UCC (UMMA) Managers & Fans Forum

Sin City Slugfest VI

Blind Fold Match:

Becky G vs Emme Rylan



Joe Rogan: Well we are at the midpoint of this event and the action continues to be some of the best boxing we have seen.  Lets see what the next bout brings.

Becky G (Becky Gomez)

• Age: 28 (born March 2, 1997)
• Height: 5'0" (152 cm)
• Weight: 105 lbs (48 kg)
• Reach: 62" (157 cm)
• Background: A singer, actress, and performer, Becky G is known for her high energy and stage presence. Years of dancing and touring have built solid cardio and agility.
• Style: Likely to rely on speed and mobility, darting in and out with fast combinations and quick counters.
• Becky G’s Approach: Stay light on her feet, avoid extended trades, and pepper Emme with jabs and quick flurries. Use angles and speed to frustrate and fatigue her older opponent.

Emme Rylan

• Age: 44 (born November 4, 1980)
• Height: 5'0" (152 cm)
• Weight: 105 lbs (48 kg)
• Reach: 62" (157 cm)
• Background: A veteran soap opera actress with years of physical roles and active performances. Emme keeps a fit physique and is rumored to be tenacious when challenged.
• Style: Expected to fight with grit and toughness, absorbing punishment and returning fire with deliberate, methodical strikes.
• Emme Rylan’s Approach: Stay patient early, absorb Becky's early attacks, and press forward with pressure. Emme should look to close the distance and work the body, forcing Becky to fight inside where her speed matters less.

Analysis: Both fighters are evenly matched in size, but Becky’s youth, stamina, and explosive movement give her the edge. Emme’s experience and grit, however, make her a dangerous opponent who won't back down easily. The fight could come down to whether Becky can wear Emme down before Emme drags her into a war of attrition.

Round 1:

The bell sounds to begin this bout and Becky storms out aggressive, ripping shots to Emme’s ribs early. Emme circles, lands a sneaky jab and counters low, clipping Becky on the belly button. Becky snarls and pounds two punches into Emme’s sides. Emme replies with a jab-straight combo, Both girls show a lot of grit and determination as the opening round continues with both working to feel the other out.  The bell sounds and both still look uninjured but Becky’s work rate takes the round.

Score: Becky 10-9 | Becky Total: 10 | Emme Total: 9

Round 2:

When the bell sounds to begin the 2^nd round, Emme starts sharper, sidestepping Becky’s hooks and landing a sharp shot to the liver. Becky winces. Emme smirks. Becky throws a flurry to the chest—one thuds hard. Emme grits her teeth and fires back. The two exchange wild punches and go at it with a flurry.  The pace is quick and not what Emme wants while this works well for Becky.  Emme changes her pace and closes the gap, landing some nice body punches and driving Becky into the ropes.  By the time the bell sounds to end the round, Emme seems to have the pace in hand.  Close round.

Score: Emme 10-9 | Becky 19 | Emme 19

Round 3:

The bell sounds for another  round and Becky charges, pounding Emme’s ribs with three brutal hooks. Emme fires a right uppercut to Becky’s chest—legal, but it draws a gasp. Becky blasts a hook low, skimming the waistband. Emme doubles over, but the ref says it’s legal. Becky taunts: “Can’t take it?”  Becky throws another uppercut but Emme twists to the side and delivers a ferocious hook to Becky’s ribs.  Becky takes a step back and retaliates with a hook to the side of Emme’s head.  Emme falls into the ropes and Becky moves in throwing jabs to the face.  Emme is able to cover up but damage has been done as the bell sounds ending the round. Emme has some blood streaming from a cut above her right eye.

Score: Becky 10-9 | Becky 29 | Emme 28

Round 4:

The bell sounds for round 4 and Emme goes to work on the belly and Becky doubles over. Emme lands a quick left uppercut and Becky goes down.  Becky pops up and returns fire—two body shots and a brutal left to the face that bloodies Emme’s nose. The ref pauses the bout, but Emme insists she can continue. They glare. Becky whispers, “You're breaking.”  The two close in throwing jabs working to connect but both are using good footwork despite the punishment.  The action is deceivingly quick and works in Becky’s favor as she punishes Emme’s face as blood continues to stream from Emme’s nose and the cut above her eye. The bell sounds to end the round and Emme’s corner works feverishly to staunch the blood flow.

Score: Becky 10-9 | Becky 39 | Emme 37

Round 5:

The next round begins with Emme exploding out of the corner, jabs to the chest, and lands a left hook to the chin. Becky stumbles back. Emme is looking better this round as she jabs and dances away before Becky can retaliate. The round ticks away but not fast enough for Becky.  Emme unloads on the body, then lands a tight hook near the liver. Becky sinks to one knee. The count hits 6—she rises, breathing hard. Emme moves forward with more damaging jabs and a small cut on Becky’s forehead has opened.  Becky clinches Emme and the referee separates the two. Becky is in trouble but  the bell saves her.

Score: Emme 10-8 | Becky 47 | Emme 47

Round 6:

The next round begins and sees Becky regain control, trapping Emme and pounding her with relentless combos—ribs, chest, and belly. Emme clinches to survive. The referee separates the clinch and warns both about clinching.  The round continues and the seconds tick away as blood is flowing down both girls faces from the injuries they have suffered but both are giving it their all.  Becky lands another body shot and Emme clinches again.  Becky mutters in the clinch: “This your game plan? Hug and pray?” Emme shoves her off before the referee steps between the two.  The bell sounds. They glare.  The heat is turned up in the bout and the tension tightens.

Score: Becky 10-9 | Becky 57 | Emme 56

Round 7:

As round 7 begins both land hard punches and the blood begins flowing again from the small cuts to both girls foreheads. Emme hits Becky low again—right above the drawstring. Becky buckles but doesn’t go down. This draws a stern warning from the referee for Emme to watch the low blows. Becky  roars back with a right hook to the ribs that floors Emme. The crowd erupts. Emme beats the count at 9, shaking her head clear. Emme uses the ropes to gain her footing and suffers for it as Becky moves in looking for the killing punch.  Emme does a good job of blocking Beckys attack but the pressure that Becky brings is nearly devastating for Emme.  Luckily the bell sounds to end the round and Emme sinks to her corner.  How can Emme survive three more rounds unless she slows the pace.

Score: Becky 10-8 | Becky 67 | Emme 64

Round 8:

As the bell sounds, Emme and Becky are on their feet ready to go another round.  Becky moves close and lands a glancing blow to Emme’s nose.  Blood pours again from Emme’s nose. Becky targets it with jabs and uppercuts. Emme, desperate, goes to the body. A short uppercut catches Becky square and sends her down! She's up at 7, hurt. Emme continues to press forward landing some well placed punches to Becky’s body really slowing Becky down.  Becky fights back aiming for Emme’s face looking to draw more blood.  Emme defends her face and lands a straight right to Becky’s face causing her nose to begin dripping some blood.  Becky does not look concerned and slams several punches to Emme’s body.  The two are exchanging punches quick punches and the bell sounds to end the round. The referee separates the two and they glare at one another menacingly.

Score: Emme 10-8 | Becky 75 | Emme 74

Round 9:

The bell sounds and the two circle one another before closing the gap.  Sloppy brawling. Becky hits Emme in the ribs—Emme winces and backs up. Emme lunges forward and lands to the belly, then chest. They trade close-range hooks leaving both breathing hard. Becky lands more shots, but Emme’s seem to have more sting. The two are really starting to go at it but the action is a bit sloppy as both struggle to land effective punches.  As the bell sounds, the two seem not to hear the bell and continue to throw wild punches.  The referee gets between the two and gets them separated.  A very close round.

Score: Becky 10-9 | Becky 85 | Emme 83

Round 10:

The bell sounds and Emme is barely off her stool. Becky attacks, but Emme digs deep, answering with all she has—body, body, head. Becky shakes her off, landing to the ribs and chest again. The pace is furious and Emme somehow is able to match Becky’s pace and lands some incredibly accurate punches.  Becky seems a bit frustrated at this and lands some hooks to the body but Emme continues to fire body punches of her own.  The final 10 seconds—a flurry!  Both girls are leaving it all in the ring and the bell sounds to end the bout.  Both are exhausted, bodies bruised, noses bleeding, arms heavy.

Score: Emme 10-9 | Becky 94 | Emme 93

Final Scorecards:

• Judge 1: 95-93 Becky G
• Judge 2: 95-94 Emme Rylan
• Judge 3: 95-94 Emme Rylan

Winner by Split Decision: Emme Rylan

Becky’s jaw drops. “You’ve got to be kidding,” she says. Emme can barely lift her gloves but manages a tired smile. Becky glares across the ring. “You didn’t beat me. The judges did.”

Emme whispers through swollen lips: “Scoreboard, you little b!tch. Scorecard!”

A brutal war. The fans erupt. A rematch is already in demand.

