Post by mikaxattano on Nov 19, 2024 22:46:05 GMT -5
The arena pulsed with chaotic energy—blinding lights, the distant roar of the crowd, and the metallic clang of stagehands scrambling behind the scenes. But Mika barely noticed. Her world had narrowed to the cold steel beneath her boots and the barbed-wire bat in her hands.
She stood at the center of the ring, alone, dragging the bat across the canvas in lazy circles. The jagged edges bit into the mat, leaving faint scratches that only she could see. She tilted her head, listening—not to the cheers or chants beyond the ropes, but to the voices in her own head.
"You feel it, don’t you?" she murmured to herself, her voice barely a whisper. Her green eyes glinted with unrestrained glee as she twirled the bat in her hands. "That heaviness in the air. That weight pressing down. It’s not nerves. Oh no, it’s something much better."
She let out a low, throaty laugh and held the bat aloft, her blonde-streaked hair catching the harsh arena lights.
"Blood," she hissed, her lips curling into a wicked grin. "The Devil’s already salivating. He knows what’s coming. He knows who I am."
Her fingers tightened around the bat, the barbed wire pressing into her gloves, and she crouched in the middle of the ring like a predator poised to strike. The crowd’s muffled shouts seemed a world away as Mika bowed her head and began to whisper.
"This is his altar," she said softly, her voice almost reverent. "And I’m his favorite disciple."
A wicked smile spread across her face, her teeth glinting like a predator’s. "I’ll paint this canvas red, just like he wants. Blood for every crack in the mat, every inch of these ropes. It’s all for him. Every drop of pain, every broken bone—it’s all for my Devil."
Mika laughed again, the sound sharp and unhinged, echoing in the empty space around her. Rising to her feet, she raised the bat high like a twisted scepter.
"Do you think they’re afraid yet?" she asked, her tone sing-song as though addressing an invisible crowd. She began pacing the ring, her steps slow and deliberate, her eyes scanning the emptiness like a vulture searching for a carcass. "Do you think they’re out there, shaking in their boots? Wondering what I’ll do next?"
Her expression shifted, her grin widening into something feral.
"They should be," she hissed, gripping the bat tighter. "Because I’m not here to play fair. I’m not here to dance around for their applause. I’m here for the screams, the blood, the chaos. That’s what they’ll remember."
She stopped suddenly, tilting her head as though listening to something just beyond the ropes. Her face softened for a brief moment, her eyes widening in mock surprise.
"Do you hear it?" she whispered, her tone conspiratorial. "The heartbeat. The pulse of this place. It’s alive, you know. It’s calling to me. Begging me to give it what it wants."
Her grin returned, sharp and dangerous, as she leaned on the ropes and stared out into the shadowy void beyond the lights.
"Don’t worry," she said softly, her voice dripping with menace. "I’ll feed you soon enough."
The bat dragged behind her as she paced again, its barbed edges tearing into the mat and leaving deep cuts that everyone could see. Her movements were erratic now, her steps uneven, like a marionette controlled by unseen strings.
"Carlotta," she said suddenly, the name slipping from her lips like a venomous hiss yet also held a soft undertone of a song. Her voice dropped, low and dangerous. "Poor, sweet Carlotta. You thought you could take my place, didn’t you? Thought you could wave your pretty little hands and make them forget about me?"
She chuckled, shaking her head slowly.
"But that’s the thing about shadows, darling," she said, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. "You can’t get rid of them. No matter how hard you try. They’re always there. Lurking. Watching. Waiting."
Her laughter cut through the empty air again, wild and unrestrained, as she swung the bat toward the ropes, its barbed edges snagging on the fibers before pulling loose with a snap.
"And now I’m back," she shouted, her voice taking on a manic edge. "Back to remind everyone why they should’ve stayed afraid of the dark."
Her gaze dropped to the bat in her hand, and she turned it over, studying the barbed wire wrapped around its frame.
