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Blindfold Tournament round 3 Laura Marano vs Dove Cameron
By: awesome aries Date: August 16, 2025, 5:54 am
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Sin City Slugfest IV
Tournament Finals
HTML https://i.imgur.com/06DXsUj.png
Laura Marano:
Backstage, the energy is tense. The muffled roar of the crowd
pulses through the concrete walls of the MGM Grande arena, but
in Laura Marano’s corner of the locker room, all is quiet except
for the soft hiss of an ice pack and the low hum of her team
whispering in strategy.
Laura sits slouched on the bench, legs spread, elbows on her
knees, head bowed. Her body is a canvas of punishment — bruises
along her ribs, a fresh gash just under her nose, her left
breast swollen and discolored from Joey King’s brutal right
hook. Her breathing is measured, but each inhale is a struggle,
every movement a jolt of pain. Joey had taken her to the brink —
and nearly past it but Laura refused to fall to Joey.
She spits out water into a bucket and leans back with a wince.
Her trainer gently presses an ice pack to her side.
"You shouldn’t have won that fight," she mutters under her
breath, not accusing — just being real.
Laura looks up slowly, eyes narrowed. "But I did. Is that
chubby little **** celebrating right now? No, Joey's probably
crying a river of tears because I won and she lost."
She stands, stiff and aching, but there’s fire in her posture
again. That trademark defiance. That never ever give attitude.
Her ribs scream, her legs are heavy, and her jaw clicks when she
stretches it. But none of it matters now. There’s still one more
fight. One more body to break. One more set of breasts to
flatten.
She slips her arms through the robe offered by Katherine
McNamara, lets it fall over her bruised frame. The MGM officials
enter. One of them carries the ceremonial black blindfold.
"Time," he says.
Laura nods. She steps forward, arms out. The blindfold goes on.
Total darkness. And yet she grins.
"You sure about this?" Vanessa Marano asks.
Laura smirks, voice low and certain. "I’ve fought blind before."
She walks slowly toward the hallway, flanked by her team, a lone
spotlight catching the edge of her robe as she steps into the
arena. Every step is pain. Every breath is earned. But her heart
pounds steady.
She doesn’t know who’s waiting on the other side of the cage.
But it really doesn’t matter.
She’s Laura Marano — and she’s still standing and no matter who
she faces they are going to get the best she has to offer and
with the title on the line she is going to be impossible to
beat.
Dove Cameron:
The walls of Dove Cameron’s locker room were thick, but not
thick enough to muffle the echo of the roaring crowd outside.
The distant thunder was constant — relentless — like the
heartbeat of the arena itself. And inside, Dove sat slumped on a
stool, body glistening with sweat, ice packs pressed to her
ribcage and under her arms. Her lips were split. Her left eye
puffy. Her breasts, discolored and swollen from Ariana’s early
and late punishment, rose and fell with heavy, ragged breaths.
Her trainer pressed a cold towel to the back of her neck. "You
shouldn’t have taken that sixth round head-on."
Dove didn’t answer at first. She grimaced, slowly straightening
up, her eyes distant but focused. "I won," she finally muttered,
voice hoarse. "That’s all that matters."
And she had — barely. Dove had floored Ariana with a beautiful
counter in the fifth, a crisp right that dropped the pop
princess flat on her ass. But Ariana had stormed back like a
hurricane, battering Dove’s body and breasts, nearly finishing
her with a brutal knockdown in the sixth. Dove had held,
clinched, survived — and escaped with the slimmest of split
decisions.
Now her body was paying the price.
A deep bruise bloomed across her sternum. Her abs were red,
scraped raw from the gloves. She winced every time she moved her
arms. Still, her jaw was set — eyes sharp.
"Finals are next," Olivia Holt said quietly.
Dove stood with effort, taking her time. She adjusted her sports
bra, letting out a hiss as the fabric pressed over tender flesh.
But there was no hesitation. She wasn’t about to sit out now.
She was a fighter. One of the best. MMA, boxing, oil wrestling,
it didn’t matter — she was born for this.
The door opened. A MGM official stepped in, holding the
ceremonial black blindfold.
Dove raised her chin.
"You ready for this?" Olivia Rodrgo asked, softly.
Dove’s lips curled into a thin, pained smirk. "She’s hurting
too. Bet on that."
She stepped forward as the blindfold was tied around her head.
Darkness.
One more fight. One more war.
And Dove Cameron was walking toward it — broken body,
unbreakable will.
Tournament Finals – Arrival of the Finalists
The lights inside the MGM arena dimmed suddenly, and a quiet
tension spread across the crowd like a slow, building wave. The
massive display screens overhead simply read:
"THE FINALS"
No names. No faces. Just electricity in the air and one question
pulsing through every mind: Who made it?
From opposite ends of the arena, the fighter entrances lit up —
a soft spotlight on each tunnel. Two figures emerged at the same
time, each draped in oversized satin robes, hoods pulled tightly
over their heads. Their silhouettes were nearly identical in
size, compact and feminine, moving with a distinct, weary
determination.
The crowd strained forward in anticipation, trying to identify
the gait, the posture, any detail that might betray who they
were. But the robes covered everything. Neither fighter looked
to the crowd. Neither acknowledged the flashing lights or
roaring whispers from the stands.
They had one focus — the ring.
The first fighter climbed the steps slowly, favoring her ribs
ever so slightly. She slipped through the ropes, keeping her
head bowed. The second followed moments later, her shoulders
stiff, jaw set, eyes locked dead ahead beneath her hood. She
moved like she’d done this a hundred times — because she had.
The referee waited in the center. As both fighters reached the
ring, they stood with backs to their corners, neither glancing
to the left or right. They didn’t know who they were facing.
