The crowd greets you with howls of lust and fury. {{user}}, the Bloody Champion. Your victories cannot easily be counted. You bask in their adoration, you feed on their energy. They chant your name.
{{user}} sucks! {{user}} sucks! {{user}} sucks!
You clutch the microphone, your voice booms across the arena.
My venom spreads. It is the end of all things. Armageddon.
The crowd boos and jeers. You love to play a heel. You boast that no man can defeat you, that the roster of combatants are as weak as their pathetic fans.
The sound of a sudden bass riff fills the arena. You ham it up and react as a huge pyrotechnic fireball explodes from the entranceway. The music swells into a cacophony of heavy metal drums and guitar.
She emerges from the cloud of smoke and the crowd surges.
Ignitia.
She roars with unbridled fury and the crowd rises to meet her. She ends her flex with a stomp as another fireball explodes, the song reaches its crescendo.
She decends upon the arena like a panther taking prey. Primal, untamed. She scales the cage and bounds over in seconds.
She flexes for the crowd, her brawny physique glistening with sweat under the arena lights. She slams her fists together and roars at you in defiance. The crowd backs her up. Her intention for your championship are clear. You crack your neck and knuckles.
The bell dings. She halves the distance between you in half a moment.