Starstruck Part 2 - Rock and Roll Nightmare

"Five minutes til you're on, Mr. Stevie."

The square-jawed, lean jock in the military fatigues glared back at the Brazilian PA just trying to do her. She smiled politely at Cadet Stevie, who was, at present, doing push-ups in the middle of his dressing room.

"Don't interrupt my set!" the brash American snarled back. "Two-hundred-and-ninety-eight....two-hundred-and-ninety-nine....three hundred." He gasped for breath, pushing off the ground and onto his feet. 

"New record." The spellbreaker flexed his chest in the mirror, admiring his looks. He grabbed the towel off the counter and patted himself down. This whole place was a dump. Dirty. Dusty. Crumbling.

These Brazilians are so undisciplined, Stevie thought. Too lazy. Too hedonistic. None of them could ever hope to regiment themselves into acquiring a body like his. He took in the sight of his sculpted abs and biceps, all of them earned by copious amounts of strict diet and exercise. He'd trained hard to get this far, and if these drooling, drunken morons out in the audience couldn't see that--recognize his glory--then they were worthless. Then again, it didn't matter. This whole match was a write-off anyway. Stevie figured he'd get paid for the gig, kick some loser's ass, and then fly back to America as soon as-

"Ahem..."

That annoying PA again. Stevie sighed, adjusted his camo pants, and turned to the door. "What now--" He stopped short.

Framed in the doorway, like a work of art, was a lean, muscular individual in hot-pink, zebra striped pants. Their torso was bare and oiled, every muscle glinting in the dressing room lighting. Long, pink hair--held back by a tasteful bandana--travelled down to just below their neck. Their lips were lightly painted.

The fighter gave Stevie a wolfish smile.

Who let the circus in? "Who are you?" Stevie bit. He pulled a jar of pomade off the counter and gelled back his buzzcut, hoping this...weirdo, or whoever they were, would leave them in peace.

The pink-haired stud laughed to themselves, then stepped into the room. "Your worst nightmare," they said in a confident tone. He undressed Stevie with his eyes. "Or, your sweetest dream." With a dramatic bow, Iggy extended their hand in a gesture of sportsmanship. "Iggy Astro. The pleasure is mine."

Stevie shook their hand, but only out of general etiquette. It was soft, but very strong. The Cadet's eyes travelled down to their fingers--was that nail polish? Ugh!

Straight-laced and proper, Stevie reeled back in disgust, pushing Astro's hand away, rudely. "You're my opponent? Ugh. Figures these idiots would put me up against a freak. Well. If you've come by to be a good sport, I appreciate it...I guess." 

Stevie thumped his chest--and then, in a act of obnoxious, masculine bravado, tore off his fatigues, revealing his green-and-brown, camo wrestling trunks. "But I'll beat you down all the same!"

Iggy rolled their eyes. "Camo under camo? How tacky." He shrugged, tossing back his bubble-gum colored locks, letting some of his magickally produced, luminous glitter fly off him with the swoop of his hair. "To me, you look like a little boy playing in his underwear." Iggy adjusted himself in Stevie's presence.

Even Stevie couldn't hide his expression once he'd zeroed in on Iggy's prominent bulge. For a moment, he felt something stir inside him, his mouth water. He shook his head. "Puh-lease. I am a disciplined, hard working, conservative American. What gender are you even supposed to be?"

"Ha! Gender? It is for lesser mortals."

"Hmph. Figures you'd think that. I've seen your women here, flaunting themselves! The men, just as worse. Disgusting."

Iggy crosses their arms, studying the upstanding soldier, taking in his arrogance and self-righteousness. "I am sure this might come as a shock to you--as someone who clearly makes snap-judgements based on one's personal appearances, my sweet soldier--but I consider myself a very philosophical person. The Goddess gave us our bodies so that we may do with them as we please, provided they do not violate the liberties of another. As you are a visitor from a land that supposedly prides itself on freedom, I am shocked to hear you you feel as if you have the right to tell people what to do or how to live their lives."

"This city is a hell hole." Stevie grit his teeth, counting each vice on his finger. "Crime. Violence. Deviance."

"My three favorite things!" Iggy sized his quarry up. Still, he wasn't beyond extending an olive branch. "Tell me, gatinho. You can't be all starch and clean underwear. What music are you into?"

"Certainly not rock and roll. It's The Adversary's music! Corrupting youth!" He spat on the floor, dangerously close to Iggy's custom made, green boots. "Freaks like you are a disgrace." He glared daggers at his opponent, willing them to get out his sight.

