[Quarter Finals] Whirda & Yuuka vs Yu Kanda & Mickey Mouse

[PepsiWhirda]

It took every ounce of stubborn resolve—all the focus and determination learned from decades of combat—for Whirda not to turn and exit the arena, leaving the entire farce behind her.  Maybe it was the blinding fluorescence of the stadium lighting.  Maybe it was the throngs of jeering bystanders.  Or maybe it was the ill-fitting jumpsuit, and the new logos emblazoning her daggers.  

A budding realization, emphasized by Yuuka’s insistent hiss to, “Drink it,” her hand outstretched to proffer a glistening bottle of the brown liquid, struck Whirda profoundly.  At some point, her struggle had become spectacle.  Her desperate need to be free of the contagion had reduced her to a joke—something to be mocked, as the crowd mocked her now, shaking their Pepsi Sisters signs and whipping themselves into a frenzy.

Across the ring, her leather-clad opponent watched her squint, his face a mask of impassivity.  Drawing a steadying breath, then another, Whirda fought to regain equilibrium.  Her thought pattern shifted from despair back to the task at hand: victory, at any cost.

“Careful, Kanda!” the exorcist’s companion, some cross between a wererat and a cherubic halfling, squeaked.  “That’s Wiggly Whirligig, don’t underestimate her!”

Kanda’s lips drew back in a tight grimace, but he offered no response. As he regarded his dusky foe, he noted two serpentlike appendages writhing within the voluminous sleeves of her jumpsuit.  Every moment that passed allowed her more time to prepare spells and formulate attack routines.

Brandishing his katana, Kanda ran two fingers along the length of the blade.  “Mugen Unsheathe, Innocence Activate,” he intoned, an oath he had uttered a thousand times before.  The reflection glimmered in his eyes as a silver glow enveloped the weapon.  Wasting no time, the exorcist darted forward, his blade tracing a wide arc.

Whirda already knew the counter.  Her daggers hissed from their sheaths, the practiced movement happening quicker than either combatant’s eyes could follow.  Stepping aside and turning parallel to her approaching foe, reducing the plane of her torso, Whirda lashed out with her daggers in a one-two strike.  Metal screeched against metal, throwing sparks.  The attack stole the momentum from Kanda’s swing, forcing his arm out wide.  

Thinking she had him off-balance, Whirda dropped into a crouch and thrust one leg in the path of the exorcist’s feet, a clever tactic she had used in countless battles.  But Kanda, a veteran fighter—a consummate warrior in his own regard—had little difficulty hopping over the extended limb, even flipping his katana into a reverse grip and slashing out behind him.  The attack, a blind attempt to catch Whirda off-guard, nevertheless proved accurate.  Whirda tucked into a nimble roll, but when she regained her feet she felt the sting of a cut on the tip of her nose—the warm sensation of a trickle of blood across her lips.

“First blood,” the exorcist smirked.

A feral growl escaped from deep within her.  In a blur of movement, she hurled the shadechill dagger end over end, fluorescent light sparking off its wicked blade.  

Agile Kanda sidestepped the flying dagger, glaring at Whirda… but the plagued woman had vanished, a shimmering Pepsi logo hovering in the air where she had once stood.

Whirda reappeared behind her confused enemy, catching the thrown dagger in her free hand, the pinnacle of coordination.  The exorcist, anticipating the attack, tried to dart forward, out of her reach.  

An umbral serpent coiled around his neck, jerking him back.  A moment later, the pommel of a dagger smashed into the base of his skull, sending him staggering forward.

“Second blood,” Whirda offered, landing catlike in a crouch.

“Bah gawd,” the voice of the commentator boomed through the stadium, “the athleticism of this woman!”

“Holy cow!” Kanda’s diminutive ally whistled.  “Blues wasn’t kidding about you, Whirly.”

Blues.  That name, unearthed from the catacombs of her past, froze Whirda in place.  She turned a blank stare on Mickey, a question caught in her throat.

Seizing on her distraction, Kanda recovered and dashed in, jabbing his katana straight out toward Whirda’s stomach.

Whirda recovered her wits just in time.  A desperate, conjured gust of wind hurled her out of the katana’s reach, the plagued woman twisting to regain her bearings.  The thought to conjure a second, stabilizing gust crossed her mind a split-second before her head clipped the turnbuckle, disrupting her concentration.  Slipping from consciousness, she ragdolled into the reaching arms of the crowd.

*****

“3...”

Whirda’s head lolled about grotesquely.  The crowd piled in, hands grasping at her semi-conscious form like a mounting tide swallowing the shore.

“2…”

Blues.

A single, bleary eye fluttered open.  A storm brewed in Whirda, an ineffable hunger begging to be unleashed.  As her fury mounted, the dull gray iris shifted to an incandescent, icy blue.

“1…”

As the crowd erupted in deafening applause, falsely believing the fight to be at its end, so too did Whirda erupt from thin air above the distracted exorcist.  He caught sight of her, bringing his glowing sword across to parry the thrusting daggers, but even Kanda was too slow.  Both blades dug deep gouges in his chest.  

Kanda bullied forward, screaming his outrage at the plagued woman’s trickery.  Whirda pushed off and hit the mat, leveraging her momentum into a backward somersault and coming up against the turnbuckle beside her Youkai companion.

“Close one,” Yuuka offered plaintively.

Whirda reached out, slapping Yuuka’s hand.  “Gotta give ‘em a show.”