Yet.
"Ladies," the ref began, his voice cutting through the stillness
like a blade, "you’ve both made it through war. This is the
final round of the tournament. Six rounds. No standing
eight-counts unless I call for them. Protect yourselves at all
times. You may remove your blindfolds and hoods on my count."
A beat passed.
"One…"
The audience held its breath.
"Two…"
The air felt heavy.
"Three."
Both fighters yanked the blindfolds and hoods off at the same
instant.
And the arena exploded.
Screams, gasps, and deafening chants erupted through the arena
like a thunderclap as the fighters yanked off their hoods and
blindfolds. The crowd surged to its feet, disbelieving what they
were seeing. LAURA MARANO stood eye to eye with DOVE CAMERON —
the two most bitter, venomous rivals in UCC history.
Laura’s bruised face twisted into a crooked grin the moment she
saw Dove. Her eyes lit up, not with joy, but with pure, hateful
adrenaline. She had one thought: Of course it’s her. It had to
be her.
Dove’s reaction was immediate. Her face dropped, her jaw
clenched, and her fists tightened at her sides. Her bloodied
lips curled into a scowl. She hated Laura — hated her smirk,
hated her voice, hated that she’d made it to the finals. "You’ve
got to be **** kidding me," she muttered under her breath. All
her pain vanished into fury.
Neither woman moved as their muscles tensed tight. The tension
between them was volcanic.
No words. No gestures. Just pure hatred and history simmering in
the center of the ring.
All around them, the crowd lost its mind — half screaming
Laura’s name, the other half chanting for Dove. Security
struggled to keep fans from surging toward the barricades.
Phones lit up the air like fireworks, capturing the moment. This
was a dream final.
Two wounded warriors, battered but unbroken, staring daggers at
each other.
In less than a minute, fists would fly, blood would spill, and
one of them would be left broken on the canvas and the other
would have another win over her hated rival.
There was no pretense of sportsmanship. No mutual respect. Just
pure, unfiltered loathing.
They weren’t just fighting for the belt.
They were fighting to destroy one another. To wipe any hope in
their rivals eyes. To seek and destroy the woman standing in
front of them.
War wasn’t coming — it had already begun.
Round 1: Laura Marano vs. Dove Cameron
The bell rang.
No more mystery. No more buildup. Just pure, white-hot fury
between two women who despised each other more than anyone else
on the roster.
Dove surged forward immediately, gloves high, her movements
sharp and predatory. Laura circled to her left, jaw clenched,
eyes burning. The arena still hadn’t quieted from the reveal,
and the fighters were already in each other's space.
Dove struck first.
A stiff jab snapped Laura’s head back, followed by a thudding
right to the ribs. Laura grunted but stayed composed, pivoting
and countering with a left hook to Dove’s temple that made the
blonde stagger back a step. The crowd roared.
Laura pressed in, firing off a two-punch combo: right cross to
the cheek, left uppercut under the arm. Dove clinched, tying her
up as Laura wasn't holding back. The ref separated them.
Thirty seconds in, and the damage had begun.
Dove landed a vicious hook to Laura’s breast, drawing a loud
gasp and backing her rival into the ropes. Laura absorbed a body
shot and returned fire with a straight right to the mouth that
split Dove’s lip wide open. Blood sprayed, and the hatred
doubled.
Midway through the round, the pace got brutal. Both fighters
were looking to make a statement early. Dove unleashed a flurry
of lefts and rights to Laura's body, working high and low,
pushing her into the corner. Laura covered up but absorbed
plenty.
Then, Laura dipped and threw a monster left hook to the liver.
Dove froze.
Her legs stiffened, her mouth opened in a silent scream, and she
staggered backward. Laura charged and hammered a looping right
to the jaw.
DOWN GOES DOVE!
The crowd exploded as Dove dropped to all fours, gasping, her
mouthpiece hanging loose. The ref started counting.
1... 2... 3...
Dove shook her head and forced herself upright, rising at 6,
wiping blood from her lip. The ref checked her over.
Dove was up at 8 but was unsteady as she blinked and tried to
focus.
Laura grinned, chest heaving, her gloves already twitching for
the next attack.
The ref waved them back in.
Dove looked furious.
She darted forward and caught Laura with a stinging straight
left. Then a right hook to the jaw that made Laura stumble. The
brunette tried to clinch but Dove shoved her off and tagged her
with a left uppercut that snapped her head back.
Now Laura was in trouble.
Dove advanced like a shark, ripping shots to Laura’s sides, then
planting a clean right to the face that sent sweat and blood
flying. Laura backpedaled, gloves up, absorbing more punches.
Ten seconds left.
Laura managed to land a desperation jab, then another, creating
distance. Dove lunged with a wild overhand right—and just
missed.
Laura ducked low and **** her with a left to the ribs. Dove
winced, doubling slightly.
Bell rings.
The crowd was in chaos, barely able to sit. The first round was
a war.
Laura scored a knockdown and nearly finished Dove. But Dove
rallied hard, did serious damage of her own, and arguably
controlled the final minute.
Blood dripped from both mouths. Ribs were red. Eyes swollen.
Judge Scorecards – Round 1:
Judge 1: 10-8 Laura Marano
Judge 2: 10-8 Laura Marano
Judge 3: 9-9 Draw
Dove Cameron: 9 - 9 - 9
Laura Marano: 10 - 10 - 9
Round 2: Laura Marano vs. Dove Cameron
Dove storms out of her corner like a woman possessed, jaw
clenched tight, eyes burning. She’s still livid from the
knockdown in Round 1. Laura’s there to meet her, gloves up, chin
tucked — a smirk twitching at the edge of her bruised lips.
