FCBA HISTORY

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BREATHLESS @ THE METROPOLITAN OPERA HOUSE

Posted by caspian on 19 May 2024 at 8:17 am

(Results: Lookout!, Words: Caspian)

3. Alyssa Lynch vs. Savannah McCray (Body Saddle)

Alyssa:
(28, 5’7, 120, 68:30 FCBA, VIXENs)

Savannah:
(22, 5’6, FCBA Debut, Free Agent)

BEFORE:
The lights dim, and the crowd's roar swells in anticipation for our third fight on the card. Spotlights cut through the smoky haze, revealing two fighters, poised for battle. Alyssa "Chainsmoker", the Canadian veteran, is on the cusp of her 100th fight in the FCBA. And while she has never won a title in her illustrious career, that hasn’t stopped the brunette from carving her own path. Tonight, she’s set her sights on recovery, and another grueling saddle bout that promises fireworks.

Across the ring, in stark contrast to her opponent, Savannah McCray makes her second-ever bout in the ring. She removes her silken black robe, a statement of no-nonsense, icy focus. Her toned muscles ripple under the lights, evidence of her brutal training regime for a newcomer. Even with her height disadvantage, there’s a compact power to the way she’s moving. And after eight years in the FCBA, Miss Lynch can attest to the newcomer’s younger, more youthful focus.

She may be the American newcomer to the arena, but a vibrant crimson sports bra and matching shorts outlines her lithe, athletic frame, contrasting sharply with Alyssa's more somber attire. She’s a little shorter, yes, but every inch of her was taut with wiry energy. Each twitch of a muscle, every shadow cast by her bouncing blonde ponytail, exudes the untamed spirit of an underdog with nothing to lose in this next bout.

An official circles both fighters, with the glint of the VIX body saddle catching the light as he goes through the final formalities. Alyssa's jaw tenses, just for a second, while Savannah's gaze darts towards the heavy leather contraption set up next to the ring just beyond the ropes: a low table cuts an ominous silhouette against the crowd. Atop it, the body saddle lies in wait – supple leather, gleaming straps, and cold metal buckles promise consequences at the end of this fight.

The referee gets the nod from both fighters, and HERE WE GO with ten rounds of Bantamweight action! This here’s a Body Saddle bout!

ROUND 1:
Round One explodes into action the moment the bell rings, and Alyssa, characteristically methodical, advances with measured steps. Her first jabs test Savannah's defenses, probing for weaknesses to exploit, and the blonde, true to her nature, responds in a whirlwind of feints and unpredictable angles. She dances just a little out of the Vixen’s reach, snapping back with swift, stinging counters. Meanwhile, the crowd buzzes. This is no cautious opening round, and Savannah doesn’t seem cowed by Alyssa's reputation, bringing her own brand of aggression to the clash. However, while her punches lack her raw power, their sheer volume put the veteran fighter on the defensive for brief, unsettling bursts. Alyssa's face tightens in a frown, her composure momentarily ruffled. Yet, after the blonde overextends with a wild hook, she easily lands a counter-punch that connects with Savannah's jaw, a solid impact that knocks her back a step. The American shakes it off, but the exchange has shifted subtly. In the last minute, Alyssa finds her rhythm. Her jabs became more purposeful, each one landing with the weight of experience behind it, and Savannah's footwork, though dazzling, can;’t completely outmaneuver the longer reach, and two stinging body shots and a final blow grazes Savannah's cheek to seal the deal. The bell signals the end of the round, and sweat glistens on both fighters, but Alyssa exudes a sense of control reasserted. The judges are also unanimous - a clear, if not completely dominant, win for Chainsmoker to open this fight. Yet, a lingering question hangs in the air: has Savannah revealed some cracks in her armor?

