Liberty/Abattoir II - Hell On Earth

At last, after all of Abattoir's time in AFW, something had finally pierced through the shell and laid bare the monster beneath.

It was not pretty. The edges of her vision tinged crimson, partly from the blood trickling down the side of her face and partly from the fact that she was uncharacteristically livid. Liberty's smirk set her blood boiling, and by the time the other girl was charging at her, Abattoir was seething so hard it looked entirely plausible that she might spontaneously catch fire.

As the kick came in, it seemed reasonable that, in a fit of rage, she might just try to power through it or take it and then spring back up, but despite her fury it was clear Abattoir was not a person who could be reduced to base animal instincts. She shot low instead, and Liberty's boot caught her shoulder in a glancing blow, but it didn't quite knock her off-course enough. Almost instantly, she was wrapped around her hated enemy's leg like an octopus, twisting her body weight and catching the heel of one of those giant boots under her arm.

It was, functionally, a heel hook - an achilles lock, extremely dangerous and not fun to be put in at all. But it quickly became apparent that the actual purpose of the move wasn't to force a submission, it was to drag Liberty down to the mat, to use her momentum to make her splash into the thumbtacks. And assuming it worked, the second the bigger girl landed, Abattoir torqued to one side so hard she was practically rolling...and either Liberty rolled with her, all the way through the pile of tacks, or she'd have to deal with the effects of the hold.

Regardless of the thousand tiny stabs of pain in her side and back, Abattoir was planning on going all the way across the ring either way. It was like watching a crocodile try to drown a gazelle.

Goddamn, LIberty had really pissed Abattoir off. It was hardly the first time such a thing occurred, and, truth told, she sort of prided herself on the ability to get under her opponent’s skin. But that wasn’t irritation she saw in Abattoir’s crimson eyes. That wasn’t the look of someone who disliked Liberty or was kinda/sorta peeved at her or who just wanted to beat her around until she shut up.

No, Abattoir was looking at Liberty like the only important thing on the entire planet, if not, the the entire universe, was beating her to within an inch of her life, and maybe an inch more after that.

Liberty loved it. She loved it so much that she almost regretted kicking Abattoir’s chest, because it meant she’d lose that look for a little while. Not that such a notion would stop her one bit, as she raised her boot, brought it back, shot it out…

...and then everything immediately went to shit.

Falling into the thumbtacks wasn’t all that bad. It was painful, sure, as getting poked by hundreds of little pinpricks at once had to be. Getting them all out of her skin later on would be a lot of fun, too, but as long as she kept the damn things away from her eyes and out of her mouth, it wasn’t that big of a deal.

What was much, much more distressing was the hold that Abattoir had locked her in, and was currently tried to break her leg with. Thumbtacks she was used to. Having her most sensitve bones bent and broken like twigs was a new experience, one she didn’t want to dwell on.

So she rolled and rolled and rolled, following Abattoir where she forced her to go. The two of them kept on picking up thumbtacks as they tumbled, decorating their bodies with silver and red all over, leaving bloody speckles in their wake.

The crowd was unusually silent. This was already the most violent match many of them had ever seen, and it was barely a minute old.

All things considered, there were infinitely worse things to roll through; Abattoir had once been dragged through broken glass and it'd been nightmarishly painful.  Granted, it'd been Styx doing it, and the floor'd had a ton of whiskey spilled all over its surface, so it wasn't like it'd been an ideal situation in the first place.  

Either way, brass and silver flew everywhere as the two girls rolled at gale force through the tacks, and she didn't stop cranking until they collided forcefully with the bottom rope and spilled out of the ring to the floor.  It wasn't much of a reprieve - there were even more tacks down there, and they narrowly missed crashing through a lighttube log cabin - but the impact with the floor did cause Abattoir to break the attempted heel hook, and Liberty got a moment of reprieve.

It didn't last.

Abattoir was momentarily preoccupied with scraping a couple thumbtacks off the side of her face, sending them clinking to the floor in a glitter of gold, silver, and crimson.  A second later, though, she was already walking Liberty down, and it wasn't in the casual, languid way that the AFW talent sometimes did when they felt they had control of a match.  She was moving with intent, metal crunching beneath her as she stalked towards her downed opponent and then stepped over her and dropped into a mount.

