Author's Notes:

I wrote this in just under an hour for the TrotCon 2014 speedfic panel, and it shows. I somehow managed to completely switch tenses partway through, and there are plenty of other little style and grammar issues, but in the spirit of the event I'm not going to edit it. I wrote this story just to have fun and go a little nuts with a silly prompt, and that's exactly what I did. I hope you guys have fun with it, too.

She stands in the center of the ring alone, defiant, sweat pooling on the mat beneath her and a furious glare burning in her eyes. Broken scissors litter the ground, their blades dulled, tangled in strips and shreds of cloth. The crowd watches from the shadows just beyond the blazing spotlights, holding their breaths in awed silence. And in the center of the ring she stands and waits.

In the battered debris there are scraps of former foes, hints of the incredible brawl that led up to this moment. There's a bit of silk in the corner - she was a slippery one - and beside it a frayed piece of linen from that fancy shirt that always had a trick up his sleeve. A corner of blue fabric pokes out from beneath Sweetie Belle's hoof, the aftermath of her last battle. Spandex, she thinks, though she can't be sure. He was so flexible that she never got a good look

But she defeated him, that's for sure. She beat them all. Denim (sturdy, but basic), corduroy (a bumpy battle), even a polyester leisure suit (all flash, no style). Some rounds were tougher than others, but they all had their weaknesses, and Sweetie Belle had a keen eye for strategy. In the end, she outsmarted all that dumb fabric. But it wasn't over.

The crowd was too quiet, as if they were waiting for something. The air buzzed with tension, and then she heard it. A rumbling, rhythmic and distant. The crowd began to murmur and shuffle restlessly, and Sweetie Belle steeled herself for her greatest challenge yet. The rumble grew louder, nearer, and then it stopped. For one moment, everything was impossibly silent and horribly still. Then it came crashing down into the ring with a shockwave that threw Sweetie Belle from her hooves.

She stood and turned to assess her foe, and for a moment she just stared slack-jawed at the sight before her. Then she laughed, a loud, desperate, crazy sound, and said,

"A vest?"

The vest sat placidly in its own corner, waiting for her to make the first move. She unsheathed her last pair of scissors and charged with an ear-splitting war-shriek. As soon as the blade hit the cloth it crumpled and warped, and the force of the blow wrenched the tool from her hooves. It landed in a useless heap, and Sweetie Belle gasped, her white complexion taking on an ashen pallor.

"Kevlar?" she whispered.

The vast lashed out and wrapped around her neck, and she fell to the floor, hooves bashing uselessly against her assailant. She'd heard of him - battle-hardened, vicious, ruthless - but she never thought she'd have to face Kevlar hoof-to-stitch.

As she struggled in vain for air and crumpled beneath her foe's relentless assault, she felt something hard and cold bounce off her flank. She groped about with her hoof, then she felt it. A lighter. Someone in the audience was on her side. She flicked the flint once, twice, then on the third try a bright green flame burst into life.

Dragon fire.

She brought the magical flame to bear on the vest and it began to burn almost immediately. It loosened its grip to writhe and roll on the ground, and Sweetie Belle ducked away before it could spread to her. She stood over the burning husk with a look of pure triumph, then she turned to the crowd and raised her hoof to the sky.

The crowd whooped and cheered and hollered, and Sweetie Belle finally allowed herself to smile.

It was over.

So suddenly that anypony who blinked would've missed it, the fabric ground of the boxing ring opened up and swallowed Sweetie Belle whole. The crowd looked around, bewildered, but they couldn't hear her muffled cries.

She heard a voice, sinister and sibilant, in the instant before she lost consciousness.

"You should've chosen your battles more carefully, little pony," it hissed. "This is a war you cannot win."

She woke with a start and threw herself out of bed, screaming. She could've sworn the covers tried to pull her back in, but as she regained her breath and stilled her racing heart, she tried to reassure herself. "Just a dream," she sighed. "Just a dumb dream."

In the corner, just too quietly for her to hear, the laundry in her hamper gave a nasty laugh.