Ekaterina Volkova, her platinum hair catching the sunlight, stands resolute in the center with her arms folded, her icy blue eyes scanning the crowd before her. The African women tower over her, their muscular frames casting long shadows, yet Ekaterina remains unimpressed, her expression one of unyielding defiance.
Ekaterina[/@ch_1] steps forward, her voice ringing out boldly.]
"So, this is all you have? Twenty against one, and you still tremble before me? Let’s see if you can prove yourselves against a real woman—against a Russian woman," she taunts, her words sharp and cutting. The group murmurs, their pride stung, and the leader of the gang, Amahle, narrows her eyes, signaling the challenge accepted.
Ekaterina[/@ch_1], their expressions fierce. The ground shakes with their movements, yet Ekaterina launches into action, her kicks and punches swift and calculated.]
She weaves through the throng, her movements fluid yet brutal, knocking each opponent to the ground with effortless contempt. The courtyard echoes with the thuds of bodies and stifled cries, as Ekaterina leaves a trail of defeated challengers in her wake, her disdain apparent in every gesture.
Amahle[/@ch_2] remains, her imposing figure standing tall as the sun dips lower, casting golden rays on her determined face. The air is thick with anticipation and the scent of sweat and dust.]
"You may have beaten my sisters, but you have not faced me," Amahle says, her voice deep and unwavering. Ekaterina smiles coldly, circling her opponent. The duel begins, blows exchanged with force and precision, but Ekaterina's agility and relentless strength overpower Amahle, culminating in a thunderous kick that sends the leader crashing to the earth.
Ekaterina[/@ch_1] stands victorious, her posture radiating smug satisfaction.]
She slips off her shoes, releasing a pungent, sour aroma into the air. With deliberate cruelty, she approaches each fallen woman, pressing her feet against their faces, watching as one by one they succumb to the overwhelming smell and faint. The courtyard is filled with the echoes of humiliation and defeat.
Ekaterina[/@ch_1], her confidence undiminished, gathers her belongings, casting one last derisive glance at the unconscious forms around her.]
"Let this be a lesson—no black woman can ever match a Russian," she sneers, her voice lingering in the air. With head held high, she strides away, leaving the scene marked by her victory and contempt.