Written by The Awesome Aries

Sin City Slugfest VI

Blind Fold Match:

Bella Thorne vs Kayla Erin



Fighter Profiles & Tale of the Tape

Bella Thorne

• Age: 27 (born October 8, 1997)
• Height: 5'8" (173 cm)
• Weight: 125 lbs (57 kg)
• Reach: 68" (173 cm)
• Background: Actress, model, and singer. Bella has a wild, rebellious streak with a history of dance and light athletic training. She's known for her endurance and unpredictable fighting style — erratic but tenacious.
• Style: Brawler with a scrappy edge. Relies on pressure, relentless aggression, and surprising power. Unorthodox but dangerous when she gains momentum.

Kayla Erin

• Age: 28 (born August 16, 1996)
• Height: 5'6" (168 cm)
• Weight: 130 lbs (59 kg)
• Reach: 66" (168 cm)
• Background: Australian cosplay sensation and fitness enthusiast. Kayla has trained recreationally in boxing and MMA for cosplay accuracy and physique building. She's more technical than people assume and very durable.
• Style: Counter-striker with strong core power. Focuses on defense and measured combinations. Packs sneaky strength in her compact frame and knows how to pace herself

Round 1:

The bell rings, and Bella explodes out of her corner like a woman possessed. She charges forward with reckless intent, immediately unleashing a storm of wild, looping hooks aimed at Kayla’s ribs, sides, and belly. The shots thud like cannon blasts—her gloves smacking against flesh with meaty, echoing cracks that send a wave of adrenaline through the crowd. Kayla, poised and disciplined, keeps her composure amid the chaos, slipping just enough to avoid the worst of the barrage. Still, several of Bella’s punches find their mark—one particularly vicious left hook buries itself deep into Kayla’s obliques, forcing a brief grimace.

Kayla resets and answers snapping off a trio of stiff jabs that pop against Bella’s chest and upper ribs, each one meant to slow her advance. Bella shrugs them off and barrels forward, walking through a sharp right cross that clips her jaw but barely stalls her momentum. The exchange grows brutal. Bella takes a clean right hook to side of her left breast that lands with a loud smack, visibly buckling her briefly, but she roars back with a savage right hook into Kayla’s midsection. It lands just under the ribs, and the air rushes out of Kayla’s lungs in a painful grunt as she’s forced to step back, hand dropping instinctively to cover.

Mid-round, Bella sneaks in a devastating left hook right into Kayla’s liver. The impact is cruel and surgical—Kayla’s body freezes, her knees wobble, and she winces, her face twisting in pain. It's the kind of shot that lingers, draining strength with every passing second. But Kayla grits her teeth and raises her guard.

The round ends with Bella in relentless pursuit, stalking Kayla with raw fury, throwing clubbing shots to the body and sides. Though Kayla’s high guard and disciplined footwork keep her upright, she’s taken damage—noticeable bruising already spreading along her side and torso. Bella’s aggression wins her the round, and as the fighters return to their corners, it’s clear that both have felt the damage—this war is only just beginning.

Score:10-9 Bella

Health: Bella shows slight redness on her cheeks, Kayla’s left side is tender.

Round 2:

Kayla adjusts on the fly, tightening her guard and shifting into counter-strike mode with surgical intent. As Bella barrels in with reckless aggression, Kayla plants her feet and fires a crisp right cross that slams into Bella’s cheek, snapping her head back violently and sending sweat spraying into the air. The shot draws a gasp from the crowd—but Kayla isn’t done. She follows up instantly with a brutal right hook that slams into Bella’s exposed ribs with a sickening thud, the impact visibly folding her to the side.

Bella gasps for air, her torso twisting in pain, but her fighting spirit flares. She roars forward with fury and answers with a vicious combo of her own—two savage hooks straight into Kayla’s huge breasts that force her to stumble back with a pained grimace, arms instinctively lowering to shield her chest. Bella capitalizes, digging a deep left hook into Kayla’s ribs, causing her to grunt and retreat behind her forearms.

The fight ignites into a war as both women stand toe-to-toe in the pocket, hurling brutal hooks with zero fear. Leather crashes against flesh in a blur of violence. Then, Kayla sees her moment—she pivots off a miss and slams a perfect right hook into Bella’s liver. The punch lands flush with a bone-jarring crack. Bella’s eyes widen, her face contorts in agony, and she staggers, doubling over as her legs briefly buckle beneath her.

But somehow, Bella stumbles but refuses to fall. Her body screams in pain, but her will refuses to break. She grits her teeth, shakes off the shock, and keeps pushing forward, absorbing punishment just to stay in the fight.

The crowd erupts, rising to their feet in a thunderous roar. The arena vibrates with energy as both fighters stand bloodied but unbroken, digging deep in a battle of raw guts and steel hearts.

Score: 10-9 Kayla

Health: Bella’s left side bruising; Kayla’s breasts and ribs flushed and sore.

Round 3:

Fueled by pain and rage and gritting her teeth, Bella digs deep and launches a savage assault on Kayla’s midsection. Her fists become sledgehammers—slamming repeatedly into Kayla’s belly and ribs with punishing thuds that echo around the arena. Kayla grunts with each impact, trying to stay composed, firing back with a stiff jab-cross combo that briefly slows Bella down. But it's clear that the body attack is taking its toll.

Kayla’s breath shortens, her guard begins to drop, and Bella sees the cracks. Midway through the round, she slips a jab and torques her hips into a wicked left hook that crashes into Kayla’s exposed ribs. The shot lands flush, and Kayla stumbles backward, a grimace etched across her face. The crowd senses the momentum shift.

Smelling blood, Bella explodes forward like a predator. She drives Kayla back with a relentless flurry—ripping a savage uppercut that snaps Kayla’s head back, her ponytail whipping from the impact. Then Bella zeroes in on a familiar target: Kayla’s breasts. She slams home crosses, jabs, and uppercuts with brutal precision, her gloves pounding against soft flesh as Kayla cries out, arms crossing instinctively over her chest while her corner screams at her to fight back.

Bella’s fists crash into Kayla’s aching body again and again, targeting the vulnerable curves with ruthless accuracy. Kayla’s butt hits the middle rope, and she desperately covers up, taking a painful hook flush on the side of her chest that causes her to shudder. The bell clangs, but not before Bella drills another uppercut into Kayla’s sternum, sending a shockwave through her battered torso.

Kayla grabs hold and clinches just to survive the final seconds, gasping for breath as she leans into Bella’s shoulder. When the ref pries them apart, Kayla glares with fury as she backs her way to her corner—her chest heaving, her ribs bruised and sore. She sinks onto her stool, shooting daggers across the ring.

Bella just smirks, standing tall, sweat dripping from her brow, knowing she owned that round.


Score: 10-9 Bella

Health: Kayla’s ribs and breasts look swollen; Bella’s breathing is heavy but face clear.

Round 4:

Kayla’s corner is livid. Her trainer leans in, spitting urgency with every word.
“She’s beating you to the punch! She’s dictating the action—working your breasts like they’re damn punching bags!

FIGHT BACK, DAMMIT—FIGHT BACK!”

The message is loud, brutal, and crystal clear. Kayla doesn't wait for the bell to finish echoing. She’s off her stool early, adrenaline surging through her bruised body. Across the ring, Bella rises just as fast, cocky as ever, blowing mocking kisses in Kayla’s direction, smirking like she’s already won.

But Kayla is done playing defense, done having her breasts treated like cheap  punching bags and sick of  losing to the smug redhead. She storms out, aggression boiling over, and meets Bella head-on with a thudding right hook that slams into Bella’s left breast, flattening it against her chest. Bella winces, backing off as the shot reverberates through her torso.

Kayla doesn’t hesitate. She sidesteps a lazy jab from Bella and drives a devastating right hand deep into Bella’s belly, folding her opponent slightly with the force. Bella stumbles, her body betraying her. Sensing momentum, Kayla goes into overdrive—firing off a crisp jab, cross, left hook that rattles Bella’s head and sends her legs into a drunken wobble. The crowd rises in a frenzy.

Then Kayla lands the perfect shot: a brutal, whip-fast left hook to Bella’s liver.

Bella gasps.
Time slows for a beat as Bella’s face twists in agony, her legs betray her, and her body shuts down as she drops to one knee, her glove pressed to her ribs, mouth open in a silent cry. A thin stream of blood drips from her nose as the referee starts the count.

1... 2... 3...
Bella’s eyes are wide and watering. Her chest rises and falls in shallow, pained gasps.

4... 5... 6...
She blinks away the blur and clutches the ropes.

7... 8...
She’s up—barely—swaying, bleeding, and shaken, but upright.

The crowd is electric, on their feet, roaring as the tide turns. Bella is fighting off her back foot but is smart enough to stay out of range gathering her breath until the end of the round.

Score: 10-8 Kayla.
Health: Bella is visibly bruised and battered, breathing hard but still in the fight; Kayla’s ribs tender but controlled.

Round 5:

Now it’s Bella’s corner barking in her ear, voices sharp and demanding.
“You’re better than this slug! She’s got nothing for you—go out there and kick her ass!”

Bella breathes heavy, her face smeared with blood and frustration, then slams her gloves together three times, eyes burning with fury. She’s hurting, but she’s not done—not even close.