"You better now, Dovey? You looked a bit sluggish."
"Shut up and fight!
They close the gap fast.
Dove strikes first — a stiff jab followed by a heavy right hand
that slams into Laura’s belly. Laura grunts, folds slightly, and
immediately clinches rubbing her elbow across Dove's breasts.
"You're a cheap shot artist," Dove hisses into her ear during
the tie-up.
Laura chuckles through gritted teeth and digs her left elbow
into Dove's ribs. "You jealous I dropped you, cupcake?"
The referee moves to separate them — but before he can fully
part the fighters, CRACK — Dove rips a short hook into Laura’s
ribs. A blatant shot after the break.
Boos rain down from the crowd.
"Watch it!" the ref snaps, pointing a finger in Dove’s face. He
gives a warning, but no point is deducted.
Laura backs off, eyes burning now. That was personal.
Laura feints a jab, then punches straight down the middle —
right between Dove’s gloves — and nails her in the mouth. The
smack of leather on flesh echoes through the arena. Dove
staggers a step back, stunned, but retaliates with fury.
She rips a left-right combo right into Laura’s chest, snapping
her backward into the ropes. Laura groans but keeps her hands
high and her elbows in tight. The pace accelerates — brutal,
breathless, relentless.
"You’ll be crying again in ten seconds," Laura spits, slipping
under a wide hook and driving a left into Dove’s liver.
Dove gasps sharply, bending at the waist, only to eat a right
cross to the temple. Her knees buckle. She clinches again, this
time sneakily slipping a late uppercut into Laura’s cleavage as
they break.
The referee storms in.
"That’s it! One more shot like that and I take a point!" he
warns, face red with fury.
But Dove is beyond caring. Her rage is boiling over. She shoves
Laura backward with a forearm, then snaps a check hook that
spins the brunette sideways. Dove follows with a looping left to
the jaw — CRACK! — Laura’s mouthpiece nearly flies, and her legs
do a stutter step.
The crowd roars to life.
Dove swarms, hammering Laura’s sides with wild body shots. Left.
Right. Left again. Laura covers up and slips left, biting down
hard on her mouthguard.
Then she fires back.
A quick counter — right hand, dead center — stuns Dove. They
clash in the center of the ring, forehead to forehead, chests
slamming, trading hooks and uppercuts in a savage close-range
brawl.
Then — BOOM.
Laura whips a left hook that lands flush on Dove’s right cheek.
The punch turns her head. Her body twists violently. Her legs
betray her.
Down she goes. Flat on her back, staring at the ceiling lights.
The ref begins the count.
1... 2... 3...
Dove groans, blood dripping from her mouth, blinking hard as if
trying to stay conscious.
4... 5...
She rolls to her side, clutching her ribs.
6... 7...
On her knees now, eyes glassy but time is running out!
8... 9...
She rises just before the count is over — swaying, battered, but
upright. Barely!
The ref gives her a long, serious look... then waves Laura back
in.
Laura doesn’t hesitate.
She rushes forward, snapping off rapid combos — right breast,
left jaw, right hook to the belly. Dove stumbles back into the
ropes and ties Laura up again.
This time it's Laura with the cheap shots. Some rabbit punches
to the back of the head and a couple of sharp elbows to the
breasts gets a stern warning from the ref.
"You’re lucky this ain’t MMA," Dove snarls through clenched
teeth. "I’d have snapped your leg already."
Laura doesn’t respond — just sinks a short right into Dove’s
kidney in reply then shee shoves Dove into the corner and drills
an uppercut to her left breast.
The bell rings.
The ref physically wedges between them as they glare at one
another, both panting, sweat-drenched, faces swollen and
bruised.
As they head to their corners Dove turns around and gives Laura
a shove in the back sending her stumbling into her trainers.
"****! You'll pay for that!"
This is no longer a contest as Laura is showing why The Awesome
Aries are the best boxers in the UCC and she plans on proving
that in the next round.
Judge Scorecards – Round 2:
Judge 1: 10-8 Laura Marano
Judge 2: 10-8 Laura Marano
Judge 3: 10-8 Laura Marano
Dove Cameron: 16 - 16 - 17
Laura Marano: 20 - 20 - 19
Dove’s in serious trouble, but she’s not done yet.
Laura’s bleeding from the mouth. Her right eye is starting to
close.
They’re both battered. Both furious.
Round 3: Laura Marano vs. Dove Cameron
The bell rings, and you can feel the tension boil over.
Laura Marano wastes no time. She storms out of her corner like a
woman possessed, aiming low and hard — jabbing, hooking,
crossing, but not to the head. No, every punch is zeroed in on
Dove Cameron’s aching breasts.
Thump. Thump. Crack.
Laura’s left jab snaps Dove’s right breast sideways, the leather
slamming into the swollen flesh with a sickening bounce. Dove
winces, her mouth open in a soundless gasp. She tries to
retreat, but Laura is all over her, landing another hook, then a
cross, then an uppercut that nearly lifts Dove’s left breast
free of her top. The crowd is on its feet, roaring with each
brutal connection. Laura is on a mission and that is to
separate Dove's breasts form her sports bra.
Dove, teeth clenched, dives in for a clinch, her arms wrapping
around Laura's torso in a desperate bid to stop the onslaught.
Laura doesn't stop — instead, she goes dirty. She slips short
elbows into Dove’s ribs and underboob, twisting her body to
grind the point of her elbow in until the ref forcibly pulls
them apart.
"Watch the elbows, Marano!" the referee shouts. "You break when
I say break"
Laura grins wickedly. "Whatever."