"Funny, isn’t it?" she said, almost to herself. "The things we do to survive. The things we do to thrive."
She traced a finger along the jagged edges of the wire, watching as it pricked her skin. A bead of crimson welled up, stark against her pale flesh.
"And me?" she asked to no one, smiling softly as she held her hand up to inspect the blood. "I thrive on this. The pain, the fear, the chaos. It’s what makes me...me."
She raised her hand to her lips, letting her tongue dart out to taste the blood.
"Sweet," she said, her voice barely audible. "But not as sweet as hers will be."
The grin returned, sharp and feral, as Mika straightened and took a few slow steps toward the center of the ring. Mika spun in place, holding the bat before her like a conductor’s baton. Her movements were erratic, her body language a mix of grace and chaos.
"I’ll break her," she whispered, almost tenderly. "Piece by piece. I’ll make her scream. Make her beg. And when she’s lying there, broken and bloodied, I’ll make her look at me."
She dropped the bat with a heavy thud, the sound reverberating through the ring as she crouched down again, running her gloved hand across the mat.
"This canvas?" she murmured. "This isn’t just a ring. It’s a sanctuary. My sanctuary. And every win, every broken body—it’s a sacrifice. A bloody offering for my Devil."
Her hand stilled, her gaze locking onto an invisible stain on the mat.
"You’ll like her blood," she said, addressing the air as though speaking to someone. Her voice softened to a near whisper. Mika turned her head to look over at the dark stage, as if someone only she could see stood there. "I promise. She’s young, vibrant. It’ll flow so beautifully. Just like all the others."
Mika stood again, stretching her arms out wide, her head tilted back as though embracing an unseen presence.
"Blood for the Devil!" she cried, her voice ringing out through the arena. "Every scream, every sacrifice—it’s all for him! And Carlotta? She’s just the beginning. The first of many to come."
Her steps quickened now, her pacing growing more frantic as she circled the ring. Her mind was alight with visions of what was to come. She could already see it: the red staining the mat, her bat gleaming with fresh carnage, her opponent broken beneath her boots.
"This isn’t just a return," Mika muttered, her voice low and guttural. "It’s a resurrection. And when I’m done, they’ll all know who I am. They will all remember who I am..."
She stopped in her tracks, her grin widening into something monstrous.
"I’m the Devil’s Favorite," she said, the words rolling off her tongue like a mantra. "And every single one of them will bleed for me. For him. For them..."
Her laugh came again, sharp and cruel, as she dropped to her knees once more, clutching the bat like a sacred relic. The arena seemed to shrink around her, the lights dimming in her mind until there was nothing but her and the altar she’d made of the ring.
"Let them come," she snarled, her voice barely audible. "One by one. I’ll break them all. I’ll shatter their dreams, their bones, their spirits. This isn’t a game. It’s a reckoning."
She pressed her forehead to the mat, her breath coming in shallow gasps as though overcome by her own intensity. Then, slowly, she rose to her feet, dragging the bat up with her.
"This is where it begins," she said, her voice steady now, filled with cold determination. "The blood, the screams, the chaos—it all starts here. And it ends when I say it does."
Mika stood and climbed the ropes, perching on the turnbuckle like a bird of prey, her eyes scanning the arena. She raised the bat high above her head, a triumphant smirk tugging at her lips.
"Let them come," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "Let them all come. Because this ring? This is my domain. And every single one of them will bleed for me. For Him. For Them."
Her grin widened as she dropped the bat, letting it fall to the mat with a heavy thud.
"And the best part?" she asked, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "They’ll love me for it. They always do. They’ll gasp, they’ll scream, but they won’t look away. They can’t."
She turned slowly, her arms outstretched, spinning in a slow circle at the center of the ring.
"Because deep down," she said, her voice soft but full of menace, "they love the chaos as much as I do. They just don’t want to admit it."
Her laughter echoed again, sharp and wild, as she finally slid out of the ring and began to walk up the ramp. The bat lay forgotten behind her, a symbol of the destruction she would soon unleash.