The crowd's murmuring, which up to this point had been hushed and perhaps just a little shellshocked by what they'd seen so far, grew to a very concerned thrum as one hand emerged from behind Abattoir's back, revealing a gleaming chrome staple gun.  

"Um," said the ref girl as the nak muay raised the staple gun.  "UM."

Not that she had much authority to do anything at the moment.  Fortunately for the beleaguered brawler, the first attack was a very mundane pistol-whip to the temple, and it was a huge winging backhand, thoroughly telegraphed.

And the match had now spilled out onto the floor. As if anyone was surprised. If anything, just over one minute seemed a little longer for the two of them to stay between the ropes. Long overdue.

It was a bad landing, of course. Rolling out of the ring like that was guaranteed to suck. But being covered in countless thumbtacks when you fell out, a few of which hit the floor when she landed and were now agonizingly deep within her skin...that made the whole experience worse.

At least Abattoir let go of the hold, though. So that was an improvement.

Liberty had a long, terse growl as she grabbed the side of the apron and started to rise off, knocking a few thumbtacks off her chin as she rose. She knew she had to get up soon, pain be damned, because Abattoir would be heading her way with bad intentions. In fact, there she was now, holding…oh.

The former hardcore champion might’ve been the least distressed person in the entire arena when she saw that gun. Yes, getting stapled would suck, and she didn’t want it, but was it really such a big step up? She had thumbstacks sticking her in places most women wouldn’t want sharp things ever going. It was a bigger threat, but the fans reacted like the woman had whipped out a fucking machete. Though, really, that wouldn’t have been all that surprisng, either.

That being said, she didn’t want to let it happen to her, either. So a counteroffensive.

Liberty caught the blow as it came in, grasping at the nak muay’s wrist with a feirce grip. She reached up with other hand and tried to snatch the staple gun away, wanting to take it for herself and do unto Abattoir as Abattoir would’ve done unto her.

At this particularly moment in time, Abattoir wasn't self-reflective enough to figure out exactly why she hated Liberty so much.  If she had a measure of awareness, she might conclude her ego had been bruised over being seemingly left in the swing during the triple threat with Alicia Wells, and then if she had even more insight, she would probably realize that getting tapped in that triple threat had been entirely her fault - if she hadn't let herself get annoyed and then focused on Liberty, things might have turned out quite differently.

Time and self-discipline would eventually bring her to that realization, but right now she mostly just hated that Liberty was trying to avoid getting mutilated.

The attempted strike was caught, and for what felt like a wild, vicious eternity, the two girls struggled over the staple gun like they were in a knife fight.  Liberty was had brute strength on her side and could overpower Abattoir nine times out of ten, but the nak muay was on top.  She had the leverage, and she knew how to use it.

Still, Liberty's power was a hell of a thing to try to overcome.  The staple gun swung wildly from side to side, actually firing at one point (and narrowly missing the ref with a staple) before Abattoir pushed with her hips, working her way further up the Italian's torso.  She grabbed a wrist and used all her body weight to try to turn the weapon to one side - and slowly but surely, leverage began to win out.  

She had it pointed in the right direction now.  Just a little further...

Abattoir was having to push against both of Liberty's arms, and the staple gun was moving at a glacial pace, descending barely a centimeter or two at a time, but it was moving, and steadily, inexorable, pushed itself not just towards Liberty's face, but to her right eye, closer and closer and---

KA-CHAK.

There was a split second of uncertainty, some screams from the crowd, and decidedly no splatter.  Abattoir cocked her head, bewildered.

Things had not gone off the way she'd intended.  The staple was still partially lodged in the gun, its points hovering millimeters away from Liberty's pupil.  Her weapon had fucking jammed.

Abattoir was enraged, but objectively, this was probably a pretty good thing. Especially for Liberty.

”Oh my God!”

”What is wrong with you people?!”

”Take off your shirts!”

The crowd, while still mostly horrified by the live grindhouse movie they’d stumbled into, had a few sporadic people voicing their commentary on the events. Approval, disapproval. Mostly the former, especially now that staple guns was introduced.

Liberty could hear them, but her mind was focused mostly elsewhere. Namely, on the machine coming near her face, which shot out hot, sharp, metal projectiles.