The bell clangs, and Bella charges like a woman possessed. Gritting through the pain, she lunges forward and unleashes wild, looping hooks into Kayla’s sides, pounding her ribs with raw power. A pair of vicious uppercuts crash into Kayla’s chest, flattening her breasts and briefly shattering her defensive guard.
Then comes the big one—a ferocious right uppercut that explodes under Kayla’s chin, snapping her head back and sending sweat and spit flying.

Bella snarls at Kayla.
“What now sl&t! What now!”

Kayla reels, but her recovery is lightning-fast. She bites down on her mouthpiece and counters with a devastating left hook to Bella’s jaw that staggers her backward like she’s been yanked by an invisible rope. Bella tries to cover up, but she’s breathing ragged. She leaves her midsection open for just a moment—and Kayla pounces. A thunderous body shot slams into dangerously low on Bella’s abs, making her grimace and drop her guard.

Bad mistake.

Kayla unloads a savage flurry—three punishing hooks to Bella’s ribs, followed by two brutal shots to her battered breasts, jiggling and bruised from round after round of abuse. Bella gasps and clinches tightly, wrapping her arms around Kayla just to stop the punishment.

The referee separates them as the round winds down. Both women are bloodied, gasping, drenched in sweat, but still upright, still glaring, still swinging but it's Kayla who is in control.

Score: 10-9 Kayla.

As the bell sounds, Kayla doesn’t go to her corner immediately. She stalks forward and steps toward the Princess corner, glaring at Bella through her swollen eyes.
“You like that? Huh? You like that, b!tch? ‘Cause there’s more coming.”

Bella, face flushed and chest heaving, flips her off defiantly—then plops down on her stool, her arms hanging limply at her sides as her corner frantically works to ice down her ribs and patch the bleeding.

Health: Both fighters bruised and sweaty; Bella’s ribs and jaw sore, Kayla’s ribs bruised.

Round 6:

Bella is slow off her stool, her face drained of color and her body screaming in pain. Her ribs are flushed an angry pink, dark bruises blossoming beneath the skin. Her breasts are battered, clearly swollen and tender from the constant barrage. Her breathing is labored, each step toward the center of the ring looking like an act of pure defiance. She gathers herself, teeth clenched, but looks like a beaten fighter clinging to pride more than momentum.

Her corner worked frantically between rounds—ice packs slammed against her ribs, Vaseline slathered over busted lips and scraped cheeks—but the damage is done. Meanwhile, Kayla springs off her stool, her expression ice cold. Not only does she look fresh, there’s a glint of controlled fury in her eyes.

The bell rings. The pace slows now, both fighters visibly drained. Bella throws wild, desperate hooks, missing by wide margins, her technique unraveling. She’s fighting on heart alone, swinging at ghosts.

Kayla stays calm and calculating, slipping shots and digging jabs into Bella’s body. A quick one-two snaps Bella’s head back, followed by a punishing hook to the side. Then comes the real pain: Kayla steps in and drives a sharp right hook deep into Bella’s liver.

Bella freezes. Then drops.

Her mouth hangs open in a silent scream as she crumples to her knees, the crowd letting out a collective gasp. The referee begins the count.
“One... two... three...”

Bella claws at the canvas, gasping, eyes wide with pain.
“Five... six...”

Somehow, she rises at seven, staggering on unsteady legs, her hands barely raised. She looks like she could fall over in a stiff breeze—but she nods defiantly at the ref.

The fight resumes—but it’s all Kayla now.

She keeps the pressure up, but not recklessly—her corner has warned her: “She’s got nothing left. Stay smart. Don’t empty the tank.”

Mid-exchange, Kayla steps in close—and accidentally lands an upward knee between Bella’s thighs. Bella cries out and clutches her groin, stumbling back. The crowd erupts in shocked outrage as the referee immediately steps in and calls time.

“Watch it, Kayla!” he shouts, gesturing furiously.
“It was clean!” Kayla barks back, face twisted in protest. “She was moving! That was clean!”

The ref issues a stern warning, waving a finger as Kayla fumes, shaking her head.

Time resumes, and Bella, still wincing from the low blow, gamely raises her gloves. But the round ends with Kayla picking her apart, landing jabs, body shots, and another painful hook to the breast just before the bell. Bella stumbles to her corner, needing help from her trainer to stay upright—but surprisingly, she’s alert, snapping back at instructions with gritty determination.

In contrast, Kayla returns to her stool with quiet confidence, her corner grinning.

“Next round is yours. Just stay sharp—her punches don’t have sting anymore.”

Score: 10-8 Kayla.

The damage is piling up—and Bella’s heart may be all that’s keeping her standing.

Health: Bella badly bruised and winded; Kayla’s body showing some wear but dominant.

Round 7:

The crowd is buzzing, expecting Kayla to finish the job — but Bella surprises everyone. Playing a little possum, she lures Kayla in. Kayla pokes out her double jab, stepping forward with quick footwork, shuffling left, trying to trap Bella against the ropes. Then—

BAM! BAM! CRUNCH!

A vicious uppercut snaps Kayla’s chin up, and before she can recover, a blistering left-right combo slams into her face, driving her stumbling back into the ropes. The arena erupts. And screams of “Holy ****” echo throughout the arena.

Bella has her stunned. But she’s too drained to capitalize. Her limbs are slow, her breathing ragged. She gathers herself, chest heaving, glaring through swollen eyes.
"You're done b!tch!" Bella spits out. "Get ready to eat some leather."

Kayla hears the taunt. Despite her corner screaming at her to pace herself, she ignores them completely, the humiliation of being rocked fueling her rage. Kayla goes all-in. She unleashes bombs—huge, wild overhand rights, looping haymakers, reckless hooks—every punch thrown with intent to end the fight. But Bella is reading her, slipping, ducking, parrying. Her instincts still work, even as her legs threaten to give out beneath her.

Thirty seconds of mayhem.

Then Kayla slows. She steps back, bent over, hands resting heavy on her knees, sucking in oxygen. Her chest rises and falls in frantic, desperate gasps.

Now it’s Bella’s corner shouting, desperate: “She’s hurt! Finish her!”

Bella nods slowly, then pushes herself forward. Her body screams in protest but her mind is laser-focused. She closes the distance, shoving Kayla back into the ropes. Bella works the jab—one, two, three quick pokes to the face. Kayla covers up tight. Bella winds up a wild overhand right—and misses.

BOOM.

Kayla explodes upward, drilling a brutal left hook into Bella’s ribs, the sickening smack of glove to flesh echoing through the arena. Bella hisses, her mouth gaping open as the air is driven out of her lungs. She tries to retreat—Too late. A thunderous uppercut catches her under the chin, snapping her head back violently. Her legs wobble. Then a clean left cross slams into her ear, making her stagger drunkenly. And finally—

THUMP!

A devastating hook to the belly lands flush, folding Bella in half. Her eyes go wide, lips trembling, and she crumples sideways, whimpering, curling into a fetal position on the canvas, arms wrapped around her ravaged midsection.

The referee starts the count.
“ONE… TWO… THREE…”

Bella doesn’t move.
“FOUR… FIVE…”

She twitches, groaning, but there’s no getting up.

The ref waves it off.

Bella is motionless! It’s over.

Final Result:
Kayla Erin wins by devastating 7th round KO!

Bella is left sprawled on the mat, groaning softly, her corner rushing to cradle her. Kayla stands tall, her chest rising with pride and exhaustion, bloodied but victorious, fists raised as the crowd erupts in approval.
Post Fight:
Despite leaving Bella sprawled on the mat like a broken doll, Kayla Erin isn’t done. Her fists are lowered, but the fire in her eyes burns hotter than ever. She storms across the cage, stepping right over Bella’s crumpled body, pausing just long enough to sneer down at the humiliated blonde gasping on the canvas.

Paris Berelc and Debby Ryan aren’t having it. The second Kayla’s foot crosses that invisible line of disrespect, they charge in, shoving her hard and sending her stumbling backward into her corner. Kayla roars in fury, but before she can retaliate—

Nadyasonika barrels in from the side, spearing Paris to the ground, and all hell breaks loose.

The two women roll violently on the mat, fists flying, hands tangled viciously in each other’s hair, screaming curses as security rushes to separate them. It takes three men to pull them apart. Both are spitting mad — Paris’s nose is gushing blood, and Nadyasonika’s left eye is already swelling shut, her cheek scraped raw from the canvas.

Debby’s still shouting, held back by Bella’s corner as the crowd eggs it all on, half cheering, half horrified. The cage, once a battlefield, now looks like a riot scene.

After what feels like forever, order is finally restored.

Bella, looking like she’s been dragged behind a truck, somehow manages to stand—her lip split, eye swollen, arms trembling and body bruised and battered. She doesn’t flinch when they drag her to the center of the cage, but the pain in her body is obvious. She stands there, chest heaving, defiance still burning in her bloodied eyes.

The referee grabs both women’s wrists, and when Kayla’s hand is raised, she yanks it up higher herself, turning in a slow circle, flipping off Bella’s corner as she does.

No handshake. No hug. No respect.

