s foot came down, crushing her hand and grinding it into the ground. She gritted her teeth hard, to the point of pain, hissing through them to keep her cries in check. She wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction. Couldn’t.

And then the bitch went and stomped her other hand. The one with the finger she’d nearly chewed off a minute or so ago. Then Sara screamed, a loud, shrill, pathetic shriek that had no business coming out of her body.

Koyuki wasn't really a sadist. She was wholly uninterested in how Sara Connor actually reacted to her delicate ministrations. If Sara cried? She made a mockery of herself. If Sara tapped? She proved herself pathetic and forfeited any sense of dignity. If Sara braved the pain fought every step of the way on the inevitable journey to unconsciousness? She earned Koyuki's respect... but ultimately, whatever Sara did or didn't do wasn't her business. Her decisions were her own. Whatever strength or weakness Sara Connor chose to display in the final moments of this duel mattered only to Sara Connor and Sara Connor alone. Within a week, Koyuki wouldn't care to remember whatever disgust or respect or pity she had deigned to offer. It was just one little fight in a lifetime of fights.

She did it for the same reason a cat played with a ball of yarn: it was there, it wasn't fighting back, and it was good to see it unravel.

Ultimately, because she could and nobody was stopping her.

So many options, Koyuki thought, as she stared down at the broken shell of a woman formerly known as the Android. The second hand was it, wasn't it? That one triggered the unseemly little noise Sara was spluttering out right now. She ground down on her wounded hand again, really putting some strength into smashing it into the concrete beneath, as she pondered what to do with Sara.

Nothing with the head. Too fast. She wasn't going to last much longer. Hand? No, no, no. She was going to pass out from it sooner rather than later. Unconsciously, Koyuki released the pressure on the wounded fingers. Legs? Could be. Sara favored kicks. It was a poetic way to end things. Torso? She had a good physique. Reducing it nothing would be a statement. Crotch? Nope, overused. Option anxiety was a real thing, there was too much to-

Well, she had a 2nd opinion right here.

"Connar." Koyuki said. She didn't bother with the eye contact, holding her head high as if pondering hard. Her tone was as light as it would ever get. Almost conversational. "Connar, what do you think I should next? If next words out of mouth is like 'go fuck yourself' or some such?" The heel of her feet pressed ever so slightly on Sara's hand. "No more hand." And she wasn't bluffing. Bluffs were for bureaucrats with no taste for blood. Koyuki was just looking for any excuse. "So Connar, give suggestion. How you want end this?"

”Go fuck-”

Sara started to say it, on pure reflex, and Koyuki’s threat only just managed to make her stop. Even if the words didn’t come out of her mouth, however, the heated, hating, seething stare she directed towards her tormentor spoke volumes. If she had more energy, just a little more, there’d be no end to the horrors she would inflict on this woman. She’d rip her apart, piece by piece, tear her to shreds, bust and break her to dust, keep punching and punching and punching until she was a smear on the fucking floor...

It was fun to imagine, but it was only that, wasn’t it? Imagination. Just imagination. The reality was here and now. She’d lost, and the only comfort she had was in deciding how this would be ending.

So how to let it happen? Could let Koyuki knee her out, but that was a bit more than she wanted to take right now. Might lose a tooth if she took too many more shots to the skull, too. A quick check with her tongue let her feel that some of them were already getting shaky. Best not to risk any more dental bills than she already had to worry about, especially since it would be a bitch to get the AFW’s insurance to cover out-of-ring injuries.

Could’ve tapped, but fuck that. No way was she giving Koyuki the satisfaction of making her quit, even if her body was screaming at her about how it was the smart thing to do.

No, best to go to sleep. Let it happen. Nice, peaceful, quick. Better than blunt force trauma, and far better than giving up. ”Just choke me out and get it over with. Fucking bitch…” She muttered and sagged on the floor, letting her body relax. Not that it had any real energy for anything else, at this point.