”Fuckfuckfuuuuuuuuuck.” Liberty hissed as they struggled for dominace, trying her best to overcome Abattoir’s leverage advantage. She’d gain a little, lose a little, twist this was, then that way, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that the war was getting away from her. Also, was it just her imagination, or was Abattoir distinctly trying to bring that thing towards her eye?

No. No. That was not her imagination. Holy shit.

Liberty instinctively closed said eye tight, though there was little point to it. A flap of skin wouldn’t make much of difference here. In fact, it would probably just make the injury worse...but instinct had a mind of its own.

The staple gun closed in, drawing so close to her face. Nearer and nearer, lining up. She heard the trigger pull, the machinery whir and…

Nothing happened. A jam.

For a split second, Liberty was elated. When that passed, rage quickly took over. She realized that, oh yeah, this bitch had just tried to take out her goddamn eye. This called for retribution. ”You’re dirt!”

With a inhuman roar, Liberty ducked under Abattoir’s arm and reached out, placing her arm over the smaller woman’s chest. The other hand braced against her back, and from there, it was just a simple matter of lifting her up and throwing her down to the floor with all the force she could muster from her fury.

The move had some fancy name that Liberty couldn’t remember at the moment. Whatever. She only hoped it hurt half as much as Abattoir deserved after a stunt like that.

Abattoir had spent her entire life with a pair of X chromosomes, and was not at all what anybody would consider a particularly sexual creature (apart from having been molested a few times coming up through the Michigan foster care system), but as the clack of the staple gun gave way to a disappointing silence and a jammed chamber, after all the work she'd done getting it up to Liberty's face, she finally understood the concept of blue balls in its entirety.

"Uh..."  Her fury briefly quelled in favor of supreme disappointment, leaving her to glance in frustration at the lodged staple.  "Come on, really--"

There was no time to clear the jam, though.  For some reason, Liberty was apparently upset over almost getting what'd been coming to her.

Already off-balance, Abattoir was easily shoved back by the sudden burst of aggression, and before she could drop the weapon and counter properly, Liberty had her arm hooked and hoisted her up in an uranage.  There was just enough time to realize she hadn't thought to move the lighttube cube after getting out of the right, and then she crashed right through it, back-first.

It...wasn't as bad as it could be.  Unlike the Seasonal Yuletide Christmas Bash Extravaganza (in which her back had been shredded to ribbons in almost this exact scenario), Abattoir had all her gear on, and was at least somewhat protected from the burst of glass.  Furthermore, in an odd bit of irony, all the tacks embedded in her skin provided a surprising amount of coverage, almost like scales or armor.  

With that said, 'not as bad as it could be' was still pretty bad.  The impact on the floor knocked the wind out of her, and any spots that weren't protected took some superficial, but extensive slicing as Abattoir slammed through the lighttubes.  Her limbs jerked in a momentary spasm from the pain of the landing, and the nak muay rolled over onto her side, shaking her head as if trying to clear out the cobwebs.

There was a jagged shard of glass embedded in the side of her mask; if she hadn't been wearing it, she'd have probably been in for a hell of a new scar.  Abattoir focused her dizzied mind, pulled the glass loose, and tossed it off to one side.  Probably best to make sure that didn't come back to bite her.

Liberty hadn’t exactly been aiming for the lighttubues. Her plan had just been to throw Abattoir on the hard floor, then grab whatever sharp object she could get her hands on most readily and beat the bitch upside the head with it until she forgot her own name. Seemed perfectly reasonable, every diplomatic, considering Abattoir had just unambiguously tried to taker her eye. It was starting to become clear that, whoever won this match, the bad blood wouldn’t run dry, today. Liberty figured she would be hating this woman and being hated back for a nice, long time to come. Future endeavors, though. This match had plenty of loathing to go around.

”Fucking bitch! Fucking crazy, psycho bitch!” Liberty spat - literally spat - at Abattoir as she watched the hellion writhing in a mess of glass, dust, and blood. Good. She deserved it. She deserved worse. Liberty was going to see she got it, too.

