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22 May 2024 Sydney Sweeney vs Halston Sage

Page history last edited by neon 2 weeks, 6 days ago

QUEENS PPV EVENT: LEGENDS NEVER DIE

Posted by Queens of Absolution on 22 May 2024 at 2:03 am

LND: Sydney Sweeney vs Halston Sage

(Results: Lookout / Words: Queens)

Halston Sage:
(29, 5’5”, 117lbs, 4:6 FCBA, Queens of Absolution)

Sydney Sweeney:
(26, 5’3”, 119lbs, 20:11 FCBA, Lookout! Boxing / Global Boxing Syndicate)

BEFORE:

The end of the night was nearing and we had finally reached our apex match, two competitors newly being pushed by their stables to succeed and tonight only one would come out on top - or so you would have thought. Halston Sage, clad in her navy blue sports bra and briefs with matching boxing gloves and boots made it clear she absolutely felt Sydney Sweeney was beneath her and Sydney, dressed to fight in a contrasting white bra and trunks as well as boxing attire made no secret she loathed Halston. But what was going to happen was something no one saw coming.

As Sydney entered the arena from the competitor’s ramp with Brie Larson in tow she had something with her - the Lookout! Boxing saddle! She was trying to turn this into a Body Saddle match! Needless to say, as the Queens had never participated in one, the audience went wild thinking this spectacle was normal but it was far from it. In fact, what was about to happen was going to be far worse.

It was Halston’s turn to come down the Queen’s ramp and out Natasha Calis and Halston Sage went making a famous Queens pyrotechnic entrance in which Halston held up a white leather belt with black buckle seductively before she smirked her way with her eyes deadlocked on Sydney Sweeney’s down to the ring, climbed the ropes, and entered - snapping the belt towards Sweeney with a sadistic laugh before giving it to Natasha for safe keeping.

“What’s the matter Sydney, brought a saddle because you think you’re going to ride me tonight?” Halston got dangerously close to Sweeney and in almost a whisper but loud enough for the microphones to pick up she said “I’m going to be the one riding you tonight and all I’ll need to make you move are my toned thighs and that little belt Natasha is holding.” Halston backed off but the way she said those words sent chills down Sydney’s spine, like she had just been outplayed.

The referee brought the girls to the center of the ring and went over the mandatory in the hopes of a clean match but this match was already turning ugly so that hope was probably on deaf ears. He sent them to their corners.

Raising his hand, he signaled for the bell as it sliced through the air back down and ten rounds of Bantamweight action has begun in the finale of “Legends Never Die.”

Round 01:

Under the glare of the stadium lights, Round One commenced with a thunderous roar from the audience. The stunningly beautiful Halston Sage burst forth, her form a beacon of pure power and agility. Her fists, like hammers of vengeance, sought out Sydney Sweeney's face with a brutality that left the onlookers gasping. Each punch landed with a sickening crunch, echoing through the arena, a testament to Halston's unyielding ferocity.

Sydney's visage became a canvas of bruises and violence, her once unblemished skin now painted with the harsh brushstrokes of combat. Yet, behind the swelling and the pain, a fire blazed within her eyes. It was not the end but a beginning. Her resilience, hidden beneath the surface, began to surface as the round neared its climax.

"You think you've got me?" Sydney spat out, her words laced with venom and defiance. The taste of her own blood seemed to ignite an inferno within her, fueling her determination to not just survive but dominate.
Halston, her breath coming in ragged gasps, sneered back through the onslaught. "You're already finished, darling. You just don't know it yet." Her voice, dripping with contempt, seemed to slice through the air, a verbal dagger meant to wound as deeply as her physical strikes.

But then, in the final, electrifying minute of the round, the tables turned with a spectacle no one could have anticipated. Sydney, mustering every ounce of her being, launched a counterattack that was nothing short of spectacular. Her fist, directed with laser-focused precision, found its mark deep in Halston's belly button. The force of the impact reverberated throughout the stadium, a gruesome testament to Sydney's hidden strength.
Halston staggered back, her eyes wide with shock and agony. The indomitable figure that had dominated the ring only moments before was now grappling with the shattering blow that had taken her by complete surprise. Sydney's vicious punch had not just breached Halston's defenses—it had shaken her very core.

