Lost Again [Revised]

~+~ Two ~+~

Tate was the target; Cerise was the shooter and she planned hitting it straight down the middle. All she needed to do was to find her weaknesses.

The bell rang somewhere off in a corner of the room, echoing throughout the entire room. Punching her fist against her palm, Cerise shuffled forward towards the middle of the ring. Tate did the same, mocking Cerise's steps.

Cerise knew the second they started circling each other one thing Tate lacked at was agility and speed. Cerise was agile with her steps, Tate was not. And the other girl knew that as her face grew agitated after several sloppy blocks and slow kicks to Cerise's side. Tate's impatience and slowness was going to be her downfall.

What Tate did not know was that Cerise was full of surprises. So when she pounced on Tate with a right hook, the girl was not prepared. Cerise glanced over at Tate as she nursed her jaw for only a millimeter of a second. Tate pulled on Cerise's legs, causing her to fall to the floor with Tate. The audience gasped in surprise.

Cerise used the motivation from the crowd of bulky men and women to fuel her already pulsing anger. The two started to wrestle to the top. Whoever stood first was victorious. They pushed off each other and stood at the same time. Cerise wiped her blood off her bottom lip. Tate took the risk, and lunged for Cerise blindly.

Cerise noticed Tate was fueled with anger, as was Cerise, as she charged and as Cerise easily dodged. Tate was just another troubled soul that found sanctuary in hurting someone with her own fists. Exactly the same reason as why Cerise was here. To know that for once, she had control. She thrived on the feeling she gets when she is dominant over the opponent. She embraced it openly.

Cerise dodged many of Tate's attacks that it got to the point where the loud screams of the audience members infiltrated her concentration, penetrating her guarded ears. She clenched her fists, staring over at the exhausted Tate limply throw another weak punch against her leg.

Before Tate called it quits and the referee ended the match, Cerise raised her closed fist, silencing every one in the premises. Their excited chants flowed through her head. She wanted this. She needed this.

Cerise pumped a fist in the air, a smirk on her lips, "What does the one and only Death's Angel do everyone?"

They replied, screeching, "She collects his souls!"

She bent a hand over her ear, leaning towards the crowd. "So, what does that mean I have to do?"

Deep manly voices responded, chanting, "Collect her soul, collect her soul!" The woman's voices soon joined in, all pumping their energy driven fists in the air.

Cerise smiled mischievously and leaned down. Tate spluttered as Cerise wrapped her hands loosely around the other girls' neck. The audience continued to cheer in the background, repeating the same chant over and over again. "You think you have me fooled? Acting all weak so you have the upper hand against me? I think not."

She removed her grasp from Tate's neck. Even if the thought was tempting she needed this girl to get angry. She needed to grab onto Tate's weakness and crush it. Cerise had to break this girl to the point of insanity. She had to do her job and collect other girl's soul.

Tate's large green orbs brightened with fury. She pushed herself out of Cerise's grasp and stood up, sending a left hook to Cerise's jaw, hitting the target right on point. She struck again, this time hitting the right side of her face. Suddenly, Tate stopped, taking deep breaths in and out. They were ragged and hard, proving how exhausted she was truly becoming.

Cerise coughed and spit some more as she regained as much control as she could. She couldn't lose it, she needed it. With shaking legs, Cerise stood straight up, taking her opponent by surprise.

The brown haired girl laughed, mismatched eyes twinkling with a slight smugness. "Surprised? Good." Her amused face contorted into one of taunting and before Tate could register it, Cerise was already on top of her, sending strike after strike.

Tate struggled against the relentlessness of Cerise's punches. Eventually, she stopped and Cerise had known the game was over.

She had won.

She had control.

Cerise looked away from the destroyed person before her and towards the audience she mustered. The arena was filled with dirty, rotting men with woman attached to their buff chests. Many of the men didn't have their shirts on and a lot of the woman were just in their undergarments. If not, then something dangerously close to that.

Her eyes scanned the crowd as they shouted and clanged their bottles against one another. Large, triumphant smiles covered many of their cheeks as they looked back at her with pride.

Cerise saw her old trainer in the corner. When she was new, he taught both her and Jasper the real way to fight. It was because of him that she was still here. He was a buff man, in his mid thirties. Dirty blonde hair covered his amber eyes that glinted with happiness most of the time. She nodded towards him as he raised his glass.

The crowd screamed with cheers as she raised her fists once more with a dangerous smirk and the mischievous glint still in her eyes.

Tate was still fighting unconsciousness when Cerise glanced back at her. She was barely managing to beat it. Cerise caught on to Tate's twitching hands and feet and the hardly noticeable movement of her mouth. Anyone else would have thought she was out cold but Cerise knew better; and she hated that. As Cerise towered over Tate, a gruesome thought came to her.

Cerise grabbed Tate's twitching hand and forced her up. The other girl could barely stand with someone helping her, seeing her walk on her own would be horrid.

Raising her mouth to Tate's ear, she whispered, voice eerily calm, "Jasper may take a liking to you but I don't. You won't take my title from me, I won't allow it. Go to Jasper all you want but the second you enter my house, I'll make you sure won't be so confident anymore. Ever come here again, intent on fighting me, come to me first, not some kid at school. Though, with how this is going, I suggest you never come back."

A smirk came upon Cerise's lips and with a faint 'oops!' she let go of her hold on Tate and forced her to fall. She fell to the floor with a thud, her body smacking loudly against the arena floor.

Tate attempted to crawl away from Cerise on her hands and knees, desperate to have some leverage over the other girl. Cerise watched with amusement as Tate tried to escape; as she tried to gain Cerise's control.

Cerise grabbed the back of Tate's shirt before she could grab onto anything solid. Dragging her back to the center, she picked out a pocket knife from her short pocket. She raised it, asking the crowd with a raised brow. They roared with agreement, the chant escaping their lips once more.

Once again, Cerise managed to glance at Jasper's horrified face. His mouth was agape, dark eyes wide with sadness and something else that was unreadable. She cocked her head to the left, attempting to figure out what he was doing. Before she could read him, his face turned cold. Unreadable.

She chuckled, unfazed by the dark look Jasper sent her way and stared at the girl below her. Tate looked down, facing utter humiliation, unaware of the knife hanging between two of Cerise's fingers. Cerise smiled down at her horror and brought the knife to her neck. She slowly trailed it along her neck and up her cheek, laughing as the other girl tensed under her.

In one swift movement, a small, thin cut appeared on Tate's cheek and the pocket knife was placed in its original position. Cerise let go of the drooping Tate, punched her in the jaw and walked out of the ring, giving her fans an air kiss.

This was her dome and anyone who dare mess with her will pay the consequences.

She had the control.

No one else.

And it would stay that way.