But Iggy Astro saw something else behind his eyes. As a Light magi, he could sniff out someone's aura, see it in crystal clarity. Stevie's was a cloud of uptight, gray-green ego concealing a soft pink bud of unrepressed desire. 

Iggy's new goal was to nurture that bud until it bloomed.. 

Iggy licked his lips, hungrily. "I...know that look. In your eyes."

Stevie took as step back. He was angry at himself for backing down. "Excuse me?"

"Yes, I know it well." Iggy drew closer. Predator. Seducer. He slid a finger across the mirror's countertop. "Methinks the lady doth protest too much." 

Stevie didn't back away, but Iggy could smell the fear on him, even if the boy didn't show it. He had no idea what he was dealing with, of course. Iggy smiled, then slid his finger up Stevie's chiselled abs. The military whelp glared at him, unflinching. But his insides told a different story.

Iggy Astro pressed his hips against Stevie's pelvis. "I know you want me, Stevie. And do you know where I want you?" Iggy's stare went icy cold, but he grinned even wider. "On your knees. Begging for mercy."

Stevie's shoulders fell back. Still, he was military trained, and wasn't going to back away from a challenge. He pushed his chest into this pink pansy. "I'm going to kill you," he growled.

Iggy dismissed the weak threat. "No. Oh, no. You won't." He turned and walked away, making sure to swivel his hips and let Stevie get a good look at his rippling back and steely buttocks as he did.

Leaning against the doorframe, Iggy looked back over shoulder and blew Stevie a neon-lit kiss print. "But by the time I'm done with you, kitten, you're really going to wish you had."

"This place remind you of New Orleans?"

John Henry gestured to the cramped auditorium. Exposed piping and wiring. Mold on the walls. Yet, despite the venue's dilapidated appearance, Colt spotted all the little details signifying the passion put into the sport. Flags and banners covered the walls. Carnival-colored bunting ran over the ring, criss-crossing the lighting rig. It was a firetrap, to be sure, but there was love here too.

"That's what I love about spellbreaking matches outside the US," Colt shouted over the rambunctious but genial audience. He lifted his plastic cup of cheap beer in salute. "It's a lot harder for some places to fund spellbreaking. I was talking to the guys who run the venue and could tell all the hard work they'd put into it. Lots of gratitude. That's why I want the GSA to get bigger! So we can start funding more ventures like this abroad."

"For the love of the sport...or the love of money?"

Colt winked. "Mostly the sport." He eyed the crowd. Seemed there more women in attendance than American or Texan shows. Beautiful women at that. "Of course, this gig you comes with its perks..."

"And what do you think about this Iggy Astro? You saw them make eyes at you?"

"Who doesn't make eyes at me?" Colt fired back playfully. "People with bad taste, that's who. Besides, it's a modern world. Helps to keep an open mind."

"Sounds like you might have a crush."

"Nah. Couldn't date a guy or gal with a pony bigger than mine." Colt teased his longtime friend with a sly wink. "Else I'd have married your handsome ass a long time ago."

"Hah! Drink your beer."

The lights in the auditorium dimmed, as did the general chatter in the crowed. The announcer, speaking in Portuguese, welcomed the first contender to the ring. Patriotic, American-flavored music swelled from out of the loudspeakers. Cadet Stevie threw open the curtain at the back of the aisle, standing with his arms behind his back in perfect military posture, all the while glaring at the audience. The response was a mix of cheers and boos.

"Now there's a fit guy," John Henry commented to Colt. "Sure we shouldn't be trying to recruit the All-American? You like heroes, don't you?"

Colt scrunched up his face. "I don't disagree, but this guy's got zero charisma. Plus, he reminds me of my creepy neighbors growing up."

"The ones with the kids who used to torture the frogs by the watering hole?"

"Yep. Real Church-every-Sunday type folks. This boy's got their scent all over him. I support the troops, sure enough, but not this troop's spellbreaking career. Besides, strictly between you and I, I think the Navy has more flair."

"Sailors over soldiers, huh?"

"Who doesn't love a man in uniform, big guy?"

Cadet Steve marched down the aisle, ignoring the amiable locals extending their hands for high-fives or handshakes. The young warrior with the buzz cut looked at the crowd as if they were visibly diseased, opting instead to go straight for the ring. A modest head-nod towards the female ref, dressed in standard referee attire, was the only cordiality he offered. Stevie let her pat him down, looking visibly uncomfortable that a woman he wasn't married to should be touching his pure, pristine body. Once she was satisfied, he lazily removed his military fatigues.