Kayla doesn’t even look at Bella again.

Her team erupts in celebration, screaming triumphantly, pounding the cage walls. Kayla climbs the cage and shouts to the crowd,

“THAT’S WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU MESS WITH A REAL QUEEN!”

Bella just stares through her, too proud to cry, too broken to speak.

Tonight, Kayla didn’t just win.

She made a statement.

Inside the Locker Room — Bella Thorne (Post-KO Loss)

The mood in Bella Thorne’s locker room is nothing short of volcanic. She sits on the edge of the bench, wrapped in an ice pack and a towel, her body marked with deep bruises and scrapes. Her chest still rises and falls sharply from the effort it takes just to sit upright. A medic finishes checking her vitals, and with a wave from her corner, the reporter cautiously steps forward. Bella’s eyes burn — not from tears, but from rage and humiliation.

“Bella, that was a brutal end. What’s going through your mind right now?”

Bella doesn’t hesitate.
“Rage. Pure f&ckin rage. I had her. I had her hurt, the stupid b!tch was on her way out and I let it slip. I’m pissed at her, at myself, at everyone screaming like it was over. That’s not how I go out.”

“You seemed to play possum in Round 7 and rocked Kayla early. Why didn’t you finish her?”

She slams her fist into her thigh.
“My tank was dry. I couldn’t breathe. I saw her glassy-eyed and I wanted it, but my body didn’t respond. That’s the worst part — knowing your brain’s screaming ‘Go!’ and your limbs say ‘Nope.’”

“Kayla’s hook to the ribs and uppercut seemed to completely shut you down. Can you walk us through that final sequence?”

Bella winces at the memory.
“I felt my ribs shift. That shot… it felt like a knife. Then the uppercut? I didn’t even see it. Next thing I knew, the b!tch lands a lucky shot and I was staring at the lights with her standing over me.”
“Do you feel the ref should’ve stopped it earlier?”

Her glare sharpens.
“No. I’d rather die on the canvas than have someone save me early. Don’t protect me from a fight — I’m not made of glass.”

“What’s your reaction to Kayla’s post-fight behavior?”
She laughs bitterly.
“Classless. Stepping over me like I was roadkill? Flipping off my corner? She’ll regret that. We’ll meet again, and next time I finish her.”

“So… what now?”

Bella’s eyes narrow.
“I heal. I train. I hunt. This isn’t over. Kayla may have won the fight—
but she just started a frickin war.”


Inside the Winner’s Locker Room — Kayla Erin (Post-KO Victory)

Kayla Erin lounges back against a padded bench, legs spread, her gloves off, tape still clinging to her wrists. Her sports bra is soaked with sweat, and there's a cut above her left brow that required three quick stitches. Her knuckles are red and her body bears bruises of its own, but her expression? Pure adrenaline-soaked satisfaction.

Her team is buzzing behind her, replaying the knockout on a loop. She grins when the reporter steps in.

“Kayla, that was a violent, explosive finish. What’s your take on how the fight ended?”

Kayla leans forward, her voice low and intense.
“I told everyone—don’t sleep on me. Bella tried to clown me early, and yeah, she landed some slick shots, but I fight with fire and  as everyone saw, she was spent and running on fumes. And when I saw her break? I didn’t hesitate. I crushed her.”

“You looked hurt in Round 7 after those uppercuts. How close were you to being finished?”

She chuckles, wiping blood from her mouth.
“Closer than I liked. I’ll give her that—she hits like a truck. But you know what? That just flipped the switch. Pain’s just a signal. And I turned it into a frickin hammer.”

“Some fans say you got reckless, especially after her taunt. Thoughts?”

Kayla snorts.
“She called me out—told me to get ready to eat leather. That was her mistake. You don’t poke a wild animal and expect it to stay cute. I got emotional, yeah. But I broke her body in half. That’s what matters. The mighty Bella Thorne bend in half crying like a drooling little baby. Priceless! Frickin Priceless!”

“There’s a lot of talk about your post-fight behavior — stepping over her, flipping off her corner. No handshake. Any regrets?”

Kayla's smile fades into a cold smirk.
“None. She disrespected me before the fight. Talked like I didn’t belong. I earned that moment. You wanna act like a queen? Don’t cry when someone rips off your crown and stomps your face into the ground.”

She leans back, laughing darkly as her corner roars in savage agreement, the chaos still buzzing around them like electricity. Her voice drips venom as she glares into the camera.
“Tell Canada to brace itself—and Amelia Windsor? You better up that health insurance, sweetheart. I’m bringing hell with me.”

She starts to turn away, but then snaps her head back toward the mic, eyes burning.
“And as for Ms. Thorne—if that fragile little glass-jawed Disney Princess wants another lesson, I’ll be more than happy to leave her broken and bawling in a pool of her own tears again. This time, I won’t stop at the bell.”

Written by the Badass Barbies

Sin City Slugfest V

IBlind Fold Match:

Nadyasonika vs Shay Mitchell



Fighter Profiles & Tale of the Tape Shay Mitchell

• Age: 37 (born April 10, 1987)
• Height: 5'7" (170 cm)
• Weight: 131 lbs (58 kg)
• Reach: 68" (173 cm)
• Background: Shay Mitchell is a Canadian actress and model best known for her roles in Pretty Little Liars and You. Beyond the screen, she’s known for her dedication to fitness, maintaining a high-performance physique through rigorous strength training and intense cardio routines. A passionate and disciplined boxer, Shay has spent years in the ring sharpening her technique, developing real fight instincts, and building the kind of stamina and skill that only come with experience.
• Style: A very calculated and cerebral boxer, using her athleticism and sharp instincts to work behind the jab and time her counters. Good endurance allows her to keep steady pressure across all rounds.

Nadyasonika

• Age: 34 (born February 21, 1991)
• Height: 5'6" (168 cm)
• Weight: 135 lbs (61 kg)
• Reach: 66.5" (169 cm)
• Background: A Mexican cosplay icon and fitness model with a strong martial arts background. Nadyasonika is known for training hard, frequently engaging in combat-sport style workouts and cosplay fight choreography. Nadyasonika is also rumored to wrestle under the Lucidora Lola González
• Style: Aggressive and very physical. She's likes to fight as a pressure brawler, staying in the pocket and aiming to wear down her opponents with constant body attacks and power shots.

Pre-Fight Odds & Analysis

• Odds: Nadyasonika (-145) vs. Shay Mitchell (+120)
• Analysis: Nadyasonika enters with a slight edge due to her power and combat-style training. However, Shay’s athleticism and conditioning give her a solid chance at outboxing her opponent if she maintains range and avoids slugfests. The blindfolded format may also benefit the more instinctive and reactive fighter.

Blindfolded Entry:
 As with all Sin City Slugfest VI bouts, the fighters will approach their corners blindfolded, unaware of their opponent’s identity until the bell rings and the masks come off. This demands mental sharpness, fast adaptation, and keen instincts in the opening exchanges.


Shay’s Approach:
 Shay has been in the ring since she was a teenager. Her boxing skill are legendary but  she faces a bigger and stronger opponent. Shay must use her jab, movement, and head control to stay mobile and avoid brawling. Her goal is to frustrate Nadyasonika with movement and pepper her with shots from the outside, then tie up or pivot out of danger when pressured.
 Nadyasonika’s Approach:
Close the distance early, take away Shay’s speed and space, and go heavy to the body. Her power and strength are key assets. She should aim to slow Shay’s legs with thudding body shots and push the pace to force fatigue and mistakes. Nadyasonika must also use her size to bully Shay into the ropes to keep  her in check.

Round 1:
They meet in the middle of the ring and touch gloves. Neither really know much about the other but none of that matters at the moment. They trade at a distance each deflecting their opponents blows. Shay resets on the balls of her feet, darting side to side, her eyes locked on Nadyasonika. She snaps her jab out again and again, picking at Nadyasonika’s face, keeping her at bay. Nadyasonika growls, launching wild bombs — looping hooks and overhands that slice through the air just inches from Shay’s head. Shay ducks one, pivots, and lands a stinging jab to Nadyasonika’s cheek. Another furious right from Nadyasonika whistles past Shay’s chin. Shay counters with a slick triple jab, popping Nadyasonika’s head back. Nadyasonika snarls and lunges, but Shay glides out of reach, tagging her again with a sharp jab to the nose.

In the final minute of the round, Nadyasonika charges with renewed fury, feinting high before burying a vicious right hook deep into Shay’s stomach. Shay gasps, stumbling back a step as pain ripples through her core. But she bites down, resets, and flicks out her jab with machine-like precision. Pop. Pop. Pop. Three clean shots snap Nadyasonika’s head back. Nadyasonika roars and barrels forward again, throwing wild punches, but Shay keeps her distance, sliding to her left and spearing another jab into Nadyasonika’s mouth. Blood trickles from the corner of Nadyasonika’s lip as Shay peppers her with two more stinging jabs just before the bell.

Scoring: 10-9 Shay

Damage: Shay’s left side pink from a wicked body shot. Nadyasonika’s cheek red from straight jabs.