As soon as they’re broken, Laura steps forward and lands two
sharp jabs — both to Dove’s chest again. Dove lets out a hiss
and loses it.
With a growl, Dove lunges forward and tackles Laura to the
canvas. They roll — a mess of arms, legs, snarling faces, and
tangled limbs. The crowd explodes. Both women are screaming and
swearing as they struggle for top position, locking legs,
yanking hair, swinging blindly as they wrestle on the mat.
The referee dives in, shouting commands. Officials rush the
ring. Finally, the fighters are pried apart.
"WARNING! CAMERON!" the ref yells. "NEXT TIME YOU LOSE A POINT —
OR YOU GET DISQUALIFIED!"
Laura brushes herself off, smirking and breathing heavily. Dove
storms back to her corner, eyes wild.
The fight resumes with both corners furious. Laura still has the
upper hand, but Dove is raging, throwing with renewed fury,
forcing Laura to defend. Laura uses the jab to reestablish
control, flicking Dove’s breasts again and again, drawing gasps
and groans.
Then the bell.
Laura steps forward and — WHACK — lands a short cross to the
side of Dove’s right breast after the bell.
"YOU F$CKING CHEAT!" Dove screams and lunges.
They crash into each other again, rolling on the mat in a ball
of limbs and fury. Trainers and officials once more storm the
ring to separate them but this time Dove is on top raining down
punches but Laura is able to cover up and wraps her legs around
Dove's waist and squeezes. Dove freezes in agony as she tries to
pry Laura's strong legs apart.
The crowd is a mix of cheers, boos, and pure bedlam. The arena
feels like it’s about to explode.
Both fighters are dragged back to their corners kicking and
screaming.
The ref visits both corners and issues one final warning: "One
more infraction from either fighter and the match ends in a
forfeit."
"Don't lecture me! I didn’t do anything illegal!" Laura shouts.
"I can’t help it if she doesn’t like getting her t!ts*
rearranged! You saw it, she attacked me!"
Dove hears that. She screams from across the ring, pointing at
Laura. "You’ll eat those words, you sneaky little ****!"
The crowd is frothing with anticipation.
Judge Scorecards – Round 3:
Judge 1: 10-9 Laura Marano
Judge 2: 10-9 Laura Marano
Judge 3: 10-9 Laura Marano
Dove Cameron: 25 - 25 - 26
Laura Marano: 30 - 30 - 29
Laura landed more shots, controlled the pace, and hurt Dove
badly,especially her breasts — but if she keeps crossing the
line, she might just throw this fight away. Dove, blood boiling,
is teetering on the edge of control. She want to kill Laura but
she seems to be playing right into Laura's trap.
Round 4: Laura Marano vs. Dove Cameron
The bell rings for Round 4, and the dynamic has changed. Laura
Marano is in complete command. After three grueling rounds,
she’s clearly ahead on points, her combinations sharper, her
footwork cleaner, her confidence soaring. She’s battered Dove’s
midsection, taunted her, punished her breasts, and walked away
from every exchange with a sneer of superiority. Th Awesome
Aries once again proving that they are, without a doubt the
best boxing stable in the UCC, bar none.
Dove Cameron looks flustered, her arms slow to lift, her body
pink and purple with bruising, her breaths shallow. The swelling
around her right eye is beginning to affect her peripheral
vision. Every time Laura lands another jab to the chest or
sneaky hook under the ribs, Dove grits her teeth, forced to
absorb more punishment than she can return.
Laura stalks her with a predatory grin, shuffling her feet and
flicking out her jab like a whip, goading Dove with every step.
"C’mon, Wuss. What’s wrong? You can’t handle a little breast
work?" Laura snarls, launching another stiff hook to Dove’s left
breast that rocks her backward.
"You're just like Rodrigo, all talk, weak t!ts!"
Dove’s corner screams for her to clinch, to calm down, to stop
playing Laura’s game. They know she’s on the verge of losing not
just the round — but the entire fight.
Then something changes.
"Do you want me to take it easy on you? This isn't much of a
fight for the finale."
Dove, flushed with rage but suddenly composed, sets a trap. She
takes a pair of hard jabs to the breasts — letting them land —
grunting with each stinging thud. She bites down on her
mouthpiece, eyes narrowing. She sees it coming: another smug
right cross aimed straight at her cleavage.
But this time, she’s ready.
She slams a short, brutal right hook directly into Laura’s left
ear.
CRACK.
Laura stumbles, her eyes going glassy. Her balance evaporates,
and she begins to spin slowly to her right, dazed, reeling in
place. The crowd roars — they smell blood.
Dove doesn’t hesitate.
She steps in and slams a left cross to the side of Laura’s head.
Laura crumples.
DOWN GOES MARANO!
Laura drops to one knee, swaying, her glove pressed against her
ear as her head rings. The ref starts the count as Laura blinks
hard, trying to make the ring stop spinning.
"FOUR!"
"FIVE!"
"SIX!"
"SEVEN!"
At eight, she forces herself up, legs rubbery, but arms raised.
The ref gives her a long look, then waves Dove in.
Two minutes remain — and Dove is like a storm.
She charges Laura, cutting off the ring, violently shoving her
back into the corner. Then comes the punishment. She plants her
right leg between Laura’s, locking her down. Now Laura’s
trapped, chest exposed, arms pinned too low to defend.
Dove launches a full-scale breast assault.
Cross to the right tit. Jab to the left. Uppercut to the center.
Jab, jab, jab. Another uppercut. The crowd gasps at the sheer
ferocity — Laura’s top is stretched and soaked, her breasts
heaving and swaying from the endless barrage.
"You like that! Still feel like talking, Marano?" Dove hisses
through gritted teeth.
