Underground Clash! Cicilia De'Reignhardt vs Margaux Lefeuvre

The difference was, Cicilia wasn't suffering under the woman's assault. All she needed was a moment... A SINGLE moment when the barrage would cease and the juggernaut would be back in force. What this woman didn't understand is that there were more attributes to being unstoppable than just constantly on the offensive... Such as making sure they don't get destroyed in the middle of their charge.

Cicilia felt the woman's fist grind against her guard and, trying to break through and, you know what? She let it pass. The German leaned to the side harshly while while tucking her arms in further, allowing the punch to instead slip off her arms and shoot wide into the ether instead of shattering her guard which it very surely would've done. Still, the time it took for the slower boxer created the opportunity required for the half-pinkette to slip up stupidly close, entrapping one of Cicilia's arms with hers and wrapping another around her neck, the two of them sharing a look that was burning with hostility at least on Cicilia's end.

Clinches...

The German hated clinches especially from the conscious and wary. How the HELL were you supposed to crush those stupid idiots if they clung to you like some kind of parasite!? The two of them stood practically breast-to-breast, Cicilia trying to tear her arm free, Margaux holding on tight... Being stronger didn't seem to mean too much more in this position seeing as it'd take a bit of time to tear herself free from this grip.

The French-freak said something in french, pardon my french, before taking her hand from around Cicilia's head and slamming it into her side, in a stinging jab, her ribs clearly not appreciating that punch. The Juggernaut gasped in pain as a bit of air was forced from her lungs, her eyes widening a tad.

That... hurt... But this woman left Cicilia an arm as well. Doing her best to mimic her rival, the boxer would swing her free arm around in a blistering hook to the Pinkette's side, trying to make her pay for every hit she would try to land. Margaux continued throwing jab after blistering jab at Cicilia's side as the Boxer continued trying to break the woman in half with her blows. From outside the ring, one might've thought they were having some kind of Cat-fight in there, just clawing and beating on one-another.

"No... YOU wilt..." She fired back, her ability to trash-talk clearly as sharp as ever. "Get off me, du blöde französische Schlampe!"

Words of spite.

They were fine and welcome companions to the juggernaut’s heavy strikes. Her fierce scowl and unwavering gaze. For all the frustration her adversary drew from the clinch, Margaux fell in love with the proximity. She loved feeling their pulse thumping against her own. Their bodies beating back against one another inside and out. And better yet, if this woman were any decent example, it brought their strategies to a halt, drawing forth their frustration. But it wasn’t exactly what she wanted from the woman. No, that would come in a few moments...

There it was. This was what she wanted to see. What she had heard so much about from the latest up-and-comer. Her rage. Her hatred. This is what she needed from her. Go on Cicilia.

Unleash it all.

“Make...me.” She leaned forward, running a tongue up the woman’s neck. She made it a nice and long motion. Wanted to feel it burn against her skin.

She could taste the sweat beginning to flow from forth from beneath her pores. The energy. The anger boiling forth and permeating her entire being. A taste was nice. A bite was better. But Margaux was looking for so much more than that. A feast. A banquet of blood and anguish. The German woman had done an excellent job thus far of making herself look most appealing, but she’d had enough of this...foreplay.

There was no need for either of them to hold back. A fight was about strength. Decimating the opponent beneath one's fists. Dashing them and their hopes into nothing. Cicilia surely understood that better than anything.

Oh yes, she understood... Complete annihilation was the name of this game and she got these rules well... Woe upon the person that the juggernaut unleashes her true strength upon for they shall awaken in pain indescribable. There were very few people in the world Cicilia truly hated. True, blood-boiling hatred wasn't something even a rage-machine like Cicilia De'Reignhardt felt too often... Anger was so much more shallow that that... Easier to conjure but it passed that much quicker too. Hatred...? It came from the heart. And it stuck around. Forever. The Boxer's eyes widened as the woman's tongue grazed along her neck, leaving a warm trail of saliva.

.
.
.