Round 2:

Nadyasonika charges in like a bulldozer, ripping lefts and rights into Shay’s body. A savage left hook digs just beneath Shay’s breast, drawing a sharp grunt from her lips. Shay backs into the ropes, gloves up, trying to weather the storm. Nadyasonika unloads—pummeling her midsection with thudding shots to the belly, ribs, and chest. Shay groans, absorbing the punishment, her skin turning red from the assault. Desperate to slow the onslaught, she wraps Nadyasonika in a tight clinch, gasping for breath as the referee watches closely.

Shay grits her teeth, holding on as Nadyasonika relentlessly hammers her ribs and the soft undersides of her breasts with heavy shots. The referee finally steps in, breaking them apart just as Shay’s breath starts to falter. Immediately, Shay hops back on her bike, snapping out crisp jabs that snap Nadyasonika’s head back repeatedly. But the determined Cosplay Star plods forward, methodically cutting off the ring with heavy steps. Suddenly, she shoves Shay hard onto the ropes. Shay’s gloves fly up to protect her head and arms, but her elbows are tucked tightly in as she leans forward, bracing for the storm. Nadyasonika rains down vicious hooks and crosses into Shay’s guarded arms, battering her defense with relentless pressure. After another fierce exchange, Shay is forced to back away, circling cautiously for the remainder of the round, trying to regain her composure under the heavy assault.

Scoring: 10-8 Nadyasonika (dominant round)

Damage: Shay’s midsection is pink and swelling. Eyes blinking rapidly. Nadyasonika bleeding lightly from the lip.

Round 3:
Shay gets a sharp earful from her corner. "What the hell was that? You’d think you’d never even put on a pair of gloves before." Shay just nods, biting back, "I know, I know."

Meanwhile, Nadyasonika takes slow, measured breaths, her focus razor-sharp. The moment the bell rings, she springs to her feet and slams her gloves together with a loud, echoing smack—ready to turn up the heat.

Shay explodes out of the corner, eager to build on her momentum. She ducks a wild overhand left from Nadyasonika and immediately fires back with fierce counterpunches. A slick pivot creates space, and Shay unloads three punishing shots to Nadyasonika’s body. Caught off guard with her guard high, Nadyasonika takes the blows full force, wincing as the impact lands. Now it’s the Cosplay Queen who starts backing up, her hands dropping as Shay relentlessly targets her midsection.

Shay feints high before driving in brutal hooks to the lower body — one lands flush on the liver, making Nadyasonika’s knees buckle. Sensing weakness, Shay pours on the pressure: uppercut, hook to the belly, then a slap-hook to the ribs. Nadyasonika groans, staggering back, her guard now dangerously low.

Seizing the moment, Shay snaps a double jab to the left breast, followed by a crushing right cross to the chin. Nadyasonika reels back into the ropes. Shay leans in, resting her chin on the bruised Cosplay Star’s shoulder, then rains quick punches to the sides of her breasts.

F&ck off, B!tch!” Nadyasonika snarls, shoving Shay hard in the chest, sending her crashing to the mat.

“WARNING! Official warning!” the referee calls out, but Nadyasonika shrugs it off and resets just as the bell clangs, ready for more.

Scoring: 10-8 Shay (near knockdown - complete domination)

Damage: Nadyasonika’s side bruised; she holds her right flank. Shay’s belly showing deep pink bruising but regains momentum.

Round 4:
They step out more cautiously, gloves high, eyes locked—but it doesn’t last. Shay fires a stiff jab that splits Nadyasonika’s lip, then dips low to hammer her body again. Nadyasonika winces, caught off guard, and eats a cross to the mouth before she can reset. She feints, ducks low, and explodes upward with a vicious right hook to Shay’s sternum—CRACK! Shay’s legs buckle and she drops to one knee, gasping for air. The crowd erupts—a body shot knockdown! Shay beats the count at eight, clutching her core as the ref waves them back in.

Nadyasonika closes in like a predator, and Shay clinches desperately, buying seconds. But the Cosplay Queen smells blood. She barrels through Shay’s jabs, taking shots to the face just to get inside. Once there, she unleashes a storm. Shay’s defense is tight, but the relentless punches to her arms and biceps begin to wear her down. Nadyasonika is a freight train—unstoppable, churning forward, punch after punch. In another brutal, one-sided round, it’s Nadyasonika who breaks Shay down, exposing her inch by inch.

Scoring: 10-8 Nadyasonika

Damage: Shay’s ribs severely bruised and sore. Breathing labored. Nadyasonika also showing swelling on her right eye.

Round 5:
Shay digs deep, her chest heaving, face streaked with sweat. She plants her feet and lets her hands fly—looping hooks, snapping uppercuts, stiff jabs to the body. She uses her speed and precision to dart in and out, tagging Nadyasonika with pinpoint shots that snap her head or sting her ribs. Nadyasonika absorbs the blows and powers through, answering with brute force. She lunges forward, hammering heavy shots into Shay’s flanks, looking to slow her down. They trade blistering combinations in the center of the ring—neither giving an inch.

Shay scores with a quick one-two to the chin, then dips low and slams a jab to the belly. Nadyasonika grunts, then fires a monstrous right hand that glances off Shay’s cheek. They both fire to the chest—vicious punches to the breasts and side-boob that draw gasps from the crowd and gritted winces from the fighters. Shay weaves away, then digs a sharp liver shot that freezes Nadyasonika for half a second. But the Cosplay Queen responds with a thunderous uppercut under Shay’s bust that snaps her head back.

By the final seconds of the round, both women are swaying, bodies glistening with sweat, mouths open, gasping. Speed versus power—neither able to dominate, both refusing to fall.

Scoring: 10-10 (Too close. All heart.)

Damage: Shay’s left eye puffing. Nadyasonika’s right breast showing bruising. Ribs on both women visibly marked.

Round 6:
Shay takes a deep breath in her corner, rolling her shoulders, shaking the sting from her ribs. Her legs feel steadier now—her footwork sharper. When the round starts, she’s moving with purpose, circling on the balls of her feet, just outside of Nadyasonika’s reach. The Cosplay Queen, still riding the high of her earlier knockdown, barrels forward with heavy punches. But now, Shay’s not there to be hit. She slips a wild right, then a looping left, letting Nadyasonika’s fists slice through empty air.

Shay answers with quick, surgical jabs—pop, pop, pop—right to the face, tagging Nadyasonika between the eyes and on the nose. The punches don’t rock her, but they score clean, and each miss from Nadyasonika takes more out of her arms, her punches slowing with every failed attempt. Frustration grows. Nadyasonika winds up a big right—but Shay’s already gone, gliding to her left and firing a stiff jab that catches her opponent square in the mouth.

The damage is adding up. Nadyasonika’s face is reddening, her nose trickling blood, and her chest rising and falling heavier now. Shay stays calm, disciplined—still light on her feet—picking her spots and outscoring her opponent. Jabs, jabs, a feint low, then a cracking left hook to the jaw snaps Nadyasonika’s head around and sends her stumbling back—crashing against a table at ringside.

The crowd erupts.

Shay doesn’t hesitate. She surges forward, unloading a vicious left-right-left combo to Nadyasonika’s head. The Cosplay Queen’s guard is sloppy now, and her legs are wobbly. She reaches out to clinch, desperate to buy time—but Shay has none of it. She ducks under the grab and drives a brutal uppercut straight into Nadyasonika’s sternum. The shot lands with a sickening thud, folding her opponent in half.

Nadyasonika stumbles back, arms hanging, mouth open as she gasps for air. Shay, breathing hard but focused, steps in close—ready to finish what she started.

Scoring: 10-9 Shay

Damage: Nadyasonika wincing after every body shot. Nose trickling blood. Shay holding ribs but surging.

Round 7:
Both fighters are running on fumes, their bodies soaked in sweat, bruised and battered. Shay, breath ragged and ribs aching, digs deep into whatever reserves she has left. She storms forward, unleashing a furious flurry—combinations to the head, chest, and shoulders, trying to break Nadyasonika’s guard with sheer will. Left hook! Right cross! An uppercut snaps Nadyasonika’s head back—but the Cosplay Queen doesn’t break. Her bloodied lip curls into a snarl, eyes locked in like a woman possessed.

Nadyasonika shifts tactics, absorbing the punishment and responding with savage precision. She digs into Shay’s ribs with bone-cracking hooks—left, right, left again—each one drawing a tortured gasp from Shay’s lungs. Shay winces, grits her teeth, and somehow fires back. A sneaky uppercut drills into Nadyasonika’s breast, nearly knocking it free from its top. Nadyasonika grunts in agony, staggering back—but Shay presses forward. A left hook to the cheek! A right to the ribs! Anoter chopping right to the breast! She steps in, loading a final straight punch—

—but Nadyasonika ducks and counters with a thunderous overhand right that lands flush on Shay’s jaw with a sickening crack.

Shay reels back, stunned, her legs jelly beneath her. Her feet stumble in desperate retreat, barely keeping up with her swaying frame. She feints left, then jogs weakly to the right, trying to buy time, but Nadyasonika is relentless. She jabs now, using her reach to trap Shay, her arms acting like walls, her power unrelenting. She shoves Shay hard—but Shay ducks and circles out, fighting pure on instinct.