Laura crosses her arms over her chest. Dove swivels her hips and
bounces a hook to the ribs then a cross buries itself in Laura’s
solar plexus. The breath explodes from her lungs as Laura tries
to suck in air but nothing is coming as her eyes open wide.
Her backside slides down the ropes.
DOWN AGAIN! LAURA S DOWN AGAN!
The ref waves Dove off as Laura sits on her round cheeks,
gasping, one glove clutching her chest. The count starts. Her
corner is screaming.
"FIVE!"
"SIX!"
"SEVEN!"
She gets up again — barely — at eight. She sways, eyes foggy,
lips bloodied.
The ref steps close, checks her gloves, her vision.
"You good? There is a 3 knockdown limit. Fights over if you go
down again this round. Do you understand?"
Laura nods once.
The ref sighs and waves them in.
There’s forty seconds left — and Laura is in survival mode. Dove
is all over her, throwing wild hooks and uppercuts to the chest
and belly, but Laura clinches, covers up, and holds on for dear
life but Dove roughly shoves her off. A left uppercut to the
right breast, a cross to the liver and a hook to the gut and
Laura fold in two and is about to go down. Dove winds up and is
a about to drop the bomb when the bell finally rings.
The round is over as Dove hold back a left hook. Laura stumbles
back to her corner like a broken puppet, chest bruised and
aching, ribs screaming with each breath, her gut swirling in
agony with each breath.
The momentum shift. Massive. Laura is in survival mode and will
struggle to make the bell. In one round Dove has not only taken
the momentum, she might have just won the fight.
Judge Scorecards – Round 4:
Judge 1: 10-7 Dove Cameron
Judge 2: 10-7 Dove Cameron
Judge 3: 10-7 Dove Cameron
Dove Cameron: 35 - 35 - 36
Laura Marano: 37 - 37 - 36
Round 5: Laura Marano vs. Dove Cameron
The bell rang, and there was no delay. Dove Cameron, riding high
after a dominant Round 4, charged out of her corner with
confidence and bad intentions etched across her bruised face.
Laura Marano, still reeling from the two knockdowns and the
punishing body assault, was slow to rise from her stool. Her
chest was mottled with red welts, her breathing labored, but her
eyes—those steely eyes—still burned with defiance.
Dove feinted low, and Laura flinched, bracing her arms to
protect her already-abused body. Dove grinned cruelly. It had
worked. With Laura’s guard lowered, Dove exploded forward with a
left-right combination to Laura’s jaw, snapping her head back.
The follow-up right cross crushed Laura's cheek, and a thudding
left slammed into her temple.
Laura staggered backward into the ropes, arms flailing to stay
upright.
"Fight back, Laura!" screamed her corner. "Come on, FIGHT!"
Dove saw the opening and pressed her advantage. A series of
devastating body punches followed—three left hooks to the liver,
a right to the belly button, and a vicious shovel hook to the
ribs. Laura groaned, her body folding around Dove’s gloves. The
crowd gasped as the ref quickly stepped between them.
"STANDING EIGHT!" he shouted, beginning his count.
Laura slumped in the corner, arms draped over the ropes, swaying
slightly.
"You’re going to have to fight back, or I’m stopping this!" the
referee barked, hands out.
Laura shoved him.
"DOES IT LOOK LIKE I'M DONE!" she screamed.
The crowd roared as Dove stalked forward.
"Come on, Marano," she taunted. "You're supposed to be able to
fight. This is embarrassing. Is the big bad Aries ready to
quit?"
A wicked belly shot drove Laura forward, her body bending in
agony, eyes squeezed shut. The ref took a half-step toward them,
ready to intervene—ready to call the fight—the refs arms
crossed—it's over!
Then it happened.
Laura erupted from her crouch, twisting her hips and launching a
monstrous uppercut. It ripped through Dove's guard and detonated
on her chin. Dove’s head snapped back violently, and her legs
betrayed her—buckling, wobbling, stumbling. The ref threw his
arms up in disbelief.
"SHE'S STILL IN IT!"
Laura surged forward like a woman possessed. She pounced,
snapping a jab into Dove's nose and hammering a hook into her
cheek. Dove reeled, shocked, backpedaling. Her smirk was gone,
replaced by a stunned, vacant expression.
But Dove wasn’t done either.
With sheer grit, she bit down on her mouthpiece and returned
fire, swinging a looping right that crashed into Laura’s
shoulder. Laura responded with a left jab—but Dove ducked and
countered with a cruel uppercut to Laura's already bruised right
breast.
"AGHHH!" Laura screamed.
Furious now, she tore into Dove, landing a three-punch combo to
the chest, ending with a shot that visibly lifted Dove's left
breast from her top. The two exchanged fire with reckless
fury—jabs, hooks, uppercuts, nothing clean, everything brutal.
The round was chaos.
Laura shoved Dove backward, pounded a right into her sternum,
and leaned into a jab that split Dove's lip. Blood painted
Dove's teeth as she fired back a body shot, then went high with
a left hook to the temple.
The bell rang. Neither heard it at first.
They stood toe-to-toe, panting, eyes locked with murder in their
hearts, fists cocked.
The ref surged between them, shouting, "ENOUGH! BACK TO YOUR
CORNERS!"
Both women backed away reluctantly, glaring. Dove wiped blood
from her mouth and scowled. Laura stepped towards Dove and gave
her a shove in the back sending her hurling towards her corner.
"I'M STILL HERE, ****. I'M STILL HERE!"
"The fans went wild."
It was Dove’s round—she’d done enough early and scored a
standing eight count—but the story of the final minute was all
Laura. She may have lost the round, but she had clawed her way
back from the brink and looked like she could go another ten
rounds.