ROUND 2:
The bell clangs, and Savannah charges from her corner like a released wildcat, a blistering offense fueled by something akin to desperation. She isn't reckless; each flurry of punches is calculated, aiming to overwhelm Alyssa's measured style and close the distance. Lynch is temporarily caught off-guard, forced into a defensive posture she clearly dislikes. In front of her, the blonde moves like a blur, feinting left, striking right, ducking under one jab to unleash an uppercut from an unpredictable angle, landing all sorts of shots to her arms, making her grit her teeth, the veteran’s once-impenetrable composure being tested. It’s do or die for Savannah, and every punch is a desperate gamble, and for moments, it seems the newcomer might even land a truly devastating blow, a flicker of triumph mirroring the near-victory she'd tasted in her fight against Diana Korkunova. It’s a brutal, messy round so far, leaving Alyssa's cheek flushed, a thin trickle of blood appearing at the corner of her lip after another one-two combo stings inwards. Yet, Savannah isn't unscathed either. Her eye is starting to swell where a glancing punch had caught her high on the temple. Both fighters are breathing hard, but the frantic energy radiating from Savannah is something Alyssa rarely faces. With just seconds left to go, the rookie tries to rush the more experienced girl down, surprising her with a flurry to her forehead. Panicked, Lynch scrambles back and covers, but instead of aiming high, the blonde model throws a feint before a left hook, with brutal force, slams into her ribs, drawing a sharp grunt of pain. But in the seconds after, it's her right hand that becomes her real weapon. Like a piston, Savannah's gloved fist keeps hammering into Alyssa's stomach. Pushed into the ropes, again and again, it strikes, just above the waistband of her shorts. Each impact is a sickening whuddd of leather on muscle, forcing a wheeze of breath from Alyssa's lips. Her guard, once impenetrable, falters as she instinctively bends forward, trying to shield her vulnerable midriff. And Savannah, with a glint of triumph in her eyes, keeps hammering away, aiming her punches slightly upwards and angled, driving the winded Vixen back against the ropes with every brutal thrust. The leather makes a sickening slapping sound against Alyssa's taut abs, the flesh quivering with every impact, and for a horrifying moment, it seems like Alyssa might crumble. The bell sounds soon after, cutting through the din like a lifeline. Alyssa, gasping, slumps against the ropes, her body aching, her pride wounded. But Savannah doesn’t step back, instead leaning in and huffing hot air in the brunette’s ear: "You like that, pretty girl?" she taunts, her voice thick with malice. "Gettin' you ready for a little ride later…" Instantly, Alyssa's eyes flash with a mix of rage and humiliation. "Get the hell away from me," she snarls, her voice hoarse but venomous, before shoving the insolent blonde back with both hands. The force sends the younger fighter stumbling backward, but that smirk remains on Savannah’s pretty face. Meanwhile, the judges confer, a flicker of surprise in their faces, as Savannah's sheer aggression and surprising resilience even the playing field this time. The decision comes as a shock to the crowd: she’s won the round, and definitively at the same time! And just like that, this fight is blown wide open!

ROUND 3:
Alyssa, pride clearly stung, advances with renewed purpose, determined to reclaim control. But Savannah isn't backing down. Blood, both figurative and literal, fuels her on. The center of the ring transforms into a brutal dance. Alyssa's longer reach gives her an advantage, but Savannah's speed consistently catches her off guard. Jabs become hooks, crosses morph into uppercuts. The crowd gasps as bodies collide, sweat spraying with each impact. Unsurprisingly, the focus shifts below the waistline. Alyssa, desperate to slow Savannah's relentless attack, targets her tummy with punishing blows, reaching under her arms to thump the torso. Yet, the blonde refuses to crumble. Gritting her teeth, she absorbs the body shots, before countering with her own lunges to Alyssa's midsection. The Vixen is forced to take a defensive stance again when a sudden step-in uppercut spears her to her lower belly, sending her body jolting from the impact. This wasn't in her playbook. Not from an insolent little rookie. Anger flickers in her eyes, and a part of her even admires Savannah's resilience. Astonishing, no matter how much abuse she's taken – the blonde is a wave crashing against iron cliffs, each blow chipping away at Alyssa's composure. The round continues as a whirlwind of leather and agonized gasps. Alyssa lands several solid shots off the sides, leaving angry red welts across Savannah's torso, but the blonde still refuses to yield. The turning point comes like a lightning strike. Faking a left jab, Savannah lunges in with a brutal right cross, which catches Alyssa square on the chin. The sickening crack snaps her head backwards, her eyes turning glassy with the impact. Her legs momentarily wobble, the lights shimmering in her dazed vision. Savannah doesn't waste a second. With several skips forward, she closes the distance and wraps her arms around the stunned Lynch, pinning her in a suffocating clinch. "Like this, b*tch?" she hisses into Alyssa's ear, a mixture of savage triumph and barely restrained glee. Her fists pummel Alyssa's cheek and jaw from the side, blows meant to inflict pain rather than secure a clean knockdown. Her other hand, however, begins a devastating attack on Alyssa's sides: hook after hook rams into the exposed flesh, digging viciously into the space between her ribcage and hip. Alyssa, trapped and staggering, struggles to protect herself, her arms pinned and her body slowly wilting. "Gonna break you down," Savannah grunts with a grin, every word punctuated by a thud against her stomach. "Gonna make you beg to wear that saddle." Through a haze of pain and disorientation, Alyssa fights back with defiant spirit, a guttural cry tearing from her throat as she tries in vain to wrestle free. Her legs, weakened by the earlier blow, threaten to buckle. But even dazed, she refuses to surrender completely. Thankfully, the bell punctuates this awe-inspiring display of raw willpower. Both women are visibly shaken, though it's Alyssa's once-immaculate composure that's more fractured. The judges' decision isn't unanimous this time, but the verdict echoes louder than any previous round: another win for Savannah. She's starting to crack the shell of the veteran Vixen, proving there's fire beneath the ice as long as one got under her skin.