The crowd erupted into a cacophony of cheers and gasps, the dramatic turn of events sending waves of excitement and disbelief rippling through the stands. Halston's taunts were silenced, and Sydney's earlier defiance was vindicated. The bell rang, signaling the end of Round One, but it was clear to all that this battle was far from over. What had begun as a contest of physical strength had morphed into a war of wills, with both fighters proving their incredible resilience and determination.

Round 02:

As the bell for Round Two echoed ominously through the stadium, a palpable tension filled the air, thick enough to cut with a knife. Sydney Sweeney, her spirit aflame with the fires of retribution, narrowed her eyes, her gaze locked onto Halston Sage with the precision of a hawk targeting its prey. She advanced, her steps measured and deadly, a predator poised to strike. The crowd held its breath, captivated by the electric anticipation of the unfolding drama.

"Is that all you've got, sweetheart?" Sydney taunted, each word a venomous sting aiming to unravel Halston's composure. Her fists danced with a grace that belied their destructive intent, peppering Halston's midsection with barrages of strikes, each blow a symphony of pain composed entirely for Halston. The sound of gloves against flesh rang out, a brutal melody that underscored the night's vicious ballet.

Halston, her face a mask of concentration and resolve, attempted to mount a defense amidst the unrelenting storm. Her arms weaved a barrier, deflecting blow after blow, yet for every punch blocked, another found its mark. "Your abs are mine to conquer," Sydney sneered with each hit, her voice a wicked whisper that cut through the chaos of combat, echoing inside Halston's head and chipping away at her resolve.

Despite her valiant efforts, Halston's counterattacks were stifled before they could begin, her usual prowess dampened by the onslaught. She could barely manage to return the taunts, her focus entirely consumed by the struggle to withstand Sydney's relentless assault. The stark realization that she was losing ground became a weight, a shackle binding her spirit.

Sydney, sensing the shift in momentum, escalated her verbal jabs, each one as piercing as the physical blows she delivered. "Looks like those abs aren't so tough after all!" she mocked, a cruel smile playing on her lips as she landed another devastating punch. Her confidence surged with every strike, each taunt designed to demoralize Halston further, to break her not just physically but mentally.

As the bell signalled the end of Round Two, Halston staggered back, her breaths heavy and uneven. Her eyes, once ablaze with the fire of defiance, now flickered with the shadows of doubt. Meanwhile, Sydney stood triumphant, her dominance undisputed in this round, her taunts still hanging in the air like specters. The crowd erupted into a frenzy, the battle lines clearly drawn. It was no longer just a match; it had become a saga of resilience, a test of wills where the physical was inexorably tied to the mental. Halston's once impervious armor had been breached, and Sydney had made it clear she was not just fighting to win, but to dominate.

Round 03:

Round Three opened with Halston Sage, her energy reborn from the ashes of the previous rounds, her determination as palpable as the sweat gleaming on her skin. Sydney's triumph seemed but a whisper of the past as Halston evaded a swing with the grace of a seasoned matador, Sydney's fist slicing nothing but the heavy air of anticipation. The crowd held its breath as Halston's counter was swift, her jab to Sydney's nose a stunning promise of retribution. Blood and vengeance mixed in the air, a scent stirring the primal heart of the audience.

"Honey, you should've quit while you were ahead," Halston sneered, her voice a velvet knife, as Sydney recoiled from the unexpected blow. Each word was a meticulous cut, precision in its intention to dismantle Sydney's confidence. Sydney's stumble was not just physical; it was an emblem of Halston's shifting momentum, a testament to her resurgence.

Halston's strategy shifted, as calculated as a chess master's gambit. She zeroed in on Sydney's solar plexus, unleashing a torrent of punches that thundered through the arena. Every blow was a drumbeat of impending downfall, robbing Sydney of both breath and composure. "Is this too much for you, darling?" Halston taunted, her voice laced with mock concern and a hint of acid, as her fists became blurs of punishment against Sydney's torso.

With the precision of a sculptor chiseling marble, Halston shaped the round into a masterpiece of domination. Each strike to Sydney's solar plexus was a stroke of artistry, designed to leave her opponent gasping for air, drowning in waves of pain. "Thought you could dance? Looks like you're barely stumbling now!" Halston's voice cut through the roars of the crowd, every syllable a hammer designed to shatter Sydney's will.

