DeimonusHistorys
Valeria’s last stand
Valeria was a Venezuelan underground fighter, known in the subway fight circuit as “La Cazadora”. Her life had been a constant battle, not only in the ring, but also outside of it. Since she was a child, she had learned to fend for herself, growing up on the tough streets of Caracas. By the time she was 25, Valeria had achieved fame in the shadowy world of underground fights, earning the respect of her rivals and the fear of those who dared to challenge her. But behind her strength, there was one reason driving her: she needed money, and she needed it desperately.
The economic situation in Venezuela had pushed her family to the limit. Her mother, ill and in need of expensive medical treatment, was the only reason Valeria continued to expose herself to the risks of fighting. She had gone from being a mere fighter to becoming one of the best. Her long dark brown hair, which reached down to her buttocks, waved behind her every time she entered the ring, becoming a kind of personal trademark. That hair was a part of her identity, her pride, something she had never allowed any fight to touch. But that night, everything would change.
There was something different in the atmosphere that night. The basement where the fight was being held was full, the air thick with cigarette smoke and the adrenaline of those betting large sums of money. Valeria knew it would not be an ordinary night. A man who only called himself “El Patron” had arranged a special fight, a fight with such a juicy purse that Valeria couldn’t resist. With $50,000 on the table, she could cover her mother’s treatments and still have enough to flee the country with her family.
-Valeria, are you sure? -asked her trainer, Juan, a man tanned by years and fights, who had always supported her.
-I have no choice, Juan. I need that money, you know that,” she replied as she calmly bandaged her hands, although the knot in her stomach betrayed her nervousness.
The only detail Valeria hadn’t considered was the terms of the fight. She was so focused on the prize that she didn’t bother to read the details of the contract. She just signed and prepared herself for what would be, according to her, yet another victory in her career.
When he stepped into the ring, the crowd roared. There were gamblers in every corner, men and women shouting her name or that of her opponent. In front of her, stood an imposing woman called “La Tigresa”. With sculpted muscles and an aura of danger, it was clear that this fight would not be easy. Valeria had heard rumors about her, but they had never directly faced each other. Until that night.
The fight began fiercely. Both fighters moved with precision and fury, exchanging blows that made the ring vibrate. Valeria relied on her speed, dodging most of the brutal attacks of La Tigresa, who tried to corner her with her enormous strength. However, as the fight progressed, Valeria began to notice something strange: La Tigresa was not tiring, while she felt her movements becoming slower, heavier. Something was wrong, but she couldn’t stop.
-Come on, Valeria, finish her off! -Juan shouted from the corner, but his words seemed far away.
At a critical moment, Valeria let her guard down for a second, just a second, and that was all it took for La Tigresa. With a withering blow to the stomach, followed by a kick to the jaw, Valeria fell to the ground. Her vision blurred, the noise of the crowd died down, and all was silent.
When he woke up, he was outside the ring, in the locker room. He could hear the celebration in the arena, but all he felt was defeat. Her head was buzzing, and her body was sore. She tried to get up, but Juan stopped her.
-Valeria… I’m sorry, you lost.
-I know,” she replied, trying to hide her frustration. How much did I lose? It can’t be that much, can it?
But Juan would not look her in the eye. His face was pale, and he finally handed her an envelope with the contract she had hastily signed before the fight.
-It’s not just money, Valeria. The conditions… the conditions of defeat stipulated something else.
Valeria’s heart skipped a beat. She took the envelope with trembling hands and read the words she had never seen before: “In case of defeat, the fighter agrees to submit to a punishment of public humiliation. This includes the total loss of her hair as a symbol of submission.”
Her eyes widened. The hair…her hair. She felt a cold chill run down her back. That part of her that she had protected for so long, her pride, was now at stake. There was no way around it; she had signed the contract.
The moment came faster than I expected. In the center of the ring, a seat had been placed under the lights. Valeria, still in pain and with her pride hurt, walked towards it. The audience was silent, expectant. “El Patron” appeared, microphone in hand, and spoke in a soft but firm voice.
-Valeria, our slayer, has lost. And as we all know, rules are rules. She has accepted her fate. Today, she will be stripped of more than her victory.
A man approached with a razor in his hand. Valeria, jaw clenched, sat down in the chair. She felt everyone’s stares on her, but she decided to keep her head up. If she was going to lose her hair, she would do it with dignity.
The hum of the machine filled the air, and soon she felt the cold metal against her scalp. The man started at the top of her head, placing the machine at the base of her forehead and pushing it back with precision. Valeria held her breath as she felt the first tug. Her long dark brown hair, which had always been an extension of her being, began to fall in large locks to the floor. The first, heavy locks fell over her shoulders before sliding down to her legs, as if her own body was trying to hold on to them one last time.
Each pass of the machine caused the skin of her scalp to be exposed to the cool night air. Valeria closed her eyes, trying to concentrate on her breathing, but each falling strand reminded her of everything she was losing. It wasn’t just her hair; it was part of her identity, part of the strong woman she had built over the years. With each movement of the machine, the murmurs from the audience seemed to grow louder, but Valeria blocked out everything around her.
The man moved the machine to the sides of her head, shaving the temples carefully, and Valeria could see how the falling locks looked darker under the bright lights of the ring. The sound of the machine was constant, uninterrupted, filling the tense silence in the room. He could feel the weight of everyone’s gaze, but also that of his trainer, Juan, who watched from the corner with a mixture of sadness and respect. He knew there was nothing he could do.
When the machine reached the back of her head, Valeria felt the metal vibrate against the back of her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. The long hair that had once brushed her buttocks now cascaded to the floor, stripping her of that femininity she had worn with pride. The fallen locks formed a carpet around her, a surreal scene of her own public humiliation. Her head felt lighter and lighter, as if they were removing not only her hair, but also a part of the burden she had carried all this time.
Finally, the man turned off the machine, leaving Valeria’s head completely shaved. But the ritual was not over. El Patrón approached again, this time with a metal bowl in his hands. He filled it with warm water and took out a brush that quickly began to lather with a perfumed soap. Valeria watched with narrowed eyes, knowing what was coming. The audience held their breath as the man began to apply the white lather to her head, covering every inch of her scalp with slow, precise movements.
The cold foam contrasted with the warmth of the water, and Valeria couldn’t help but shiver a little. The man took his time, making sure that every part of her head was well covered. And then, he pulled out a razor.
With the same precision with which he had used the machine, the man placed the razor on his scalp, starting at the forehead once again. The sharp blade shaved smoothly, removing any remaining traces of hair. Each movement was meticulous, and Valeria felt the blade glide over her skin as if were a cool caress. The process was slow, each pass of the razor leaving her head completely smooth and shiny under the lights.
Valeria took a deep breath, her eyes closed as the razor ran over every nook and cranny of her head. She felt the cool air brush against the bare skin of her scalp, now completely shaved and free of any hair. When the man finished, he wiped away the remnants of lather with a soft towel, leaving his head completely smooth and shiny under the ring lights.
The audience was silent, stunned by the scene. Valeria rose from her chair, feeling the coolness of the air on her shaved head. She ran a hand over her scalp, noting the absolute softness, and although a part of her felt exposed, vulnerable, she also felt a strange release. She had lost a battle, but not her spirit.
With her head shaved and her pride intact, Valeria left the ring, knowing that although her hair would grow back, the impact of that night would be marked forever.