Mika didn’t need the weapon. She was the weapon. And the world was about to remember just how sharp she could be.
She stood at the center of the ring, alone, dragging the bat across the canvas in lazy circles. The jagged edges bit into the mat, leaving faint scratches that only she could see. She tilted her head, listening—not to the cheers or chants beyond the ropes, but to the voices in her own head.
"You feel it, don’t you?" she murmured to herself, her voice barely a whisper. Her green eyes glinted with unrestrained glee as she twirled the bat in her hands. "That heaviness in the air. That weight pressing down. It’s not nerves. Oh no, it’s something much better."
She let out a low, throaty laugh and held the bat aloft, her blonde-streaked hair catching the harsh arena lights.
"Blood," she hissed, her lips curling into a wicked grin. "The Devil’s already salivating. He knows what’s coming. He knows who I am."
Her fingers tightened around the bat, the barbed wire pressing into her gloves, and she crouched in the middle of the ring like a predator poised to strike. The crowd’s muffled shouts seemed a world away as Mika bowed her head and began to whisper.
"This is his altar," she said softly, her voice almost reverent. "And I’m his favorite disciple."
A wicked smile spread across her face, her teeth glinting like a predator’s. "I’ll paint this canvas red, just like he wants. Blood for every crack in the mat, every inch of these ropes. It’s all for him. Every drop of pain, every broken bone—it’s all for my Devil."
Mika laughed again, the sound sharp and unhinged, echoing in the empty space around her. Rising to her feet, she raised the bat high like a twisted scepter.
"Do you think they’re afraid yet?" she asked, her tone sing-song as though addressing an invisible crowd. She began pacing the ring, her steps slow and deliberate, her eyes scanning the emptiness like a vulture searching for a carcass. "Do you think they’re out there, shaking in their boots? Wondering what I’ll do next?"
Her expression shifted, her grin widening into something feral.
"They should be," she hissed, gripping the bat tighter. "Because I’m not here to play fair. I’m not here to dance around for their applause. I’m here for the screams, the blood, the chaos. That’s what they’ll remember."
She stopped suddenly, tilting her head as though listening to something just beyond the ropes. Her face softened for a brief moment, her eyes widening in mock surprise.
"Do you hear it?" she whispered, her tone conspiratorial. "The heartbeat. The pulse of this place. It’s alive, you know. It’s calling to me. Begging me to give it what it wants."
Her grin returned, sharp and dangerous, as she leaned on the ropes and stared out into the shadowy void beyond the lights.
"Don’t worry," she said softly, her voice dripping with menace. "I’ll feed you soon enough."
The bat dragged behind her as she paced again, its barbed edges tearing into the mat and leaving deep cuts that everyone could see. Her movements were erratic now, her steps uneven, like a marionette controlled by unseen strings.
"Carlotta," she said suddenly, the name slipping from her lips like a venomous hiss yet also held a soft undertone of a song. Her voice dropped, low and dangerous. "Poor, sweet Carlotta. You thought you could take my place, didn’t you? Thought you could wave your pretty little hands and make them forget about me?"
She chuckled, shaking her head slowly.
"But that’s the thing about shadows, darling," she said, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. "You can’t get rid of them. No matter how hard you try. They’re always there. Lurking. Watching. Waiting."
Her laughter cut through the empty air again, wild and unrestrained, as she swung the bat toward the ropes, its barbed edges snagging on the fibers before pulling loose with a snap.
"And now I’m back," she shouted, her voice taking on a manic edge. "Back to remind everyone why they should’ve stayed afraid of the dark."
Her gaze dropped to the bat in her hand, and she turned it over, studying the barbed wire wrapped around its frame.
"Funny, isn’t it?" she said, almost to herself. "The things we do to survive. The things we do to thrive."
She traced a finger along the jagged edges of the wire, watching as it pricked her skin. A bead of crimson welled up, stark against her pale flesh.