Judge Scorecards – Round 5:
Judge 1: 10-8 Dove Cameron
Judge 2: 10-8 Dove Cameron
Judge 3: 10-9 Dove Cameron
Dove Cameron: 46 - 45 - 46
Laura Marano: 45 - 45 - 45
Round 6: Laura Marano vs. Dove Cameron
The crowd was thunderous, a sea of sound crashing against the
walls of the arena, but in the ring, it was quiet chaos. Laura
Marano and Dove Cameron stood bruised, battered, and breathless.
The war they had waged for five brutal rounds had left them each
with nothing in the tank but heart. The bell rang for the sixth
and final round, and Dove, in control of the scorecard,
exploded forward.
Dove unleashed a flurry of punches with everything she had
left—left hook, right cross, jab, jab, straight to the face,
another to the body. It landed clean and Laura reeled back, her
guard high, weathering the storm. Dove drove her back into the
ropes, hammering her with a three-punch combination that rattled
her skull. The crowd surged with a roar as Laura staggered but
refused to go down.
"Come on, Laura!" some very concerned fan screamed from
ringside. "Don't let her do this to you!"
Dove gritted her teeth, her eyes wide with fury and desperation.
She planted her feet and launched a devastating overhand right.
Laura barely deflected it, and Dove followed with a sweeping
hook to the ribs. Laura gasped but didn’t give in. Her legs bent
and her knees touched, her back hit the ropes—but then something
shifted.
Dove hammers Laura’s belly with piston-like rights, then slams a
brutal hook into her ribs. She steps in and blasts a straight
right to Laura’s face — a shot that would’ve dropped most women.
Laura reels, but Dove isn’t done — uppercut to the chin, then a
wicked triple combo to the navel. THUD! THUD! THUD!
"WHY WON’T YOU JUST GO DOWN?!"
Laura sways, nearly out on her feet, legs rubbery, arms dangling
— but that wicked grin won’t leave her lips. "You’ll have to do
better than that, Barbie," she taunts. Dove snarls, rips a hook
to the ribs, then another to the belly — but Laura absorbs them
and beckons, "COME ON, BLONDIE! Hit me!"
Dove stepped in again, looking for the final blow, but Laura
ducked, and with a furious grunt, ripped a left hook to the
belly. The biggest punch of the night landed flush, folding Dove
like a beach chair. A loud gasp escaped her lips as she dropped
to her knees, both arms clutching her gut.
The ref jumped in.
"ONE!"
"TWO!"
Dove shook her head, blinking back the tears and willing her
limbs to respond.
"THREE!"
"FOUR!"
She staggered to her feet at the count of seven, swaying. The
ref gave her a look, saw the fire in her eyes, and waved it on.
Laura took a deep breath and advanced like a lioness on the
hunt.
"Looks to me like you're done, Cameron?" she growled through her
mouthguard.
She pounced. Hook to the liver. Right to the solar plexus. Dove
stumbled back eyes wide mouth open, and Laura torqued an
uppercut under her chin. Dove’s head snapped up, mouthguard
flying out of the ring, eyes now vacant. The crowd erupted.
Laura followed with a left hook to the jaw and an uppercut to
the underside of Dove’s raw breast that sent shockwaves through
her frame.
Dove staggered but didn’t fall. The ref stepped in again.
STANDING EIGHT COUNT.
The crowd was on its feet now, screaming, waving, fists in the
air. The bell hadn't rung yet, and Laura wasn’t done. She hated
Dove and this was her moment to end her rival. Beat her down to
nothing and place a stamp on her.
The referee stepped back—and Laura surged like a storm
unleashed.
She tore into Dove with merciless fury, her fists a blur of
leather and venom. A vicious right hook to the belly crumpled
Dove slightly, followed by a left straight to the ribs that made
her cry out. Laura didn’t pause. She stepped in and slammed a
triple combo to Dove’s already bruised and battered breasts—left
jab, right cross, left uppercut—cruel, deliberate, and
unrelenting. Dove’s body jolted with each impact, her top
ripping open as she staggered back.
Dove’s arms fell limply to her sides. Her mouth hung slack. Her
eyes were glazed. Her legs buckled, barely holding her up.
She was out on her feet.
Laura, lips curled in a feral grin, dipped low then loaded up
the right hand, cocked it back, and lunged forward for the final
crippling blow—
But the referee leapt in just in time, wrapping his arms around
Dove as she collapsed into him. He shouted for the bell, waving
it off.
"IT'S OVER. THE FIGHTS OVER!"
Laura screamed in triumph, arms raised, chest heaving, as Dove
sagged in the ref’s arms—beaten, broken, and humiliated.
"That’s it! That’s it! She’s done!"
The bell clanged, but it was barely heard over the explosion
from the stands. Laura threw both arms into the air and
screamed, her voice rising above the noise, primal and
victorious.
The ref dragged a slumping Dove to her corner as her team
scrambled to catch her. She blinked slowly, trying to focus, her
mouth moving without sound.
Laura climbed the ropes, roaring, sweat flying from her face,
her gloves raised high. The moment belonged to her. It belonged
to The Awesome Aries.
Winner by sixth-round
TKO: LAURA MARANO.
Post Fight:
The bell had already rung. The fight was over. But the emotions
inside the arena were just beginning to boil.
Laura Marano stood in the center of the ring, her gloves raised
high, sweat-drenched and bruised, yet radiating with triumph.
Her right eye was nearly shut, her lip split, her ribs
aching—but none of it mattered. She’d survived hell. She’d
outlasted Dove Cameron. She had won Sin City Slugfest VI.