*Snap*

The boxer wrenched at her captive arm suddenly, forcefully like an animal leashed to a stake. Her free hand detached from their little trade-of-blows and moved north to Margaux's head. Her fist would swing heavily at the pinkette's temple, not just to crush it like a grape, but to encourage release. Release Cicilia and let the pink-fool taste the full destruction she craved! No words... no hissing or spitting or any of that. The only indication of her rage being the look in her eyes... a look that scorched inferno hell.

Full Warmachine.

No more games... No more clinches... No more anything that would get between her and her opponent's defeat. CIcilia hoped this was what Magraux wanted... She really did... Because The Juggernaut was going to make her bleed.

If the Boxer managed to shove herself free with this effort, Cicilia would no nothing more than advance and dominate. One benifit of hatred over anger is that she kept her mind, as warped as it might've been. Cicilia kept her arms raised heavily in her stalwart defense as she swung her fist in a blinding straight at the woman's nose before following up with a swift hook to her side. Each punch had so much venom behind it... So much intent... Just what they both wanted right?

No holds barred.

Tension. Heat. Vibrations.

Her tongue snuffed it all out. It felt even the slightest change coursing through the woman’s body as if they were lovers, fitted together like a lock and its key. Pain connected people in this way. Hatred connected people this way. They were all the same. Each more powerful than the last. This was the world as Margaux saw it. And Cicilia’s hatred was very potent indeed. It ran off her lips like fine wine.

Something was coming her way. Boiling its way up from the surface, and when it erupted, nothing could stand in its way. The first punch blindsided her, shooting her eyes wide as her skull rattled from the pure shock of it all. Vision blurring from the fresh bruise in her mind. The next thing she knew, the German had managed to shove her back. She stood on unfounded feet, raising her arms up as she anticipated a strike.

What she was brought was hellfire.

Strikes tore through empty air one after another. A raging bolt of lightning struck her square in the nose, dazing her and followed soon by roaring thunder beneath the woman’s feet. The juggernaut’s shot edged around her guard and landed with a resounding, ugly smack against her ribcage. Hard enough to bruise the bone. Strong enough to break it. Exciting.

There was nothing Margaux wanted more than to return the favor. To enter the fray just as her adversary had with no restraint and no remorse in her eyes. But her body refused. She collapsed down to both knees and stared at the canvas, breathing raggedly. She should have known better than to overindulge. Her temptations truly got the better of her sometimes. How unrefined.

Her eyes were open. She was still very much awake. The impact must have sent a shock to her system. Mixed up some wiring and caused her whole system to go haywire. Either way, the referee was beginning the countdown. With each passing second, Cicilia came closer to her victory. Inwardly, the French woman wondered if her opponent could even savor any of it past all the anger. All the disdain worming its way up and taking hold of her frail little heart.

“ONE!”

It made her chuckle.

“TWO!”

Cicilia's punches brought her opponent to her knees, naturally, actually needing to be stopped by the ref lest she pummel her even more from that position. She huffed loudly, frustrated that her opponent crumbled this fast. How was she possibly going to truly express her hatred for this woman if she fell over like this after just a couple of punches? She glared down upon with true displeasure, but also a bit of encouragement as well. What good was she if Margaux couldn't get to her feet? She couldn't just unlock the boxer's rage just to crumble before it like THIS! To do so would be a TRULY cruel thing...

"Get up." Cicilia demanded, pointing down at her bloodied opponent with her glove. "Get up now so we can continue."

3!

"And you." She turned to the ref who immediately halted his count. "Stop. Let her get up. I'm not done with her yet." The man in black/white seemed confused, perhaps a little apprehensive but one look at the boxer's expression and he did as she asked, stepping WELL out of the way in anticipation of the match resuming. "Stand, Margaux. Fight me. NOW or I won't forgive you!" As if their relationship meant ANYTHING besides how inhibited they were while in the ring.... And right now it was the only thing that mattered. Even Sayumi took a back seat to dismantling this woman, all her lessons... all her help. A certain someone flashed before Cicilia's eyes as she glared down at the kneeling woman, a certain someone that reminded her so very much of the pinkette... The Juggernaut's jaw tightened into a snarl as she took a couple steps back, giving her opponent enough room to safely rise. Did she savor this battle outside her anger? Was that even a question? Of course she did! Every hit she landed and was landed on her was something she craved! This woman was someone she REALLY WANTED to battle, not just punch out in the ring. A battle of wills, not just of strength and it actually HURT her to see her kneeling on the mat so soon.

