Rainbow Mika: Ring Heroine by Jade Gretzupl

https://www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai/art/Rainbow-Mika-Ring-Heroine-1282582703

Rainbow Mika: Ring Heroine ANIMATION

The Confetti Harvest

The parade was a living artery of forced joy, pumping through the city’s veins to the arrhythmic beat of a hundred brass bands. Ticker-tape and holographic streamers fell like synthetic rain. On the largest float, a garish monument to a new energy drink called “Vitalis,” Rainbow Mika stood and waved, her muscles aching from the permanence of her smile.

The float was a rolling mountain of faux-gold and neon, shaped like a titanic can of Vitalis, bubbling over with mannequins in spandex. Mika, in her star-spangled leotard, was the centerpiece. But her trademark exuberance felt like a poorly fitted costume. The cheers of the crowd below were a distant, oceanic roar, and the air smelled of diesel and spun sugar. Something was wrong. The confetti, she noticed, didn’t just catch the light; it seemed to absorb it, leaving brief, cold shadows as it fluttered down.

A figure dropped from a suspended banner above, landing with the silent precision of a spider. Cammy White, in her beret and combat leotard, stood opposite her, but this was not the Cammy Mika had sparred with in tournaments. Her posture was languid, her smile a razor-cut in her porcelain face. Her eyes, usually sharp with military focus, were pools of liquid, reflective darkness.

“Enjoying the festivities, Mika?” Cammy’s voice was a melodic purr, laced with static. “All this energy. All this… vitalis.”

“Cammy? What are you doing here? This is my promotional gig.”

“Promotion,” Cammy echoed, taking a step closer. The float lurched over a pothole, but she didn’t sway. “Such a quaint term for consumption. They consume your image. And you consume their adoration. A tidy circuit. But so inefficient.”

Mika’s fighter instincts hummed to life, cutting through the numbness. “You’re talking crazy. Get off the float before security—”

“Security is otherwise engaged,” Cammy interrupted, gesturing vaguely to the periphery where men in dark suits stood motionless, their eyes fixed ahead, confetti gathering on their shoulders like a strange, colorful mold. “I’m here for a better offer. One that doesn’t involve selling sugar-water.”

The float turned a corner, the movement sending a cascade of golden tinsel over them. Cammy caught a strand, watching it coil around her finger. “You’re strong, Mika. A beacon of pure, physical will. Such a rare signal in all this noise. Shadaloo… the new iteration… appreciates such purity. We want to harvest it.”

“Harvest?” Mika snorted, rolling her shoulders. “I’m not a crop. And Shadaloo’s gone. Bison’s dust.”

“Bison was a blunt instrument,” Cammy said, her head tilting at an unnerving angle. “We are surgeons. This parade, this drink, this city’s need for spectacle… it’s our clinic. And this float is our operating table.”

She moved then, not with her usual explosive Cannon Spike, but with a gliding, almost liquid motion. Her fist didn’t aim to crush, but to caress, fingers brushing Mika’s bicep. Where she touched, a numbing cold seeped through the spandex, followed by a prickling, invasive heat.

Mika yelped and twisted away, her wrestling reflexes kicking in. She shot forward for a Sunset Hip Attack, but Cammy flowed around the blow like smoke, reappearing at her ear.

“Resistance is data,” Cammy whispered. “Fear is a flavor. Give me more.”

Enraged, Mika unleashed her full strength. She grabbed Cammy by the waist, hoisting her for a devastating powerbomb. But as she slammed down, Cammy’s body distorted. It didn’t buckle; it absorbed the impact, the float’s metallic deck beneath them groaning and denting inward like a mouth gasping. Confetti, stirred by the violence, swirled around them in a vortex, sticking to their skin with unnatural static.

Cammy laughed, a sound like breaking glass. She pushed Mika off with impossible ease. “Good! The waveform of your aggression is… exquisite.”

“What are you?” Mika panted, backing toward the float’s edge, only to see the street a dizzying twenty feet below, the crowd’s faces upturned and blank as pennies.

“An upgrade,” Cammy said simply. She struck—a Spiral Arrow, but the drill-like kick was different. It didn’t pierce; it unwound. The air around her leg shimmered, and Mika felt a terrible suction, not on her body, but on her spirit, her momentum, her very will to fight. She crossed her arms, blocking the physical force, but a wave of profound lethargy washed over her. The cheers of the crowd became m
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