Sydney, trapped in the eye of the storm Halston had conjured, struggled to mount any defense. The relentless barrage against her solar plexus rendered her efforts futile, her usually formidable stance reduced to a desperate bid for survival. Halston's taunts echoed in her ears, a cacophony that seemed to mock her with each gasp for air she fought to take.

"You're looking a little pale, sweetheart. Missing your spark yet?" Halston jeered, her voice dripping with derision as she watched Sydney falter. Her blows were not just physical but psychological, weaving a web of doubt that ensnared Sydney's resolve.

The round neared its end, Sydney's figure a silhouette of despair under the relentless assault. Halston's face bore the mark of victory, each taunt a nail in the coffin of Sydney's defiance. "Guess you're not the untouchable woman you thought you were!" she bellowed, her words a final blow, echoing the sentiment of her physical dominance.

As the bell signaled the end of Round Three, Halston stepped back, her chest heaving with exertion but her spirit soaring. Sydney, on the other hand, appeared diminished, her once fiery gaze now clouded with pain and the bitter taste of defeat. The crowd erupted, their cheers not just for the spectacle of the fight but for the drama of the human spirit, tested and bare. Halston's verbal jabs, as precise and cutting as her physical ones, left an indelible mark on the match, proving that in the ring, the battle is fought on all fronts - physical, mental, and emotional.

Round 04 & 05:

Round Four unfurled like a tempest, with Sydney reclaiming the winds of war beneath her fists. She dove into the fray with a renewed vigor, her strikes a ballet of brutality aimed at Halston’s sculpted visage and the fortress of her abs. "Back for a second serving, are we?" Sydney taunted, her blows raining down in a relentless siege that saw Halston's defenses falter.

Halston snarled back, a lioness cornered but far from defeated. "You hit like you're afraid of breaking a nail, Syd!" she retorted, even as she pirouetted away from a particularly vicious uppercut aimed at her jaw. Sydney only laughed, a sound sharp as shattered glass, her fists methodically dismantling Halston's guard. "Oh, darling, I'm just getting started. Why tire myself when you make it so easy?"

The fifth round was a mirror of the fourth, but with the intensity magnified. Sydney found a rhythm in her cruelty, a dance of devastation that left Halston grasping for retaliation. "Are those abs just for show, Hal?" Sydney sneered, punctuating each question with jabs that slipped through Halston's defenses, targeting her face with feints and sudden, brutal strikes. "Pretty face, but can’t take a hit?"

Halston's response was a hiss of frustration, her usual eloquence lost in the heat of battle. "Keep talking, Syd. It'll make your fall even sweeter." But the words were hollow, her concentration split between protecting her face and the relentless assault on her abdomen.

Sydney's strategy to oscillate between Halston's abs and face, interspersed with verbal barbs that cut deeper than her punches, left Halston reeling. The blonde's once impeccable guard was a dance of desperation, her responses more reactive than strategic. Sydney, in contrast, stood as the architect of Halston's torment, her dominance not just physical but psychological, carving doubt into the once unshakeable Halston with each sneered insult and punishing blow.

Round 06:

Round Six unfurled with the ferocity of a tempest, Halston Sage, the radiant warrior, ablaze with a singular mission - to dispatch Sydney Sweeney to the realm of defeat with a reckoning so profound it would echo through the annals of the arena. Her fists, laden with the weight of her resolve, crashed into Sydney's visage with the precision of a master sculptor, each blow carving despair and defeat into the canvas of Sydney's battered countenance. The air was thick with the scent of vengeance, each of Halston's jabs a bone-crunching testament to her unyielding determination.

Sydney, her face a tableau of bruises and gashes, bore the brunt of Halston's wrath as if each punch was a sentence, condemning her to the shadows of defeat. Halston, embodying the fury of nature itself, then directed a cataclysmic blow to Sydney's solar plexus. The force was such that it seemed to promise Sydney's expulsion to the ropes, a prelude to her inevitable fall. Yet, in a display of defiance that bordered on the miraculous, Halston relented at the last, withdrawing her fist and allowing Sydney the dignity of collapsing under her own shattered resolve.