Liberty took a step back while Abattoir began to gather her bearings. She knocked off a few thumbtacks from her rival and refocused on her rival, looking down on her with a long sneer. Contemplating her options

A part of her - the furious avenging angel part - wanted to grab the staple gun and give her a bite with it right on that tight ass of hers. Not healthy thinking, though. And, ultimately, not that effective. Not when there were better options.

”Face hurting?” She reached over and wrapped her hands around Abattoir’ hair, lifting her back up with a few vicious tugs, not much caring if she ripped anything out of the scalp. Hell, she would’ve been happy if she did. She'd put the hairs in a picture frame and hang them on a wall. ”Try this.”

Liberty yanked her over to the side of the cell, dragging her lower body through the tacks for an added bonus. When she was close enough, the former hardcore champion reeled back and foced the nak muay's face right into the metal chain links, pressing it forward with her weight and rubbing it around to really heighten the pain, get a little shreading out of it.

Despite basically everything about her current situation, Abattoir was enjoying herself. Despite her apparent celestial responsibilities and heavy-handed mysticism, the rush of gory, frenzied combat was the dragon she chased the most, and right now she was practically grabbing that dragon's tail. Add that to the obvious frenzy of panicked rage she'd managed to provoke from Liberty, and this entire match had turned out to be a heady cocktail of endorphins and monstrous glee.

It was hard not to cackle as Liberty freaked out several feet away, and indeed a rough snicker was definitely audible through Abattoir's mask - although she instantly regretted it, given the steadily-spreading ache in her sides. They hadn't fully recovered from Alicia's rib crush the week prior, and a person concerned about their health or trying to maintain career longevity would definitely have waited before wrestling again, particularly in a match with as much potential for insane violence as this one.

Abattoir, of course, fulfilled none of those criteria.

Nonetheless, she hissed in pain as Liberty dragged her upright by the hair - following along quickly, as she wasn't particularly interested in getting scalped - and a moment later, when her face was shoved up against the chainlink surface of the cell, she was definitely struggling again.

Chain link wasn't like, say, barbed wire. It wasn't especially sharp and wouldn't really slice through the skin in the way it was often portrayed. Rather, the danger lay on it catching the skin, as Liberty's elbow pad had earlier, and tearing it forcibly. This was exactly what happened, and Abattoir's resistance combined with Liberty's overbearing force resulted in a thin but lengthy gash mark opening up on the bridge of her nose all the way up between her eyes. It was a pretty ideal spot for a cut, she supposed somewhere in the back of her head - it wouldn't get blood in her eyes when it trickled down - but still, gyah.

There was clearly not going to be any powering out of this one. She had to wait for her opportunity. The nak muay gripped the fence with a free hand and, as Liberty ground her face up against it, managed to get one foot under her and sort of halfway stand up.

The screech of the metal plating on the bottom of her mask rubbing against the cell was almost as hellish as the sensation. In a sense, everybody got to share in the pain.

Oh, she didn’t.

Liberty must’ve been hearing things.

There was absolutely no way that Abattoir had the gall to laugh at her. Not after the shit she’d just tried to pull.

When Liberty heard that rather odd giggling sound come through the nak muay’s filters, a fresh dose of rage was injected right into her bloodstream. Suddenly, any sympathy she might’ve had for her fellow hardcore enthusiast was thrown out the window. If she wanted to get crazy, crazy they would get.

”How’s it taste?” Liberty asked through her snarling lips, despite the fact that there was no way Abattoir could actually taste anything through the hardware over her mouth. ”Huh? Huh?” Liberty reeled back and threw her rival’s face into the cage a couple of times, just for good measure, pour some malice into each blow.

It was a refreshing experience, and, if the cuts she was making on Abattoir’s face were any indication, an effective one. But just wasn’t enough. Not yet.

Liberty looked around, eying the options. There was still much that could be used around the ring - the fire extinguisher, the baseball bat, the tables, a board with some barbwire attached to it, and she hadn’t even started dipping into her goody bag yet. But there was one thing that caught her eye just now, gave her some interesting ideas. She knew what her next stop had to be.

Grabbing Abattoir’s wrist with a tight grip, Liberty pulled her away from the chain link and started dragging her towards the steel steps. Every couple of steps, she’d pause and take a quick second to give the nak muay a kick in the chest, wanting to make sure she stayed hurt, at least until Liberty was ready to give her some really heavy damage.