Still, Shay’s not clear. She’s still dazed, vision swimming. She tries to stay away, but Nadyasonika expertly cuts off the ring, cornering her and forcing her back into the ropes. Shay dips left again, looking to escape—but Nadyasonika stamps her foot down on Shay’s right foot, pinning her in place.

Then comes the onslaught—a brutal hook to the ribs, folding Shay sideways. An uppercut smashes into her left breast, drawing a strangled cry. Then—a perfectly placed blow to the drawstrings of Shay’s top, snapping it back with surgical cruelty. Shay’s eyes go wide, mouthpiece dangling from her lips.

CRACK! Another hook lands exactly in the same spot. Shay’s eyes flutter shut. Her body buckles and she crumples sideways like a collapsing building, crashing to the canvas with a thud. Her gloves twitch once... then go still.

The referee’s voice cuts through the chaos.
“1… 2… 3…”

Shay's corner are screaming for her to get up.
“4… 5… 6…”


Shay’s eyelids flicker. Her chest rises in shallow breaths.
“7… 8…”

She’s still on her back, unmoving.
“10!”

It’s over.

The Cosplay Queen stands tall—bloodied, bruised, but victorious.
 
Winner: Nadyasonika via 7th Round KO
 Post-Fight:

Nadyasonika throws her arms into the air, letting out a primal roar as she jumps up and down, sweat flying from her hair. The crowd erupts around her. She had just gone to war with one of the best in the business—and survived. More than survived. Her raw power, grit, and refusal to back down proved too much. In the end, it was her relentless body assault and crushing finish that sealed the deal. Shay gave her everything, but Nadyasonika stood tall.

Breathing heavily, still flushed with adrenaline, Nadyasonika walks over to where Shay lies surrounded by her corner. The medics give her space as she drops to one knee beside her fallen opponent. Her expression softens. She gently places a glove on Shay’s shoulder, leaning in with a few quiet words.

After a moment, Shay nods weakly, still dazed but conscious. Seeing that she’s okay, Nadyasonika helps her sit up, then pulls her into a respectful embrace. The two warriors share a hug—no trash talk, no gloating. Just mutual respect carved out of pain and war. The crowd, witnessing the sportsmanship, rises in applause.

Two fighters. One winner. One unforgettable war.

Loser's Locker Room

Shay sits slouched on the bench, a towel draped over her shoulders. Her chest still rises and falls from the brutal war she just endured. Her jaw is bruised, and a nasty mouse swells under her right eye. But it’s the deep pink welts and bruises across her midsection that tell the real story — her body bears the full imprint of a savage fight.

The interviewer sits beside her, giving her a brief moment before asking gently, “You okay?”

Shay exhales a tired chuckle. “I’m fine now… but that was a war.”

“It looked like you were trading rounds evenly with Nadyasonika, but in the end, her power seemed to make the difference.”

Shay nods, wiping the sweat from her brow. “That — and that girl can take a punch. I’m no lightweight. I hit hard, and there aren’t many women who eat those shots and stay standing. I just couldn’t put her away.”

“She’s tough.”

“She’s damn tough,” Shay agrees. “The Cosplay Queens? Don’t let their records fool you. Anyone who’s stepped into the ring with one knows — they come to fight.”

“With your boss recently signing a cross-training deal with the Wicked Queens, maybe she should think about doing the same with the Queens of Cosplay.”

Shay offers a tired smile. “Trust me, Kylie’s tried — more than once. She’d love to have them in our corner. There’s a lot of hate out there, and we need all the help we can get.”

“You had her in real trouble. Looked like you were going in for the knockout, and then…”

Shay sighs, her voice tinged with regret. “That one’s on me. I thought I had her. Hell, she had her eyes closed — I felt it. I went in to finish her… but she wasn’t done. Probably a long way from done. She caught me clean, and it was lights out.”

She looks down for a moment, then back up with quiet respect. “Full credit to Nadyasonika. She earned that win tonight.”

Winner’s Locker Room

Nadyasonika stands tall in the center of the locker room, bare-chested and glistening with sweat. She slowly unties the wraps around her bruised hands, her chest rising and falling with each labored breath. The marks of battle are vivid across her torso—welts, bruises, and deep red imprints that tell the story of a war hard fought.

“Congratulations on a big win.”

She nods, exhaling sharply.
“Not easy. Shay’s a pure boxer—fast feet, and that jab? Always in your face. She made me work for every inch.”

“You two were very evenly matched—went back and forth all night. But in the end, it was your power that made the difference.”

Nadyasonika shrugs, a flicker of both pride and respect in her eyes.
“I tagged her good, yeah… but don’t sleep on Shay’s power. My body’s the proof of it.”

The reporter glances down at the angry, purple bruises blooming beneath Nadyasonika’s full D-cup breasts.

“Oof. That’s gotta hurt.”

Nadyasonika chuckles, unfazed.
“All part of stepping into the ring. This is what the fans pay their hard-earned dollars for—two women beating the **** out of each other. It doesn’t get better than that.”

“You did get a warning for that shove after the bell. Was that intentional?”

She pauses, smirking slightly.
“Okay, my temper got the better of me. Shay’s relentless. She doesn’t stop. I just needed space—but yeah, maybe not the smartest move.”

“What did you say to her when you kneeled down after the fight?”

Her voice softens.
“I told her it was a hell of a fight. Could’ve gone either way. Nothing bad to say about her—just respect.”

“The Queens of Cosplay could easily be 2–0. Your teammate Jessica Nigri had the fight in the bag against Jennifer Lopez but let it slip away.”

Nadyasonika’s jaw tightens. She nods slowly.
“I feel horrible for Jess. She had Lopez down, was really beating the snot out of her, and then… she got tagged. One shot changed everything.”

She exhales sharply, a flicker of frustration crossing her face.
“I wasn’t gonna let that happen against Shay. Not this time. I stayed locked in, even when I was hurting. No way was I letting this one slip.”

“Thanks, Nadyasonika. We all look forward to seeing you in Canada.”

She throws a towel over her shoulder, flashing a tired but confident grin.
“Canada better be ready. I’m just getting started.”

Written by The Badass Barbies

Sin City Slugfest VI

Blind Fold Match:

Jennifer Lopez vs Jessica Nigri



Fighter Profile: Jessica Nigri

• Nickname: “The Cosplay Crusher”
• Age: 35
• Height: 5'7" (170 cm)
• Weight Class: Heavyweight (135 lbs)
• Reach: 68 inches
• Style: Unorthodox Striker / Power Slugger
• Strengths: Raw power, unpredictable combos, strong chin, intimidation factor
• Weaknesses: Cardio under pressure, exposed guard, struggles against high-volume strikers, vulnerable to repeated breast strikes

Background:

Jessica Nigri is best known as a cosplay icon and influencer, but in the ring, she’s all power and presence. With a sculpted build and surprising upper-body strength, she turns heads — and breaks ribs. She fights like she performs: bold, aggressive, and fearless. Her fans call her “the fan-service Fury” for her explosive entrances and aggressive finishes.

Her biggest weapons are heavy hands and mental games. She loves targeting the body and chest to wear opponents down before swinging for dramatic KO's. Her downfall tends to be high-paced opponents who can outwork her in longer fights.

Jennifer Lopez

• Nickname: “J.Lo the Juggernaut”
• Age: 55 (but fights like she’s 30)
• Height: 5'5" (165 cm)
• Weight Class: Heavyweight (135 lbs)
• Reach: 66 inches
• Style: Technical Boxer / Tactical Head Sniper
• Strengths: Conditioning, bodywork, experience, ring IQ, footwork
• Weaknesses: Can be baited into brawls, slightly slower reaction speed vs. younger opponents

Background:

Jennifer Lopez is a veteran in every sense — a multi-talented performer with decades of physical discipline under her belt. Her training regimen is the stuff of legend, and her physique is top-tier even by combat standards. What she lacks in youth, she makes up for in sheer stamina, savvy movement, and tactical targeting.

J.Lo loves digging to the midsection, ribs, and solar plexus, breaking opponents down piece by piece. Her ability to pace herself over a full ten rounds makes her dangerous late, especially against wild, faster starters like Nigri.

Round 1:

The bell rings, and Jennifer Lopez steps out like she owns the the damn ring. Calm. Calculated. Dangerous. Her body glistens under the lights—muscles coiled, eyes locked ahead, her guard tight and efficient. She bounces lightly on the balls of her feet, exuding total control.

Jessica Nigri bursts forward recklessly, trying to smother J.Lo early. She throws wild overhands and chest-high hooks, aiming to make it a brawl. Her gloves slam into Jennifer’s shoulders and upper arms, but they don’t land clean—and they don’t slow J.Lo down.

Jennifer stays just outside the storm, bobbing and weaving effortlessly. Then she counterattacks.