ROUND 4:
The roar of the crowd intensifies as Round Four begins. The momentum has shifted dramatically, and Savannah, emboldened by her two consecutive wins, charges out of her corner like a storm. Alyssa, her face etched with a mixture of anger and something that might be grudging respect, meets the onslaught head-on. The first two minutes are a blur of blonde aggression. Savannah throws punches with reckless abandon, fueled by a desperate desire to maintain control. Her jabs, once sharp and precise, become wild swings, leaving her midsection exposed. Her footwork, which kept her dancing just out of Alyssa's reach in previous rounds, grows sloppy. She lunges with her punches, sacrificing technique for raw power. It's a gamble – a desperate attempt to overwhelm Alyssa before the Vixen can find her rhythm. Yet, Alyssa holds her ground, her veteran's reflexes keeping her mostly out of harm's way. She bides her time, searching for an opening amidst the whirlwind. Then, Savannah's fury clouds her judgment. Her punches grow wilder, her footwork less precise. Suddenly, she overextends on a right hook, leaving herself completely exposed – this is the opening Alyssa's been waiting for! With a lightning-fast counter-right, Alyssa connects a brutal cross to Savannah's jaw! The impact stuns the blonde, sending her reeling backwards. Her earlier bravado evaporates, replaced by panicked desperation. Her once-precise blocks become flailing attempts at defense, her own punches weak and telegraphed. Alyssa presses her advantage, her assault feasting on Savannah's vulnerabilities. Another vicious right hook catches Savannah square on the temple, sending a jolt through the arena and an even bigger jolt through the rookie's frame! Savannah's eyes widen, her legs turning to jelly. But Alyssa isn't finished yet. Driven by a primal urge to inflict complete domination, she launches herself at the falling Savannah. Time seems to slow as Alyssa rains down blows on Savannah's exposed midsection. Each sickening thud echoes through the arena. The first punches, brutal hooks launched from Alyssa's coiled core, slam into Savannah's already-battered sides. The impact halts the blonde's descent momentarily, propelling her upper body upwards in a grotesque, involuntary arch. Savannah's head lolls back, her face a mask of pain and terror. But the reprieve is short-lived. With a final, earth-shattering blow, Alyssa digs her right fist into the soft flesh just above Savannah's navel. The impact steals the last vestiges of fight from her. Savannah's back spasms, the arch inverting as she crumples to all fours. She collapses, hugging her battered midsection. This time, there's no chance of recovery. Alyssa's own momentum carries her onto the ropes, collapsing above her stunned opponent.

It's the first brutal KNOCKDOWN of the evening! The referee dives in to initiate a ten-count, his voice barely audible over the roaring spectators. "One...Two..." Alyssa stands frozen, breathing hard, her own battered tummy pulsing. Raw power and dawning shock etch her face. "Five...Six..." Savannah remains motionless on the canvas, her cheek pressed to the mat. "Nine...Ten!" The referee's voice booms through the arena. "KO! Your winner, Alyssa 'Chainsmoker' Lynch!"

Official Result: Alyssa Lynch defeats Savannah McCray via KO4!

AFTER:
Alyssa, sweat dripping down her bruised face, barely spares a glance at the ring officials swarming Savannah. Her eyes are fixed on the body saddle, a cold glint replacing the wild fire that fueled her during the fight. With a grim sense of purpose, she stumbles to the side of the ring and gestures for the officials to give it to her. Or else.

