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What the hell was that?
The last, promised match of her career, ruined by a prop exploding in her face, damaging her hand in the process. Zunigoth appeared to have taken little of it, while she had suffered the worst. The blood rolled down her head and her injured hand, and after the bell had rung from a humiliating submission, she felt nothing but fury, launching stiff punches towards her old flame as the referee and security swarmed in to separate them.
Her fuming was not helped by the ring staff attempting to calm her down as she walked out, past officials doubling down on weak and empty apologies.
>This is not how my career ends.
That phrase rang endlessly in her head.
>This is not how my fucking career ends!
The various men and women around her came to a stop, as she exited the arena through one of the garages. No medical treatment, no calls for an ice pack. She had matters to tend to.
Then, she saw him. The foolish employee who had forgotten to check the weapons laying around the ring, having himself a smoke break. He would pay for his mistake.
>おい! あなたが死んでいる!
Before the man could say anything, he felt her hands clutch around her neck.
>フタ様、慈しんでください!
She leaned in, a deadly glare shining in her purple eyes.
>あなたは私の手を傷つけました。あなたも私と一緒に来ます。