A roar erupted from the crowd as Laura climbed the ropes,
throwing both arms up, screaming into the rafters. "THIS IS MY
HOUSE! SIN CITY BELONGS TO US! WE OWN F$CKING SIN CITY!" she
shouted, and the crowd fed off her energy, chanting her name as
she soaked it all in. This wasn’t just a win. It was a
declaration. A statement.
Across the ring, Dove Cameron slumped on her stool, her body
wrecked and spirit shattered. A towel draped around her
shoulders, eyes glassy with frustration, she stared down at her
feet, refusing to look across the ring. Her chest was red and
swollen from Laura’s final barrage, her stomach bruised
black-and-blue, and worst of all — her pride had taken a beating
no ice or bandage could fix.
She had Laura. Just like Joey King did. And just like Joey, she
couldn't put Laura away.
The cameras followed Laura as she made her victory lap, slowly
circling the ring with one glove raised and the other pointing
over at her fallen rival. She deliberately stopped in front of
Dove’s corner, turning her back for a moment, then glanced over
her shoulder with a cruel smirk.
"Look up, Dove," Laura said loudly enough for everyone ringside
to hear. "I want you to see what a winner looks like."
Dove didn’t move.
But Emily Osment, one of Dove’s teammates, wasn’t having it. She
stormed toward the ropes and shouted, "You smug little b!tch!"
then gave Laura a sharp shove to the shoulder.
Laura stumbled back—but Vanessa Marano was already on the apron.
She lunged at Emily, grabbing a fistful of her blonde hair.
"Back the hell off!" Vanessa screamed as Emily yanked her hair
in return. Both women locked in a vicious hair-pulling match,
snarling and cursing as security rushed to pry them apart.
Dove, still seated and broken, didn’t intervene. She didn’t have
the energy.
She just watched as the chaos swirled around her — a fighter
who’d come so close, only to be forced to witness her rival’s
victory parade… all at her expense.
Locker Room – The Winner
Laura Marano sat on the bench in front of her locker, still
glistening with sweat and pride. Her gloves were off, her sports
bra lay by her side and a and damp towel was draped over her
shoulder barely covering her pert breasts. Laura took in a
deep breath as the adrenaline was wearing down, but her
confidence was only growing. She leaned back against the cold
metal, a smirk on her face as the interviewer took a seat across
from her.
Interviewer: "Are you okay? You took some real punishment out
there."
Laura: snorts "Hell yes, I’m okay. I just beat the snot out of
one of the toughest fighters in the UCC. How could I not be
okay?" She wipes her brow and flashes a grin. "That’s what war
looks like when you walk out the winner."
Interviewer: "Dove gave you all you could handle."
Laura: "She always does. Look, I’ve said it before—Dove’s tough
as hell. She knows me inside and out, which makes every fight
razor close. That’s why we’re the biggest draw in the UCC. No
one gets people on their feet like the two of us."
Interviewer: "You now have a 4-3 lead over her. Is this it?
Final chapter?"
Laura: laughs "Not even close. We’ve got one more coming—The
Final Verdict. MGM pitched it. Think a ton of brutal tests of
strength, all ending in an MMA fight. And all for charity.
Winner takes the spotlight and the donation pot."
Interviewer: "You think you’ll win it all?"
Laura: "Of course I do. I’ve seen the lineup and honestly… I
like my chances. A lot of it plays to my strengths. But if it
comes down to the final match…" she shrugs "So be it."
Interviewer: "But the final event is an MMA match—Dove’s domain.
She’s a seven-time lightweight champion. She just beat you in
that cage. Nearly snapped your leg. Isn’t that concerning?"
Laura: leans forward, eyes flashing "Not even a little. I had
her in that fight. Everyone saw it. I lost focus for one second
and she capitalized. That’s not happening again. If we even make
it that far, she better pray I don’t end it before we hit the
mat. I’ve got her number now. I'm in her head."
Interviewer: "Especially in boxing…"
Laura: "Exactly. The Awesome Aries don’t lose in Sin City. Six
events, six main event wins. You want domination? How is that
for domination?"
Interviewer: "Wait… all six? That can’t be right."The
interviewer starts counting on her fingers.
Laura: grins "Let me help you count."
• Sin City Slugfest I: Harumi Nemoto over Kylie Jenner
• Slugfest II: Katharine McPhee over Sofia Richie
• Slugfest III: Katharine McPhee over Gigi Hadid
• Slugfest IV: Katharine McPhee over Kylie Jenner again
• Slugfest V: Debby Ryan over Joey King — and bonus: Katharine
beats Debby after
• And now tonight: Me, Laura Marano, over Dove freaking
Cameron.
She throws her arms out theatrically. "Six. And. Oh."
Interviewer: "That’s complete domination. What makes the Awesome
Aries such a powerhouse in boxing?"
Laura: "Katharine McPhee. She’s our queen and she runs a tight
ship. If you're not in the gym every day, you're off the team.
She teaches the science and the savagery of boxing. That’s why
we don’t just win—we f$cking own the ring."
Interviewer: "Why wasn’t Katharine in Sin City Slugfest VI? No
competition left?"
Laura: laughs "No, no. Katharine wanted to see how her team
would perform under the spotlight. She stepped back to let us
shine—and we delivered. I think we went 4-2 overall, but
could’ve easily been 6-0."
Interviewer: "Let’s get back to tonight. You were nearly
finished. Dove had you one knockdown away from a stoppage."
Laura: shrugs "Yeah, so what? She had her chance. Just like
Joey. And just like always… she couldn’t finish the job. That’s
the story of her whole damn career. The Disney Princess gets
close, but she never seals the deal."
Interviewer: "We’re all looking forward to the Final Verdict in
Vegas next month. Any final words for Dove?"