Colt frowned. "That's it? No flexin'? No showboat? What's he doing, getting into a ring or getting into bed for the night?" Sure, the kid had a killer bod, but he looked...well...bored. Or worse, boring. "I hate to say it, but our home continent isn't putting out its best for this match, J.H. I'll be interested to see what--"

A sharp guitar riff drowned out Colt's voice. In ring, Stevie covered his ears to dampen the hellish sound.

Beam of pink, green, and yellow light exploded out from the curtain, blowing it back and bringing the audience onto their feet, screaming like they were at a rock concert. Smoke and glitter poured out in a deluge. Carried along the neon torrent, Iggy Astro glided out like a rock and roll god, whipping their head back and throwing the crowd the good ol' devil horns. Headbanging along to the metal melody, they strummed along in time to with the solid 'light-beam' guitar cradled in their hands--one of their 3D light conjurations. A glowing neon croptop clung to their massive chest, giving Astro's many admirers a great look at their diamond-cut six pack. Their pink, zebra stripe pants bore the same glow-in-the dark effect. Both pieces of attire looked painted on, they were so tight. Unlike Stevie, Iggy was content with taking their time getting to the ring, basking in the glow of the crowd. Smoke and light wrapped around them, obscuring the auditorium floor, making it look as if they were a neon Venus emerging from the ocean.

With a snap of their finger, Iggy's light guitar burst into hundreds of neon, rainbow sparks, ascending upward to the rafters and creating a matrix of luminous beams. The audience members had come for a spellbreaking match, but that wasn't enough for Iggy Astro. He wanted to give them a rock concert and a lightshow too.

The neon demon strutted down the aisle, lip-synching to his own lyrics.

I am your fire, your angel from hell

Taking you higher, under my spell.

And indeed, his light magic had its hypnotic effect on the crowd. It activated the audience's neurons, releasing serotonin, putting all in attendance into an ecstatic trance (or pushing them much closer to an epileptic fit, in any case).

A selfie pose with a devoted fan here, a quick autograph there, a cheek-kiss there. Iggy Astro was the odd contrast between untouchable deity and neighborhood star. They were Bacchus come down to revel among his worshippers. 

Colt and Henry, in any case, were speechless. The only thing the cowboy king could do was grin wildly and be assured again why he loved this sport so damn much. 

Iggy Astro straddled the ropes, letting the audience admire him in frame of the whole ring. Instead of sliding through the topes, he back-flipped over the top, landing perfectly on his feet. He cupped his hand to his ear dramatically, waiting for the crowd to give him the love. They did so, in abundance. Again, the audience roared, rendering Stevie--sulking with his arms crossed in the opposite corner--even more pathetic. He was overshadowed.

Iggy approached the ref and gave her a respectful kiss on both cheeks. "Hello, my darling, so good to see you..." It was more like greeting a friend at a party than someone expected to police his moves. "Now, my love, you better ignore any of my...indiscretions tonight."

The ref rolled her eyes, giggling and dismissing Iggy like a lovable scamp, and not someone who could rip a man's arm out of its socket in under five seconds. She handed him the microphone.

Time to have some fun. "Look at you," Iggy purred, licking his lips seductively at the scowling young man in camo, leaning against the opposite ropes. "Aren't you adorable? Do you feel the energy in here tonight, soldier boy? The celebration!" Iggy extended their fingers to the ceiling, willing a bright, blue star shape into the air. The audience responded in kind. "Little Boy Stevie. I am giving you a chance to join in. These are good folks in the crowd tonight, yeah. We Brazlians are loving people! We just want to have fun." Iggy gestured to the crowd, his admirers. The affection was palpable.

Iggy snapped his fingers, shattering the star above him into glittery dust. It fell around them like neon snow, or--more appropriately--Carnival confetti. He blew another kiss to his opponent. "I, on the other hand, am not so forgiving. So, kitten, what will it be? A fun, colorful match? Or..."

Iggy grabbed a fistful of their tight, 'crop-top'--but it was certain, in that moment, that it was actually one of his cleverly woven light constructs. Iggy ripped it away, combusting it into flakes of light, revealing their oiled chest. While the crowd lost their minds (and increased their libido levels), Iggy did the same with his pink, zebra-striped 'pants', showing off their muscular legs and intimidating, bulging pink thong with star-print.

