Caitlyn Davis vs. Sister Lucia - Sin and Punishment

Considering the breakneck speed and multi-faceted nature of which typical AFW matches consisted of, there were scarce few occurrences when fleeting images and impromptu pictures could do a situation true justice. But the unsettling sights within the squared circle could not have painted a more dire and ominously truthful portrait of exactly what manner of heavenly judgment Sister Lucia had foretold of in her earlier preachings. A portrait where the blue-haired Hoot remained decimated betwixt the splayed out thighs of the behemoth Testament, practically as if in prostrating worship of the devout sister's rippling muscles, now looming over her whose ungodly strength having made succinctly short work of the brutalized Hooter's waitress. And a portrait where her partner could do naught but watch.

"Y-You...conniving...Ahm...SO...g-gonna...g-gon..." A strong but wavering front was all Caitlyn could muster at this point after having been entrapped within this pious predicament for what felt like forever, a puffed out swell to her fulsome and bountiful breasts while fighting back some indignant sniffles at the sight of her forlorn partner being hoisted up and cast down for a nigh perfect repetition of the previous powerbomb and it's canvas quaking, Hoot obliterating aftermath. Quivering jelly for legs and scrambled hugging against Test's all powerful and muscle tightened figure, pitiable moans being uttered in the prelude to being callously dumped like so much garbage midway across the ring in a frightening show of strength. She'd reflexively bounce before settling down lifelessly, spittle from her mouth with her cheek nudged against the canvas and in a slammed silly slumber.

Although a post-match tradition for the hard-partying duo, there would decidedly be zero late night clubbin' tonight following this particular skirmish. All of the head bobbing techno music and cute boys on the prowl dying to buy them a drink were all simply going to have to wait for another night. Nothing more than a trip to the building infirmary and an extended healing bath were what awaited the decimated Hooters waitress' scattered about the ring. Haru having been powerbombed into kayoed oblivion by the silver-haired believer with one of her sneakers having flown off of her foot after she'd gotten launched across the ring as if she weighed nothing at all, and Caitlyn disrespectfully thrust back down to the floor and out of the torturous submission she'd been quaking in agony from for far too long. The shame of having submitted to Lucia totally making this a night Cait was looking forward to forgetting.

And the worst had still somehow yet to come. Not for The Hoots exactly, but for nigh everyone else within the arena and at home watching. The stipulations of the match dawning on everyone in the audience, now either making for the concession stands, bathrooms, or deciding that this was a perfect chance to beat the traffic on the way home. Sister's Lucia's win, dirty though it was, meant that she'd be free to continue her sermonizing unencumbered. Caitlyn grumbling lethargically from getting flopped over onto her back and used as the pitiable pulpit for Lucia to continue extolling her virtues with her boot stamped down upon the Hoot's T-shirt stretching breasts. Producers backstage at the gorilla position smacking their foreheads and already beginning to point fingers of blame around the room. Not one of them wanting to explain to the GM the record low plunge this segment would inevitably get in the viewership ratings, let alone in the coveted age 18-49 demographic.

Winner - Sister Lucia