The stadium, a cauldron of spectators suspended in disbelief, watched as Sydney, against all odds, clawed her way back from the abyss, her spirit refusing to be extinguished. At the count of nine, Sydney's determination crystallized into a stand that shook Halston to her core. The blonde warrior, frustration etched into every line of her being, launched into a barrage of power blows, a storm meant to obliterate Sydney's defiance once and for all. Sydney, tossed about the ring like a tempest-touched vessel, was a testament to human resilience, enduring a maelstrom of punishment but never capitulating to the darkness.

Halston, her every blow a harbinger of the end she sought to usher, found her efforts thwarted by Sydney's unyielding spirit. The ring became an arena of wills, with Halston's intention to end the match personally clashing against Sydney's resolve to survive. Each punch from Halston was a stroke of brutality, meant to dismantle Sydney piece by piece, yet the referee, a silent witness to this epic human struggle, found no cause to intervene.

The brutal symphony of violence that was Round Six came to its inevitable denouement, leaving Sydney a wraith of her former self, staggering towards the solace of her corner. Halston, in contrast, stood a figure of smug triumph, a smirk playing across her features as she witnessed the tottering remnants of Sydney's defiance.

Throughout the savage ballet of the sixth round, verbal barbs flew with the same ferocity as the physical blows. "Is that all you've got, Syd? Your punches feel like love taps!" Halston taunted, her voice a whip lashing the already charged atmosphere.

Sydney, her voice raspy with the effort of survival, hurled back insults with the remnants of her strength. "You might hit hard, Halston, but you lack the killer punch. Is this the best the great Halston can do?" she retorted, defiance sparkling in her bruised eyes.

Their exchange became the soundtrack of the round, each insult a reflection of their undying spirit and relentless desire to prevail. "Seems you're good at running your mouth, Sydney. Too bad your fists can't keep up!" Halston sneered, her fists continuing their brutal dance of destruction.

Sydney, battered but unbowed, spat back with equal venom, "Every hit you take, Halston, just proves you're more show than substance. Ready to quit yet?" Her words were knives, aiming for Halston's pride as surely as their punches sought to claim physical victory.

In the relentless exchange of physical and verbal jabs, both warriors painted a portrait of indomitable spirit, their insults as much a part of their arsenal as their fists. The round ended not with a definitive victor, but with the promise of more fury to come, each fighter burning with the unquenchable desire to stand triumphant when the final bell tolled.

Round 07:

Round Seven emerged from the chaos, a veritable clash of titans beneath the glaring lights of the arena, both warriors etching their legends with sweat, blood, and unyielding resolve. Halston Sage, her eyes afire with the blazing inferno of her determination, launched herself at Sydney Sweeney, every fiber of her being screaming for victory. "Come on, Sydney, show me something new, or is your repertoire as exhausted as your stamina?" she growled, her punches a torrential downpour aimed at eroding Sydney's defenses.

Sydney, her body a mosaic of bruises and defiance, parried with the grace of a seasoned gladiator, her spirit undimmed by the onslaught. "I'm just getting started, Hal. You're about to learn what happens when you underestimate a Sweeney," she shot back, her counterstrikes weaving a tapestry of resilience and audacity.

The ring transformed into a battlefield of wills, each insult slung between the combatants not just a mere taunt but a testament to their undying resolve. Halston, her attacks a blend of precision and ferocity, taunted, "Your punches are like whispers, Sydney. They barely tickle!"

Sydney, undeterred, retorted with venomous wit, "Tickle? That's funny, Halston. I was just thinking your guard is more like a suggestion than a defense. Do you always fight with such an open invitation?"

Their insults, sharp as daggers and swift as their jabs, filled the air with an electric tension, the audience captive to the drama that unfolded with every breath, blow, and barb. Despite Halston's relentless assault and Sydney's cunning counterattacks, Round Seven concluded without the definitive conclusion Halston sought, both fighters standing, albeit battered, their spirits as unbroken as their will to emerge victorious.

Round 08:

Round Eight unfurled like a storm, its ferocity unmatched, a testament to the indomitable will of both Halston and Sydney. Exhaustion clung to them like a second skin, yet they battled on, moving beyond the realms of mere mortals into the annals of legend. "You're running on fumes, Halston," Sydney taunted, her voice a rasp of determination, echoing through the din of the arena. "The only thing exhausted here will be your luck," Halston shot back, her words a venomous retort to the challenge before her.