Laura: grins with venomous glee "Yeah. Maybe wear a thick padded
bra next time. You’re gonna need it."
She bursts into a maniacal laugh as the interviewer stares,
wide-eyed.
Locker Room – The Loser
The scene in Dove Cameron’s locker room was subdued—no
celebration, no crowd of teammates or fans. Just a quiet, heavy
silence, broken only by the slow drip of melted ice in a bucket
near the bench. Dove sat hunched forward, still in her fight
shorts and a towel around her shoulders, her ribs bruised, lip
split, sports bra in tatters and her pride stung.
The interviewer sat across from her, notebook in hand, voice low
but firm.
Interviewer: "Dove, there’s no easy way to ask this. What
happened out there?"
Dove: exhales "She beat me. No excuses. No spin. I lost
tonight." She wiped blood from her lip with the towel. "I had
her right where I wanted her—and I let it slip."
Interviewer: "You seemed dominant in the middle rounds. You had
her on the verge of a stoppage in Round 5. What changed?"
Dove: nods slowly "I got greedy. I wanted the knockout. She
baited me, and I took it. Laura’s tough. She’s always been
tough. You leave a door open for half a second, she’ll kick it
off the hinges. That’s what she did. I didn’t recover."
Interviewer: "This puts her ahead 4-3 in your rivalry. Is that
hard to accept?"
Dove: looks up, eyes steady "It sucks. Of course it does. I’m
not gonna pretend it doesn’t. But every time we fight, it’s a
war. I’ve beaten her before. I’ll beat her again. Vegas is
coming. Her ass is mine."
Interviewer: "Let’s talk about the bigger picture. The Awesome
Aries are dominating. They went 4-2 tonight. The Badass Barbies?
Crushed. Now the Disney Princesses are 2-5 overall in Sin City
Slugfest history and one of your two wins is from former Lost
Wildcat Debby Ryan. Is that embarrassing?"
Dove: sits up straighter, eyes flash "Yeah. It is. We’re not
gonna hide from that. It’s been a brutal wake-up call. The Aries
come to fight. They train like animals. And yeah, right now,
they’ve got the edge. But this war isn’t over."
Interviewer: "I have to ask—Laura landed some vicious punches to
your breasts in those middle rounds. That had to be painful. Why
did you let her do that to you?"
Dove: grimaces, shifting in her seat "Look—nobody likes getting
punched in the ****. It hurts like a b!tch, and believe me, if I
could’ve stopped it, I would’ve. But when you’re in that ring,
and you’re already hurting, sometimes you just can’t protect
everything. Laura has knockout power so you have to keep your
guard high and tight. She takes advantage downstairs."
Interviewer: "Still, she went after them deliberately—uppercuts,
hooks, even a triple combo late. Was that part of her game plan
similar to her mauling of Olivia Rodrigo?"
Dove: nods, clearly frustrated "Yeah, because Laura’s a little
**** sometimes. She knows where to hit to hurt. She knows I’ve
got pride in how I fight and what I represent. So yeah—she
targeted them. Over and over. It’s not just physical—it’s
psychological. She was trying to break me."
Interviewer: "Did she?"
Dove: long pause, voice low "No. I’m still standing. I didn’t
quit. She may have won this fight, but she didn’t break me. And
in Vegas, she’ll learn what real pain feels like when someone
targets her pride."
Interviewer: "You were visibly shaken after the final round.
What were you thinking in that moment?"
Dove: pauses "Mostly that I let my team down. And myself. But
also… that I’ve never been more motivated. I’ve taken hits
before, in and out of the cage. I always come back harder."
Interviewer: "Some say Laura's in your head. She’s gotten under
your skin—and stayed there."
Dove: snorts "That b!tch lives in my head, sure. But not
rent-free. I charge her pain every time we fight. She got the
better of me tonight, but that’s not permanent. I learn fast. I
hurt faster."
Interviewer: "Final Verdict is next. It ends in an MMA bout.
Laura says you had your shot and couldn’t finish her. What’s
your response?"
Dove: smiles coldly "Let’s see how smug she is when I’m grinding
her into the mat in front of 20,000 people. I was born for MMA.
She knows it. Vegas will be the end of this—and the end of her
streak."
Interviewer: "Last question. Any message for the Aries?"
Dove: leans forward "Enjoy it while it lasts. Your lucky
streak’s ending next month. And when it does, I’m dragging Laura
Marano down with it."
Sin City Slugfest VI – Wrap-Up
Sin City Slugfest VI delivered everything it promised—violence,
drama, heartbreak, and triumph—and in the end, it was Laura
Marano who stood tall over a bloodied and beaten Dove Cameron,
adding a sixth consecutive main event victory for the Awesome
Aries and furthering her legacy as one of MGM’s fiercest
competitors.
Outside the ring, the heat boiled over. A brief clash between
Emily Osment and Vanessa Marano hinted at deeper tensions
between stables, adding another layer of animosity heading into
Vegas.
With this win, Laura now leads the head-to-head rivalry 4-3, and
momentum is firmly on her side heading into "Final Verdict", the
ultimate decathlon-style showdown between the two bitter rivals.
Twenty challenges—ranging from tests of strength, agility,
endurance, and skill—all ending with a MGM-sanctioned MMA match,
where Dove is favored… on paper.
But after tonight, nothing is certain.
Dove’s pride is wounded, but her fire remains. Laura’s
confidence is sky-high, and her team—led by the ever-dominant
Katharine McPhee—has proven they know how to win when it counts.
The war isn’t over.
It’s just beginning.
Final Verdict: Vegas. Winner takes all.
Writteen by the Badass Barbies and The Awesome Aries
*****************************************************