Iggy, the neon god, towered over Stevie. "Or...will I need to put you in the hospital?"

Stevie choked on their own spit, reeling back at the sight of this...this...muscular, bronze being anointed with oil and glitter. "A...thong? That's your gear?"

"It is Brazil," Iggy shrugged, showing their glutes off to the crowd. The pink warrior waved dismissively at Stevie's drab briefs. "So sad...all of this."

To the right of Stevie, the ref supressed a laugh. The cadet was not amused, his lips turning upwards into a snarl. "I'm gonna wipe that lipstick off your face!" They made a fist with their right arm. The ambient dirt and dust coalesced around it, forming a gauntlet of solid rock.

So, an Earth magi. How boring. "Oh, so that's your power? Heh. You really are dull as dirt!"

The bell rang. Iggy stood there, cocky and confident. "Well?" He made a 'come on' motion with his hands, sparkling with neon stardust. 

"Ragggh!" Stevie shot forward with a jab of his stone fist. Iggy merely leaned to the left to avoid. The cadet anticipated his opponent might be quick, and followed it up with a right hook. Iggy reacted by falling to his knees and flipping back with his legs, cartwheeling out of the way. The crowd loved it.

"Grrr!" Stevie reconfigured his rock fist into a long, sharp, spike. "I'm gonna skewer you like Brazilian barbeque!"

"Ha!" Iggy spat in reply. He brushed his long hair back. "By the end of this match, you're going to be my biggest fan, padrãozinho."

"What did you call me, you little freak?" The Cadet launched another volley, aiming for Iggy's pretty face. Iggy countered with a chop to the arm, blocking the punch and dragging the spellbreaker's arm with one, swift, fluid motion. In the blink of the eye, Iggy twisted Stevie's arm to the back of his muscular back, pinning it into a hammerlock.

"Agh!" Stevie wince, caught off guard by the sharp pain. "L-let go!" Try as he might, he couldn't move it. Bent in this position, with Iggy driving his elbow joints the exact opposite direction, it felt like Iggy might rip his arm off any second.

Dangerously close to his opponent, Iggy pushed his hips further. Iggy leaned in close, brushing Stevie's neck and shoulders with his hair, and then proceeded to slowly lick the trapped fighter's earlobe.

"Let me give you a tour of Brazil," Iggy whispered. "Through combat. Least I could do for my biggest fan..."

Iggy turned his hand sideways, another 'chop' stance, this time going for the back of Stevie's knee. He scooped him up easily, lifting him off balance, and then struck him on the side with their hip, lifting him into the air--and higher still-for an impactful body slam.

Stevie hit the canvas like a piece of wet meat. To add insult to injury, Iggy's magick caused the collision to spawn a series of star-shaped lights, fading like sparks from a flame.

"Whoops!" Iggy laughed. He turned on his bootheels and ran to the ropes, building momentum for a killer elbow drop to the back of Stevie's spine.

"GAH!" Stevie yelped. A pity that he couldn't see the comical lightning bolt shapes conjured from of his damaged vertebrae. Another byproduct ofIggy's enchantment.

"Come on soldierboy," Iggy said as he forced his opponent onto his knees. "Let's see those muscles!"

Stevie did as instructed, giving Iggy a brief double-bicep flex, transforming both of his arms into solid rocks. "You like rock and roll, freak? I'll give you some rock and roll!" 

The Cadet went for a shoot, intent to take the star-powered stud down to the mat. Iggy was quicker, jumping up and over Stevie like a hurdle. The one-man-lightshow pirouetted around and balled their hand into a fist, a bright light blooming in the threads between their fingers.

"Hey, Stevie, I got a surprise for you! Look at what I got here!"

The Cadet recovered their stance and whipped their head around just in time for Iggy to 'blow' them another kiss--a fistful of neon 'stardust', right in their eyes.

"Fucking Hell!" Stevie cursed, much to his own disappointment. It was like someone had just taken an arc light and turned it on in front of his eyeballs. Searing with pain, Stevie was blinded. He panicked and punched the air with his stone-hard fist, in the approximation of where he thought Iggy was standing. The pink haired fighter merely danced around him, dodging the blows with graceful sidesteps. Most of the home crowd recognized his triangular movements and pivots as capoeira style. That alone was impressive enough in its technical execution, but what really had them laughing was Stevie's completely pathetic, clumsy attempts to land a single hit on his opponent.