Then, having retrieved the humiliating device, its straps gleaming under the harsh arena lights, she quickly approaches Savannah, who now sits groggily propped against the ropes. Alyssa shows no trace of sympathy – there's no gentle touch, no pretense of concern for her vanquished opponent. Instead, she roughly grabs Savannah by the arm, yanking her into a position of all-fours.

Kneeling beside her, Alyssa works quickly, a no-nonsense triumph in her actions. Savannah groans, her eyes fluttering open in confusion, as the straps are adjusted around her torso, the buckles tightened matter-of-factly. There's a cold cruelty in Alyssa's touch, at times punctuated by a hard yank on Savannah's disheveled blonde tresses to get her into the correct position.

The younger fighter, still disoriented, sways on her hands and knees. A wave of nausea washes over her as the straps of the saddle are secured across her torso. Each buckle snaps shut with a finality that makes her wince and groan, the leather biting into her aching flesh. No words are exchanged; Alyssa's focus is cold, methodical, driven by the need to assert not just victory, but absolute domination.

As the final strap is tightened with a loud ziiiippppp, Savannah lets out a choked sob, a mix of pain and indignity. Tears of frustration well in her eyes as she stares down at the canvas, her head hung low. Yet, defiance still flickers in their depths. Then, in a final act of dominance, Lynch straddles Savannah from behind, her legs pinning her opponent's body just above the canvas. She reaches down and over, grasping fistfuls of Savannah's blonde hair, pulling her head back.

"Like those reins, b*tch?" Alyssa hisses, her voice raspy and breathless. "You got a hell of a ride coming after your behavior in there tonight."

Savannah, tears of frustration and fury welling in her eyes, chokes out a defiant insult. “I’ll get you for this,” she says, her body trembling beneath the victor’s weight.

Alyssa doesn't flinch. Instead, she leans forward and down, pressing her lips against Savannah's ear. "No, you won't," she whispers, her voice low and venomous. "When I break you, you'll be the one begging. Begging for the ride of your life."

"Giddy up," she straightens and sneers, bucking her hips against Savannah's back. Taken off guard, the blonde lets out a yelp, feeling the harsh leather cut into her back, forcing her to surge forward a few clumsy steps, her arms and legs still wobbling beneath her.

Alyssa yanks roughly on her hair, forcing her to remain upright. "C'mon, horsey," she taunts, her voice dripping with malice. She squeezes her legs against Savannah's sides, digging her thighs in further. Another buck of her hips sends Savannah staggering forward. With brutal and practiced efficiency, she continues using Savannah's hair as makeshift reins, alternating yanks to steer her stumbling opponent about the ring.

Meanwhile, Savannah's resistance crumbles with each painful step. Her body shakes with the combined strain of exhaustion and the relentless humiliation. Finally, with a choked sob, she collapses downwards, her body wracked with pain and exhaustion. Alyssa, her thighs burning, slides off her opponent's back. She stands over Savannah, smirking, striking a pose for the cameras – one hand on her raised hip, the other flexed for show.

Later, backstage, the adrenaline rush of victory still courses through her veins, mixing with the lingering sting of her own bruises. She faces the press, a swarm of reporters thrusting microphones and flashing cameras, their questions a barrage of noise. Yet, her expression is cold, calculating. Victory hasn't softened Alyssa. If anything, the brutal fight has fueled her ambition.

"That girl?" She smirks, dismissing Savannah with a flick of her hand. "Please. A rookie with some fire, that's all. Thought she could intimidate me, break Chainsmoker." Alyssa's voice drips with contempt. "Turns out, she's the one who got broken."

The reporters, sensing the shift in focus, lean forward eagerly. This is the headline they're hungry for. "And now?" one journalist presses. "They're already talking up a rematch. Savannah's vowing revenge..."

Alyssa cuts him off with a wave of the hand. "Let her talk. Let her dream about it when she's still wearing that saddle. Listen..." Her gaze hardens, her voice slicing through the air. "I'm not playing these little games with wannabes anymore.”

A ripple of anticipation sweeps through the press. They know the name that hangs unspoken between them. "Anya Taylor-Joy," Alyssa declares. Her eyes glitter with a dangerous intensity. "She's got my Body Saddle title. AND my Bantamweight belt. BOTH of them belong to ME."

She leans forward, her words a low growl. "I'm coming for it all, Anya. That's a promise. I'm gonna break you, same way I broke Savannah tonight."