"And me?" she asked to no one, smiling softly as she held her hand up to inspect the blood. "I thrive on this. The pain, the fear, the chaos. It’s what makes me...me."
She raised her hand to her lips, letting her tongue dart out to taste the blood.
"Sweet," she said, her voice barely audible. "But not as sweet as hers will be."
The grin returned, sharp and feral, as Mika straightened and took a few slow steps toward the center of the ring. Mika spun in place, holding the bat before her like a conductor’s baton. Her movements were erratic, her body language a mix of grace and chaos.
"I’ll break her," she whispered, almost tenderly. "Piece by piece. I’ll make her scream. Make her beg. And when she’s lying there, broken and bloodied, I’ll make her look at me."
She dropped the bat with a heavy thud, the sound reverberating through the ring as she crouched down again, running her gloved hand across the mat.
"This canvas?" she murmured. "This isn’t just a ring. It’s a sanctuary. My sanctuary. And every win, every broken body—it’s a sacrifice. A bloody offering for my Devil."
Her hand stilled, her gaze locking onto an invisible stain on the mat.
"You’ll like her blood," she said, addressing the air as though speaking to someone. Her voice softened to a near whisper. Mika turned her head to look over at the dark stage, as if someone only she could see stood there. "I promise. She’s young, vibrant. It’ll flow so beautifully. Just like all the others."
Mika stood again, stretching her arms out wide, her head tilted back as though embracing an unseen presence.
"Blood for the Devil!" she cried, her voice ringing out through the arena. "Every scream, every sacrifice—it’s all for him! And Carlotta? She’s just the beginning. The first of many to come."
Her steps quickened now, her pacing growing more frantic as she circled the ring. Her mind was alight with visions of what was to come. She could already see it: the red staining the mat, her bat gleaming with fresh carnage, her opponent broken beneath her boots.
"This isn’t just a return," Mika muttered, her voice low and guttural. "It’s a resurrection. And when I’m done, they’ll all know who I am. They will all remember who I am..."
She stopped in her tracks, her grin widening into something monstrous.
"I’m the Devil’s Favorite," she said, the words rolling off her tongue like a mantra. "And every single one of them will bleed for me. For him. For them..."
Her laugh came again, sharp and cruel, as she dropped to her knees once more, clutching the bat like a sacred relic. The arena seemed to shrink around her, the lights dimming in her mind until there was nothing but her and the altar she’d made of the ring.
"Let them come," she snarled, her voice barely audible. "One by one. I’ll break them all. I’ll shatter their dreams, their bones, their spirits. This isn’t a game. It’s a reckoning."
She pressed her forehead to the mat, her breath coming in shallow gasps as though overcome by her own intensity. Then, slowly, she rose to her feet, dragging the bat up with her.
"This is where it begins," she said, her voice steady now, filled with cold determination. "The blood, the screams, the chaos—it all starts here. And it ends when I say it does."
Mika stood and climbed the ropes, perching on the turnbuckle like a bird of prey, her eyes scanning the arena. She raised the bat high above her head, a triumphant smirk tugging at her lips.
"Let them come," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "Let them all come. Because this ring? This is my domain. And every single one of them will bleed for me. For Him. For Them."
Her grin widened as she dropped the bat, letting it fall to the mat with a heavy thud.
"And the best part?" she asked, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "They’ll love me for it. They always do. They’ll gasp, they’ll scream, but they won’t look away. They can’t."
She turned slowly, her arms outstretched, spinning in a slow circle at the center of the ring.
"Because deep down," she said, her voice soft but full of menace, "they love the chaos as much as I do. They just don’t want to admit it."
Her laughter echoed again, sharp and wild, as she finally slid out of the ring and began to walk up the ramp. The bat lay forgotten behind her, a symbol of the destruction she would soon unleash.
Mika didn’t need the weapon. She was the weapon. And the world was about to remember just how sharp she could be.