"I want this. You want this. Get up!"

Her head was fixed to the ground. Unmoving. Unresponsive.

One might have thought that the harsh reality of the situation must have suddenly fallen upon her like a thousand weights. They might have assumed that she had realized how insurmountable this mountain truly was. That Margaux had gone too far and now found herself staring down a lion rather than a woman. But the real answer was in none of that.

Blood. It was the blood.

Her eyes fixed on the floor as a red pool ran Droplet after viscous droplet formed a tiny puddle between her legs. The little ripples dancing across the canvas captivated her gaze. Her ears, however, kept listening to the woman’s words as they echoed across the stadium.

She laughed. It hurt. It reminded her of the pain coursing through her ribs. She felt something grate beneath the skin. It stoked the fire burning in her left lung, every breath feeding it the purest oxygen. By all rights, nothing thus far was looking very pleasant for her. But oh did she laugh. She’d laugh and laugh until tears ran down the side of her cheeks, ceasing all at once the moment her cackles died down.

“Why, of course. La pas de duex requires two. We must dance to the very end.” She stood up to one knee. “Do you think such a sting could keep me down forever? I have thought too long about this, and you, De’Reignhardt. Your strength. Your true strength. It will all unravel in time.” She worked her way up to both feet, lifting her head to face the juggernaut with a wicked smile. “I only hope you still breathe when it comes.”

She sincerely did. Cicilia was too much fun. Just one, simple fight was wasted on a woman like her.

All at once, her body stopped trembling. Her gloves raised and she assumed a solid stance. If there was any pain from that strike, it was as though it had long dissipated from her being. She took a bold step forward, sending vibrations along the canvas. In her stride, she’d throw a right cross, then a left to Cicilia’s guard before coming fully across to throw a left hook into the side of her head. Her speed hadn’t dulled in the slightest. The excitement carried her forward, desperate to see more from the German before her blood coated the canvas.

Cicilia tilted her head to the side as the french-woman broke out into a chilling series of cackles, her laughs growing more and more unstable as they went on... And they went on for a long time... Even the crowd seemed uneasy with the woman's behavior, unsure whether or not this was an act. Cicilia knew, though... This wasn't any act... This woman was completely insane. Margaux rose to one knee and raised her head to reveal the tears running down her cheek, a product of her deranged laughter more than any sense of defeat or shame. Cicilia actually smiled herself, not in the least daunted by the woman's threats of critical injury. This loony little pinkette didn't scare her. Whatever she had to bring, Cicilia would take and CRUSH ten-fold! She raised her arms and the German did the same, their eyes locked intently on one another.

"Good. You're not allowed to fall again until I'm done crushing you." The German declared, solidifying her guard. With that, the two of them charged each-other again, meeting in the center with a craving for the other's destruction. Margaux threw a cross at Cicilia's cheek and the Boxer threw a cross-counter in response, the pinkette's fist striking Cicilia's cheek hard. If The Juggernaut's counterpunch didn't do anything to halt her, she would feel the sting of another cross to her other cheek, the strength of each blow causing spittle to fly forth from Cicilia's lips. Her eyes remained steely, however, not to be dulled nor her head rocked so easily.The pinkette's hook slammed into her arms with great strength as the Juggernaut's guard finally game to her aid, stopping this assault before she could do any critical damage. Those last couple hits woke her up... Any arrogance that might've had a chance to breed in the time it took for this woman to rise had been swiftly cut down. Margaux made sure of that and rightfully so. They didn't need ANYTHING to get in the way of this match.

Cicilia threw her own straight at the woman in response to her offense, poking at her defense before stepping in deep and throwing a crushing uppercut at her rival's stomach, hoping to grind her fist in deep and see more of that blood that made her so giggly before. Who knows? Maybe the two of them would be laughing like old friends murdering each other by the end of this match. Each blow she landed certainly brought a smile to Cicilia's lips if only in spirit.

Slash. Fight. Destroy.