"Too easy," Iggy muttered under his breath. He turned on his feet again, spinning on an axel. His leg cut through the air, trailing a spectral, luminous after-burn image. The armada kick struck Stevie right in the chest, shaking loose a series of neon red broken hearts. The stunned cadet fell back into the ropes, a rubber band effect that sent him right back into Iggy's control zone.

This time, Iggy licked his lips, and the more observant--and perverse--members of the audience noticed his massive bulge stiffen in anticipation of the landing his next move. Iggy 'wound up' with another tripod movement, this time falling to their palms, an almost cartwheeling motion. Being a musician, timing and rhythm were their specialty. Iggy knew exactly when to throw their legs back into the air and slam them right into Stevie's midsection with a meia lua de compasso. Befitting the move's name, cartoony light-shapes of half-moons and crescent-mons exploded out of Stevie, another visual signifier of Iggy's impact.

The half-moon kick completely knocked the air out of Stevie. The Cadet fell back, stunned, and landed with his arms splayed across the ropes. The ref ran to his side to check up on him, but Iggy nodded his head towards her. Not yet, love. Don't ruin my fun. She wisely backed off.

An artist of pain, Iggy surveyed his latest work. Stevie's fair skinned torso glowed red and raw with knee print and boot marks. 

But not nearly enough for Iggy's liking.

"You look tired," Iggy sniffed. He clamped his nail-polished claws down into Stevie's traps. It was enough to make Stevie snap back to reality. He grimaced, his face straining with pain.

"Gaaaahhh. You dirty cheat!"

"What? Me!" Iggy pretended as if he was offended. "I would never pull off a dirty move! And definitely not something like THIS!" 

"Wh-"

Iggy's knee--thankfully padded--collided into Stevie's chest with the force of a cannonball. Instead of spittle, pink glitter flew from Stevie's mouth, as well as all the oxygen inside him.

"Yay!" Iggy said, clapping their hands with sadistic enjoyment. "We're having fun!" This time, they rolled their boot's kickpad flap down, exposing their knee. Iggy made sure to maintain his wicked grin the whole time, in plain sight of the ref. What was she going to do about it anyway?

"Come on, Stevie! Aren't you having fun?" They slammed their knee into Stevie's stomach and abs again, creating a splash of fuchsia-colored skull effects. They repeated the move again, the light constructed skulls growing bigger and bigger with each blow, symbolising of the damage Iggy was doing to Stevie's muscles and insides.

"Stop!" the ref called out.

Iggy smiled at her. "No!" he said cheerily, continuing his assault. "I gotta' treat my biggest fan the right way!" Another gut blow with the knee, and another burst of skulls. By the time Iggy thought he heard a cracking sound, the skull light-forms had transformed into bleeding skulls. By the time Stevie's eyes had rolled back into his head, they were bright red.

"Heheh, I should probably stop before he passes out and ruins all my fun." Iggy cupped his slumped over opponent's head into his armpit. "Forgot if I wore deodorant today or not. I can be such a dirty doggy." He squeezed down on Stevie's neck, making him arch his back and squeak pathetically. "I love the sound of your squealing, Stevie! Come on, let's head bang!"

Iggy shot up the devil horns, stuck out their tongue, and tossed back their mane, before jumping up into the air and bringing Stevie's head down in a sharp DDT. This time, the light flare accompanying the impact were broken and bleeding hearts.

Stevie's back arched up, his head resting against the canvas at an odd angle. Iggy pulled the cadet's legs back into the air leaned his hips against his downed opponent, making sure to rest his bulge on top of his neck. Iggy winked and blew a kiss to the crowd, then counted down with his fingers as the ref went down to the mat for a count out.

"One...two...WHOOPS!" Iggy jerked Stevie's head back before the ref could finish. "Wow, Stevie, you're so strong! You kicked out." He picked up Stevie's drooling, drooping head, slapping his cheek to wake him up. "You kicked out, Stevie! You kicked out!"

"Unnn..." came the sleepy, stunned reply from the bruised and battered soldier. "Just...stop...please..."

"Oh come on," Iggy said, patting their cheek. "Let me help you up onto your feet. There you go. All good! Come on, you're my biggest fan right?" Iggy narrowed his eyes, showing his true intent. "Right?"

Stevie's head drooped. It took all the effort he had left to stand and hold it up in a weak-willed attempt at meeting Iggy's stare head on. Iggy smiled. 