As the minutes bled away, so too did the space between victory and defeat. In a moment etched in eternity, Sydney, channeling the fury of tempests, struck Halston's solar plexus with seismic force, her fist a harbinger of fate. Following like night upon day, an uppercut crashed into Halston's chin, toppling her into the embrace of the canvas. The arena, a maelstrom of sound, fell to a hush as the referee began the solemn count—ten seconds stretching into infinity.

Halston, her spirit a wildfire refusing to be quenched, struggled against the betrayal of her body. Yet, as the referee's count passed her by, she found herself a fallen warrior, leaning against the ropes of her corner, the world blurring around her. Sydney Sweeney, amidst the roar of victory, stood triumphant over Halston Sage.

Throughout the storm of fists, the insults never ceased. "Looks like you hit the floor harder than you hit me, Halston!" Sydney bellowed, the taste of victory sweet upon her tongue. Halston, defiant to the bitter end, spat back with the remnants of her strength, "Enjoy it while it lasts, Sydney. Next time, you're the canvas's date."

Victory was Sydney's, etched not just in the scorebooks, but in the memories of all who witnessed this epic battle. Two warriors, each formidable in their own right, had shown the world the true meaning of resilience, spirit, and the relentless pursuit of glory.

Official Decision: Sydney Sweeney defeats Halston Sage via KO 8!

AFTER:

As Sydney went to get her hand raised by the referee more sinister plots were unfolding on the sidelines. In Sydney’s corner where Brie Larson had been patiently watching, she prepped the Lookout! Body Saddle but an even darker plan was coming to fruition in Halston’s corner where Natasha had been holding a metal looped cloth navy blue belt that matched Halston’s attire as she passed the belt to the fallen blonde who had begun to rise.

In haste, Halston wrapped the belt around Sydney Sweeney’s neck, choking off her air supply as the stadium was paralyzed by the shocking turn of events. Halston yanked Sydney by the neck away from the referee and Sydney began to struggle with the belt as Halston placed her right boot on the small of Sydney’s back and pulled hard. “You thought this was going to be a body saddle match, b*tch? I will be riding you when this is over and I won’t need a saddle.”

“Fu—” is all Sydney managed to get out before Halston yanked hard before spinning her around to face Brie who was helpless to intervene with Natasha now standing between them. “What was that, b*tch, I couldn’t quite hear you.” Halston smirked as she tightened the belt like a noose and slammed Sydney’s head into the turnbuckle dropping Sweeney to the canvas.

Brie, deducing what was about to happen tried to rush and take Natasha off-guard as a direct confrontation with the Canadian Goddess could prove disastrous given the history of Natasha Calis’ strength and rather notorious streak. But she risked it to try and save Sydney from the humiliation that Halston had in store tackling Natasha. Except, when she went to get up, Natasha firmly had her and anyone who had faced Calis knew that was a place you did not want to be - Natasha’s muscles flexed showing just how remarkably fit and strong she is as she clearly commanded Brie in an unprecedented turn of events. “Didn’t work out how you expected, did it?” the Canadian taunted as she pressed on Brie’s back to hold her firmly against her body - Brie literally squirming which was not a sight you’d see from Brie Larson under any other condition. Up in the ring, Halston had a sadistic smile on her face knowing there won’t be further interference from Brie.

Halston unwrapped the belt. “Time for a little punishment.” Famous last words. Halston snapped the belt on Sydney’s butt. Once! Twice! Three times! Sydney was in tears begging for Halston to stop. The stadium was in uproar with those wanting to see more and those pleading for Sydney. “I told you I was going to ride you before the night was over.”

Halston wrapped the belt around Sydney’s mouth this time and stepped on her back to make sure she stayed on all fours. “I think you can at least do a lap around the ring for what you did to me.” Halston found her place without a saddle on Sydney’s back, using her taut and toned thighs to squeeze Sydney’s ribcage to make her go while steering her with the belt.

They did two full laps to the cheers and jeers of the audience. But Halston wanted Sydney to know that while she may have won the battle, the war was her’s. She pulled the belt down to Sweeney’s neck and like a noose, tightened it, choking off her air supply until she passed out much to the horror of the audience.

Halston stood up with the belt, raised her arm in victory, begging someone to challenge her as Sydney Sweeney lied asleep with medics rushing in. This would be how people would remember “Legends Never Die” - this moment, the moment Halston stood defeated yet triumphant.