Whack. A left hook digs deep into Jessica’s ribs. Thump. A jab snaps her belly. Jessica winces, her body jerking. Lopez ducks an overhand right then slips inside and drives a right hand just below Nigri’s sternum. Jessica staggers back, her face flashing pain.

With less than 30 seconds left, J.Lo pins her with a jab, then crushes a hook under her left breast. Jessica groans, forced back on her heels, arms wilting.

She escapes to the bell, but she’s breathing heavier already, eyes darting with the first traces of doubt.

Score: 10–9 Lopez

Round 2:

Jessica tries again to force the pace—but her footwork is sloppy now, and her punches come slower. J.Lo slips a looping right and punishes her with a three-punch combo to the body—rib, belly, solar plexus. Each shot lands like a hammer. Jessica grunts, her arms dropping.

Jennifer doesn’t relent. She snaps a jab into Nigri’s mouth—blood sprays from a split lip. A cross follows, slamming flush into Jessica’s face and knocking her a full step back. The crowd roars.

Nigri responds with a wild haymaker, but J.Lo ducks it and punishes her again: a left hook under the right breast, a jab to the nose, a crunching right to the ribs. Jessica's legs wobble.

Jennifer traps her on the ropes and rips another body shot under the heart. Jessica groans and clinches, face buried in J.Lo’s shoulder, trying to breathe. Now comes some nasty dirty boxing. Jennifer hammers hooks into Jessica’s kidneys, then jerks her head back with a sharp uppercut. She slams cross after cross into Jessica’s ribs and cheekbones, rocking her head from side to side, gritting her teeth as she breaks the clinch with raw power.

The ref breaks them with 10 seconds left.

J.Lo gives her a cold smirk as she backs off, untouched.

Score: 10–8 Lopez (dominant round)
 
Running Total: Lopez 20–17
Round 3:

Jessica Nigri comes out for the fourth round on shaky legs, already red and bruised from the waist up. Her abs are swollen and puffy from relentless punishment, her chest blotched with angry welts, and blood seeps steadily from her nostrils and the corner of her mouth. Her eyes are glassy, her breathing ragged.

J.Lo wastes no time.

A stiff jab snaps Jessica’s head back. A thudding cross crashes into her cheek, twisting her body sideways with the impact. Then Jennifer goes downstairs again, hammering in vicious left and right hooks into Nigri’s already battered midsection. The sound of leather smacking flesh echoes through the arena. Jessica folds slightly, groaning as a left digs under her ribs and a right slams into her liver.

She stumbles forward, trying to tie up, but Jennifer won’t let her. She sidesteps and explodes with a sharp uppercut that clips Jessica’s chin, then follows with another brutal hook to the side of the body. Jessica yelps, arms falling to her sides momentarily.

Jennifer doesn't stop.

She walks her opponent down, pinning her in the corner like a predator moving in for the kill. A cross to the face. A hook to the ribs. Another to the liver. A left under the breast. Jessica’s legs buckle, her arms hanging uselessly. J.Lo grabs her with one arm, pushes her upright, and smashes a right hook into her temple. Jessica crashes chest-first into the turnbuckles, body sagging, barely conscious.

The referee hesitates—but Jessica’s upright, somehow. Dazed, swaying, but standing.

Jennifer snarls and steps back in.

She unloads again—two more body hooks, then a savage uppercut that lifts Jessica’s chin and knocks her head into the turnbuckle pad. Still not down. Jennifer digs deep, slamming a straight right on the drawstrings folding Nigri over. Then three more brutal, unanswered hooks into her ribs and stomach, each one ripping a strangled cry from Jessica's lips.

The bell finally rings.

Jessica staggers backward and slumps onto her stool, her legs barely holding her upright. Head bowed, she gasps for breath as if she’s been pulled from underwater—chest hitching, mouth wide open. Her body tells the story of the beating: ribs discolored and swollen, her abs twitching with each ragged inhale, arms limp and shaking. Blood trickles from her nose and lip, trailing down to her chin as sweat pours off her battered frame. Her corner rushes in, frantically working to patch her up, but there’s a sinking sense in the air—Jessica may still be sitting, but she’s broken.
 
Jennifer Lopez stands in her corner, chest heaving, eyes still locked on her opponent, radiating dominance. That round wasn’t just punishment—it was a statement. This is her ring.

Score: 10–9 Lopez

Running Total: Lopez 30–26
 
Round 4:

Jennifer comes out poised, thinking the momentum is still hers. She circles to her left, jabbing, working Jessica’s swollen belly again. A nasty left hook lands flush to Nigri’s liver—thud—and Jessica grimaces, her knees buckling slightly.

But this time, she doesn’t back down. Her body aches with each breath but Jessica is far from done.

With a snarl, Jessica explodes. She eats another jab to the cheek—but counters with a bomb. A wide, looping right crashes across Jennifer’s jaw—CRACK—and sends the veteran reeling sideways into the ropes.

The crowd erupts. J.Lo’s eyes go wide as she tries to recover—but Jessica’s already on her.

Nigri barrels in, launching wild, savage uppercuts to the body—thump, thump—hammering Jennifer’s ribs and breasts with both fists. A left hook slams into the underside of Lopez’s chest, making her stumble. Jessica digs in, switching levels—body, head, body again—as she unloads in relentless bursts.

She rips a right hand into Jennifer’s stomach, then whips a left across her cheek. Another uppercut crushes under her chin, followed by a furious combo: two to the ribs, one to the solar plexus, then a stiff jab right between the eyes. Lopez reels, gasping, her guard collapsing under the barrage.

Jennifer covers up, but her stance has lost its tight control. Her footwork is choppy now, reactive. She circles away, but she’s hurt—and Jessica knows it.

Nigri cuts the ring with confidence and pounds another left hook into J.Lo’s hip, then a savage right under her arm that lands flush on the ribs. Jennifer groans. Her gloves sag for a second—and Jessica capitalizes, blasting a clean cross to the mouth that sends spit and blood flying.

By the end of the round, J.Lo’s arms are heavy, her guard slower. Her body shows fresh bruises, her breathing strained and uneven. Nigri finishes with a hard right to the side of the jaw that spins Jennifer’s head—and walks to her corner breathing fire, eyes locked on her wounded prey, smelling blood.

Score: 10–9 Nigri

Running Total: Lopez 39–36

Round 5:

Jessica comes out stalking, slow and menacing. Her breathing is heavy, chest rising with effort—but her eyes burn with renewed rage and cruel intent. Every step forward radiates purpose. J.Lo tries to keep her at bay—tap-tap with the jab—but the snap is gone. There’s no bite, only survival, and Nigri smells weakness like blood in the water.

She muscles her way inside, slipping a lazy jab and slamming a hook into Jennifer’s right side, just beneath the arm. J.Lo gasps, her body twisting from the impact. Another hook crashes into her left flank—this one deeper, more savage—followed by a short, piston-like right into her belly that buckles her forward.

Jennifer instinctively reaches to clinch, to buy time—but Jessica isn’t having it.

She drives forward with a shoulder, ripping her arms free, and unleashes hell. A blistering left smashes into the underside of Jennifer’s left breast, drawing a sharp cry from the veteran. J.Lo backs into the ropes, her legs stiff, her guard loose.

Jessica feints high—then dips and rips a rising left hook under Jennifer’s right breast that sends sweat and spit flying. J.Lo wilts under the shot, one glove dropping instinctively to protect her torso.

Jessica capitalizes.

A brutal right to the ribs. Then a second. A third. She digs in with relentless fury, her gloves chugging into Jennifer’s body like hammers. J.Lo gasps for air, eyes wide in pain. She throws a desperate left—but misses wildly—and gets punished with a stiff jab right on the mouth that splits her lip open.

The crowd is stunned.

Jessica smirks through her mouthguard as Jennifer staggers to her corner, chest heaving, body trembling, eyes fogged and unfocused. Her torso is a mess—bruised, welted, ribs screaming with each breath. The tide has not just turned—it’s crashing down.

Score: 10–9 Nigri

Running Total: Lopez 48–46
 
Round 6:

J.Lo’s corner tries to fire her up, but she’s clearly wearing down. Her arms are slower to rise, her footwork heavy. Jessica sees it—and pounces.

She traps Lopez in her own corner within 30 seconds of the bell and begins beating the body like a drum. A vicious right hook thuds into the ribs. Then a left uppercut slams into the bottom of Jennifer’s breast, jacking it up violently. Another right buries itself into her bellybutton.

J.Lo groans, trying to clinch—but Jessica shoves her off, letting the crowd see the violence unfold.

A straight right to the face rocks J.Lo’s head back, her ponytail whipping. Her mouth is open, sucking air. Her arms are sagging. She tries to circle out—Jessica cuts her off.

Then the flurry begins: hook to the side, uppercut to the chest, straight right to the nose. J.Lo’s knees buckle again—but she stays up, barely.

Jessica pushes her into the corner again, slamming punches into both flanks, then goes high with a right cross that lands clean. Jennifer clinches—this time she has to—wrapping her arms around Jessica just to survive the final 10 seconds.

When the bell rings, Jennifer stumbles to her corner, lips bloody, abs purple, chest rising and falling violently.