Stevie's reply? To lodge a huge wad of spit, right in their face.

The crowd gasped. John Henry cringed. He gave Colt a concerned look.

Colt, however, smiled ominously. "I think this is where the fun really begins..."

"Oh, right," John Henry mumbled. "Forgot that for a face, you're a bit of a sadist."

"Hey, I'm a tough face," Colt corrected him. "Not my fault if I like seeing villains get 'what for' in really nasty ways."

It was dead silent in the auditorium. Only a single cough from the crowd dared interrupt the moment. Iggy took a deep breath and wiped the trail of spit from off their cheek, collecting the wad on their finger tips. 

"Hm." They smiled at Stevie. "You really shouldn't have done that."

Just as it dawned on Stevie how much trouble they were really in, Iggy pried open the boy's mouth with his long fingers.

"Let me give this back to you," Iggy said, shoving the wad of saliva and mucous into Stevie's mouth and down his throat, clawing at the side of Stevie's face and forcing their fingers deeper, ignoring the Cadet's muffled cries.

"Really gotta work on that gag reflex!" Iggy said through their teeth, clutching down harder. Their eyes glowed a bright, furious pink. This is what you get for your shitty attitude. Iggy pulled Stevie's head in closer for a tight headlock, pressing their ambone against the side of his face, crushing it against him. 

 "Hey! I think it's time for a concert." Iggy looked down at his squirming, struggling opponent, whose stone-shaped gauntlets had all but crumbled to dust at this point. "What do you think, you little bitch?"

"N-n-no."

"Those abs look like they hurt. Would be a really shit situation if someone...stretched them out."

Iggy kicked the back of Stevie's knee, sending a stream of pain into their leg. But that was the least of the Cadet's problems. Iggy pulled half of Stevie's torso one way, stepping over Stevie's feet and placing him into a brutal ab stretch. Combined with the internal damage already done to his abs, the pain was unbearable. Felt like someone was ripping each ab muscle out of his stomach, one by one.

"FUCK!" Stevie cried out. "FUCK!"

This is so, so satisfying, Iggy thought wickedly. Lines of pink light formed around Stevie, like a cage, forming the shape of a guitar--his poor, bruised abs, the strings. Iggy 'played' him, banging his head up and down, and jerking Stevie in every direction.

"Love a good jam session," Iggy laughed, showing off his new 'instrument' for the pleasure of the audience. "Those are some pretty high notes you're making too! I call this song, 'Dismantling a Basic, Little Bitch Boy'. Name needs work--I know, I know. And I dedicate that one to all the freaks in the audience!"

And sure enough, the whole audience responded with a hearty shout and round of applause.

The concerned ref went to Stevie's side. Tears ran down his face. Still, he sputtered, "No...no...I can't lose. I can't give!"

Iggy rolled his eyes and let his prey fall to the canvas. "See? He is fine," he said, punctuating the end of his statement with a boot to Stevie's back. Iggy leaned back and touched the ground with a gymnastic grace, bridging himself, humping the air for a few laughs and "oohs" from the audience. He smirked at the wolf whistle someone let out.

But this was all just showing off. He wasn't done with Stevie yet. "Let's take a breather. Huh, biggest fan?" With the grace of an apex predator, Iggy slid his legs around his downed opponent, hooking one meaty thigh over his neck, pulling his arms in close, before locking the other leg around his head. Iggy's bulged asserted its authority right into Stevie's face, while Iggy's legs imprisoned and compressed his poor neck in a sadistic, humiliating leg triangle.

Stevie panicked, kicking his legs back and down in a weak-willed attempt to pull himself out. Each time, Iggy pressed his barley-contained girth into his face, and calmped his legs down a little more.

"How's that taste?" Iggy asked, licking his lip. "I said take a breather, so why not take a deep breath?"

The ref gave Iggy the briefest of admonishing looks, then attended to poor, struggling Cadet Stevie. "Do you want to give?"

Iggy answered for him. "Nah," he said, reclining back, yawning, and stretching his shredded arms out for the audience's admiration. "He doesn't want to give. See? He's still moving, yeah?" Iggy tossed his hair back, thinking how he could really do this all day if he wanted to. "What do you think will happen first, you little twink? Will you pass out? Or will I crack your head like an egg?" He thrusted again just to hammer it home.

"MMMffff!"

Pathetic. Iggy let up, giving Stevie a brief respite. Red faced, Stevie gasped for air.