Jessica stands tall, chest heaving, sweat streaking down her arms—and smiling.

Score: 10–9 Nigri

Running Total After 6 Rounds: 57–56 Lopez
 
Round 7

Jennifer Lopez comes out of her corner with her chest heaving, arms low, and eyes weary. The crisp, surgical boxing that dominated the early rounds is gone. Her shoulders slump between punches. Her jab is slow and predictable now—easy prey for Jessica Nigri.

Nigri takes her time. She bobs under a half-hearted jab and steps in, burying a brutal left hook into Jennifer’s ribs. The punch lands with a sickening thud, and Lopez’s body jolts sideways from the impact.

Before she can recover, a right uppercut drills into the center of her chest, lifting her off balance and sending her backpedaling a step. Her gloves instinctively lower to protect her torso, and Jessica takes advantage.

CRACK! A clubbing left to the ribs again, and Jennifer drops to a knee, mouth open, gasping.

The referee starts counting—

1... 2... 3...

J.Lo blinks hard, shaking her head. 4... 5... 6... She slowly pushes herself up, unsteady but upright.

Jessica doesn't wait. She charges in with a feral intensity, slamming her fists into Jennifer’s aching body. Left hook to the flank. Right hand to the liver. Left uppercut under the breast. J.Lo reels backward, her torso drenched in sweat, gloves barely up.

Jessica cuts the ring off expertly and ends the round with a vicious hook to the body that makes Jennifer stumble sideways into the ropes.

The referee hovers close. The tide has become a flood.

Score: 10–8 Nigri

Running Total: Nigri 65–66 Nigri now in the lead
 
Round 8

Jennifer's corner is panicked, applying ice to her ribs, trying to revive the battered legend. But her face is slack, her chest still rising and falling like she’s in a sprint. Her legs are lead.

When the bell rings, Jessica marches forward like a predator that smells blood.

Lopez throws a desperate jab—Nigri slaps it away and rams a straight right into her face. J.Lo’s head snaps back, a spray of sweat misting into the air. A quick sidestep and Jessica digs a left hook deep into Jennifer’s gut—ooof!—and Lopez folds forward.

Nigri fires a compact right hook that crashes across Jennifer’s cheek, snapping her head to the side—and down she goes again. Jennifer hits the canvas hard, her big butt bouncing off the mat as she lands, her face contorted in pain. She rolls slightly to her side, clutching her midsection with both arms, moaning as the deep ache in her belly and ribs sets in. The crowd roars as the referee hurries in, but Jennifer’s body isn’t responding—she’s broken and breathless.

1... 2... 3... 4... She’s motionless.

5... 6... 7... She blinks, grits her teeth.

8... 9... She barely beats the count, pulling herself up on the ropes, gasping like she’s drowning.

The ref gives a long look, but nods. Jessica moves in again, throwing bombs—aiming for the body, slamming hooks into both flanks. A left uppercut to the belly makes J.Lo gasp audibly. Her legs wobble.

Jessica goes high—right cross to the temple!—Jennifer stumbles into the ropes again, arms flailing, but the bell saves her from another knockdown.

Nigri glares at her as they walk to their corners—eyes burning with bad intentions.

Score: 10–8 Nigri

Running Total: Nigri 73–76
 
Round 9

Jennifer doesn’t stand at the bell—she pulls herself up with both arms from the stool. The crowd is split between awe at her grit and disbelief that the fight hasn’t been stopped.

Jessica wastes no time. She steps in behind a punishing jab, rocking Lopez’s head once, twice, then slicing a left hook across the mouth. Blood flicks from Jennifer’s lip.

J.Lo tries to circle, but her feet are gone. Jessica crowds her, bumping chest into chest, and rips another body shot under the ribs. Jennifer screams out, grabbing at Jessica’s waist—but Nigri shoves her off and smashes a right into the cheek.

Lopez staggers sideways, collapsing into the corner. Jessica pins her there and pounds her torso—three punches to the belly, two uppercuts to the breasts. Jennifer’s arms are barely moving now.

The ref moves in close, watching for any sign to end it.

Jessica rears back and throws a vicious right hand—but Jennifer ducks it at the last second and clinches, buying precious seconds.

The final 10 seconds tick down as Jennifer hangs on. Jessica pounds her sides with short, cruel hooks, screaming at her to go down, but somehow, J.Lo stays up—her body slumped forward, her face mashed into Nigri’s shoulder.

The bell rings. Jennifer stumbles back to her corner on instinct, more ghost than fighter.

Score: 10–8 Nigri

Running Total: Nigri 81–86  Jessica in complete control!

Round 10:

Jessica Nigri entered the final round with a commanding lead—battle-worn but confident it was her fight to win. Her movement still had rhythm, and her jab was crisp, snapping into Jennifer Lopez’s guard as the crowd roared in anticipation of a potential upset. J.Lo’s corner had told her flat-out: “You need to stop her. It’s now or never.”

Jennifer came out with urgency but looked drained, her footwork sloppy, her arms heavy. A wild right missed by a foot, and Jessica countered beautifully with a stiff jab to the face, followed by a left hook to the body. J.Lo winced. The clock ticked—less than a minute and a half left.

Jessica pressed the advantage, peppering J.Lo with shots, backing her into the ropes. She was fighting smart, not taking risks—until the moment that changed everything.

Jennifer, cornered and seemingly fading, dipped low and threw a desperate overhand right. It barely grazed Jessica’s temple, but it disrupted her rhythm. She hesitated. That was all the opening Jennifer needed.

Boom.

A sharp left snapped Jessica’s head back. Blood sprayed from her nose. The second punch—a brutal straight right—landed flush. Blood gushed. Jessica staggered, confused, blinded, her hands instinctively rising to cover her face. A third punch—a mean left hook to thee right breast—drove her backward. And then came the uppercut.

Crack.

It shattered her already bleeding nose. Jessica reeled and stumbled. The blood wouldn’t stop now—it poured down her lips, over her chin, staining her gloves as she tried to paw at the mess. The ref stepped in to check.

"Can you breathe?" he asked, voice urgent.

Jessica nodded, but she was blinking furiously, her vision clouded with her left eye quickly closing. The ringside doctor was already on the apron.

“She can’t go on,” the doctor said. “That nose is broken in two places—she’s drowning in blood.”

The referee gave one last look. Jessica’s hands dropped in disappointment, and with just 43 seconds left, he waved it off.

Winner by TKO Broken Nose in Round 10: Jennifer Lopez.

The crowd gasped—Jessica had been a minute away from victory. But Jennifer had dug deep and found the punches that mattered most. In the end, it wasn’t just a comeback—it was a finish few saw coming.


Winner: Jennifer Lopez by 10th Round KO (Broken Nose)

 
She collapses to her knees, triumphant, as the crowd goes wild. Jessica, ever the warrior, is attended to by medics—beaten, broken, but respected.

Sin City Slugfest VI: Post-Fight Interview – Jennifer Lopez Locker Room

The reporter stands outside the door for nearly ten minutes before being allowed in. Inside, the locker room smells of sweat, alcohol wipes, and tension. Jennifer Lopez sits on the bench, wrapped in a towel, her torso marked with fresh bruises, her lip stitched, her left eye swollen but open. Her knuckles are raw beneath the wraps. She looks up as the reporter enters, jaw tight, posture proud.

Reporter: Jennifer, that was an amazing comeback.

J.Lo (flatly): "Yeah. I did what I had to do."

Reporter: You came out strong, no doubt. Most thought you had the first two rounds in the bag. But by Round 4, you looked exhausted. A lot of people are saying you should’ve lost—

J.Lo (sitting up straighter): “I beg your pardon? Me? Out of gas? Do you have any idea who I am?”

Reporter (pressing): Well… you did slow down. And frankly, a lot of us ringside felt Jessica was dominating. You really had no business winning that fight. It was a lucky punch.

J.Lo (eyes narrowing): “You need to shut the **** up. This is boxing. Not ballet. You think that was luck? I broke her nose and ended the fight. That’s called finishing. That’s called grit.  That's called kicking the crap out of some woman who plays dress up.”

Reporter: OK, OK. You won. But let’s not pretend here—you took a horrible beating. Your face tells the story.

J.Lo (leaning forward): “Everybody takes a few punches. I stayed on my feet. She didn’t. I walked out. She didn’t. So yeah, maybe I bled. But she quit. And I didn’t.”

Reporter (pauses, then asks): What did you say to her after the bell? Right before the ref waved it off?

J.Lo (smirks): “Told her this ain’t Comic Con, sweetheart. It’s a real fight. And she doesn’t belong in my ring.”

Reporter: Do you respect her? After that war?

J.Lo (shrugs): “I respect her toughness. I don’t respect her mouth. She thought she was gonna walk in and humiliate me? Nah. She learned tonight—painfully—that I don’t break. She gave me her best. I gave her the floor.”

The reporter thanks her, but Jennifer doesn’t wait for the mic to drop. She leans back against the wall, closes her eyes, and breathes deep—one hand resting just above the stitched rib welt, the other still clenched in a fist.

Written by the Badass Barbies.