"Like a fish on land," Iggy laughed. They cocked their head to the side, hair falling back over their shoulder. "What do you say? I'll give you one last chance to apologise for your rudeness. I'm feeling generous. C'mon, Stevie, you ain't gonna get a better offer than that! I can put you out the nice way or the rough way--what'll it be?"

"No..." Stevie gasped. "Fuck....you..." They pushed up and away, out of Iggy's reach. Iggy was genuinely shocked to see they still had some fight left in them. Stevie held his neck, getting back onto his feet, but even Iggy could tell from the way they leaned forward and winced that their abs and stomach were absolutely devastated. Presuming the kid walked from this match alive, they would be wine-purple for days, even with the soma's protection and rapid healing.

Iggy stood and brushed off their shoulders. In truth, he was glad Stevie had held out so long. The rock-and-roll god knew those reps from the GSA were watching, and he'd promised them a hell of a show. He'd already delivered, of course. The rest was all just fun. Cat and mouse.

Stevie spat on the canvas. Iggy noticed blood in the saliva. "I'm not gonna lose to a cross-dresser."

"Doesn't matter what clothes I wear," Iggy said, taking a right hook for their jaw. It sent Stevie spiralling backwards. "I can kick your ass in a thong. A skirt. Fishnets. Really doesn't fucking matter." 

It was time to stop playing with their food and go in for the kill.

"A crossdresser! Ha! You say that name with such venom," Iggy said, grinning ear to ear. "Guess I'll have to defang you now!"

Forgoing his Earth magick, opting for brute force instead, Stevie charged forward, ready to beat the pink-haired rock star to a pulp. He'd unwittingly done exactly what Iggy had hoped--put himself in attack range.

Um...dois...três...perfeita!

Iggy leaned back on the ball of their left foot, and kicked up--in a smooth, neon arc--with their right. The timing couldn't be more perfect. His hard, plastic coated boot collided with Stevie's jaw--spraying out all sorts of colorful stars and shapes (and, quite possibly, teeth).

Everyone in the audience heard the sound of jawbone meet foot. They reacted in kind.

Stevie fell to the mat, struck dumb. The ref's eyes widened with concern. She knelt beside him, checking to make sure he was okay.

"Do you want me to call it?" she asked the downed boy.

Iggy, blank-eyed, with a predatory glint, kicked Stevie over onto his side. A stream of red trickled down from his lips. He looked up, his eyes white, in both terror and shock. Iggy wasn't even sure the idiot knew where he was anymore. His lower jaw jutted out at the wrong angle.

"How's that jaw feel, ghatino?" Iggy smirked, watching as the magick of soma reset it for him. He put on a playful tone, which was somehow even more threatening than deliberate intimidation. "Your arms might be made of rocks, but it sounds to me your jaw is made out of glass." He laughed. Inside though, he burned bright with sweet satisfaction. 

"Are you..." the ref started, but Iggy shooed her away.

"Don't worry," Iggy said to her. He made a cutting motion with his neck. This is going to end soon. He leaned over his dazed opponent. The way his eyes moved and wobbled...Iggy knew he'd him hit hard. 

Iggy walked his fingers up Stevie's abs, forcing a weak cry of pain out of him. "Aw," Iggy cooed. "Did we party too hard, kitten?" He leaned and gave Stevie's abs a gentle kiss, leaving behind a glowing, pink print. He mounted Stevie, crawling on top of him until their face met his.

Stevie, stunned, looked up into his executioner's eyes. He said nothing, or couldn't. Iggy expected, and had almost hoped for, pleading. And though the fear was plain on his face, there was still too much defiance for Iggy's liking.

Looks like I'm going to have to give him a night to remember...

Iggy leaned over, like a lion ready to tear out a fallen gazelle's throat. Soft, pink strands of hair tickled Cadet Stevie's cheeks. His prey struggled to bridge off of him, but it was a useless attempt.

"Want to know a secret?" Astro whispered into his ear. He nuzzled his opponent's neck, giggling softly to himself. "Hm? Wanna know a secret, Stevie? Huh, Stevie? Hehe. I'm....gonna...break your arm." They smiled.

Iggy savored the brief moment Stevie's eyes enlarged with horror, before Iggy tumbled over onto his side, swinging one leg over Stevie's arm and pinching it between his legs. He grabbed Stevie's hand, almost like he was going for a handshake, and twisted it the wrong direction, using his own legs for leverage. As Stevie struggled to free himself, Iggy took the opportunity to grind the front of his bulge against Stevie's arm, which he pushed slowly past the threshold of pain.

"Should I?" Iggy grinned. "Yeah? Should I?"

"No, no!" Stevie forced out. "I g--"

"OOPS!"

CRACK!

The audience's reaction nearly drowned out the inhuman sound Stevie let out, like a rabbit caught by a hawk, a death-cry. 

"I'm calling it!" the red shouted desperately. The bell rang. Thank the Goddess.

Iggy pressed his fingers to his lips, looking out into the audience--picking up on the scent of Colt's aura. He laughed. "I'm such a naughty kitten."

Stevie's cries turned into desperate, deep-throated sobs, as he grabbed weakly for his broken arm.

"Such a sweet melody!" Iggy sat up on their knees and looked over the broken, weeping boy, gently brushing the ref away. "Awww, that looks like it hurts! Does it hurt real bad, Stevie?"

Before the ref could stop him, Iggy pushed at the break in the boy's arm, causing Stevie to shriek.

"Oof, yeah." The sadistic rockstar clicked their tongue against their mouth, then brought their arms gently around Stevie's neck. "We better elevate this, huh? Don't worry. I can take the pain away."

The ref didn't have time to protest. Iggy was far too quick. He wrapped Stevie's head between his biceps, putting him in a perfectly executed triangle sleeper.

"My light shines bright, but yours...is going out." His muscles bugled, cutting off blood flow to Stevie's brain. Nuzzling his neck, cradling him as rocking a baby to sleep, Iggy whispered. "Lights out, Stevie. Lights out. Shhhh. Lights out..."

Stevie struggled to use his one, unbroken arm, trying to pry his neck free from Iggy's iron-clad gasp. But there was no point. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, his face turning red, then blue, cheeks puffing outward. 

Above him, Iggy conjured a green bar or meter, slowly draining towards empty. "Lights out..." he kept whispering, softer and softer into Stevie's ear, as he slipped further and further into the dark. Iggy could tell he was grateful for the release into oblivion. "Good boy. Let go. Go down. Sweet dreams, jobber."

The light meter above Stevie's drooping head completely depleted, transforming into the flashing letters K.O.! Meanwhile, a stream of drool escaped Stevie's lips, a viscous strand hanging from his parted mouth. His body jolted once, his nerves trying to correct the sudden loss of blood flow. Iggy kissed him gently on the cheek before lighting the grip. Last thing he wanted was to actually kill him. How would he learn his lesson otherwise?

"Count him out," Iggy said to the ref. 

"But the match is over."

Iggy glared at her. "Count. Him. Out." He fluttered his eyes at her. "Pretty please?"

The ref swallowed, embarrassed and put on the spot. "One...two..."

"No, no. Not like that. Lift his arm! I want to see it drop..."

The ref did as told, letting Stevie's limp--unbroken arm--drop once. Twice. Three times.

"One more!"

The ref sighed. "Iggy, he's out. Like...really out."

"Then call the medics--I don't give a shit!" Iggy laughed. "Any fucking homophobe, misogynist, or transphobe gets in the ring with me? I break a limb and I put them in a coma. Or, nearly a coma." 

Iggy was glad this dumb, slumbering idiot was cradled across their body, otherwise the audience would see how rock hard a rock star could really get. Iggy looked down at the unconscious spellbreaker's broken arm

Let's just make sure. Oh, good...

The magick of the soma, a mercy, snapped Cadet Stevie's arm back into place, rapidly setting and healing it. He'd be no worse for wear. Just his ego.

It was almost...disappointing. Iggy shrugged. "Looks like you partied too hard, Stevie!" He let Stevie's head fall to the floor. He would be out for a good, long while, Iggy reckoned. The rock and roll god got back on to their knees and straddled his KO'd opponents head, making sure his bulge did the pinning for him. Iggy laughed. It covered most of the poor loser's face.

Their tongue sticking out, Iggy gave the audience the double devil horns, with a double bicep flex as the cherry on top, and posed over his prey. Above Iggy, neon pink, yellow, and green stars formed the words WINNER! 

"I love you, Rio!" Iggy shouted to the adoring crowd. "And whoever you are, don't let anybody ever try to hide your light!" He looked down at this opponent's sore, purple and yellow abs. "Or else you'll end up like this sad, pathetic, little boy here. Well, I'm a generous god. How's about an autograph? What did you say your name was again? Meh...doesn't matter. You're just a jobber to me anyway..."