Each of the senses overtook her once again, narrowing her mind and sight onto the woman standing boldly before her. She was right about one thing. They both wanted this. Who was she to deny anyone the thrill of the fight? The sounds of cracking bones and the tenderized flesh gracing their knuckles. She’d give Cicilia the honor, but only if she promised to return the favor. Mutually savoring the destruction on their lips.

Margaux charged with the hook, but her adversary fired back all the same. It dug right into her cheek and ground against her skin, but nothing of major consequence was lost. Her blows landed upon the Juggernaut’s cheeks with a smack after stinging smack. Those cocky words left along with the spittle. She couldn’t resist giggling at her bravado. Go ahead, Margaux’s eyes seemed to say. Crush me. Crush me.

Friend. Enemy. Prey.

The lines blurred between one another, phasing in and out as the battle raced on. This one was filling her expectations bit by bit. She was determined now. Good. No more beating around the bush. The brunt of her strength had been teased out now. Everything far displaced from their minds. Margaux met the faltering woman with a wild smirk. It was careless. It would cost her dearly, but she wanted to see it. The mounting frustration once it came.

The straight punch couldn’t have made it itself any more obvious. So easily evaded like a fly buzzing slowly towards her. The uppercut, however, met her stomach with a harsh crunch. A painful grimace adorned the French woman’s face. Cicilia was grinding the fist into her gut. Ferocious, but she would need more than that.

Cicilia went low. Margaux went high.

While the Juggernaut ground her fist into her gut, Margaux would throw an overhand punch down onto the woman’s skull. Her aim was square at the top of the skull, wanting to cave her brain in with a single strike. The moment she managed that, there would be a left straight waiting for Cicilia with enough force to push her back if it met her square on.

Cicilia's uppercut struck Margaux's gut just as her fist struck HARD into the Boxer's skull, the two of them trading blows of great strength yet again... The German's eyes widened as the fist ground into her skull but she would not falter. Not while she was still in control of her faculties! This woman did deserve some credit, though... She took her hits like a champ and the one she just delivered numbed the boxer's thoughts just a tad.

But Cicilia was called the juggernaut for a reason... and she wouldn't be daunted by these dinky little attacks!

Crush. Flatten. Destroy.

Each of these senses took over her for the first time in a long time... It wasn't just a desire, but a need... She HAD to see this woman on the ground unconscious and bleeding for this hatred to be satisfied... She needed to see her completely and utterly trampled under the boxer's dominance and it seemed from the look in her rival's eye that she WANTED that. The CRAVED the challenge, didn't see? Well... you should be careful what you wish for... No one stops the Juggernaut in her ring.

Eventually, the fist slid off her skull and the moment it did, Cicilia took a large step forward, hurling a massive right to the pinkette's jaw, strong enough to easily send her stumbling back to the ropes... Just as Margaux's left came to meet her. The two punches would pass one another and whether or not the juggernaut's hit on target, Margaux certainly did. The strength behind her punch shocked Cicilia, not expecting so much power from any one blow. Everything up till now had been child's play compared to this punch and it did just as it was supposed to do. Catching the juggernaut by surprise, she couldn't help but stumble, her fall halted by the ropes supporting her back.

Mush. Mush. Mush. Mushmushmushmushmushmushmushmush.

Squelch. Splatter. Crunch. All of the wonderful sounds that the skull could make replayed one after another through Margaux’s mind. She wanted to scramble this woman’s brains. Turn it to paste inside of that thick skull of hers. Fish through the remnants and wonder which festering lump was the amygdala. Likely the largest. Oh, the possibilities. She wanted to experiment.

She wanted to. Wanted to.

But that wouldn’t happen just yet. Cicila had too much potential to squander. Too ripe to be wasted all it once. Too sweet to be gulped down without a care. The audience, the ticking clock, the pain. All of it disappeared at once, and before she knew it, Margaux was reeling her fist back for another strike after sending the juggernaut towards the ropes.

Only she was cut off by a similar shot to the jaw. Her entire body quaked as she was sent flying back towards the opposite ropes. One foot stumbled back after another, moving her away from her opponent on the unfounded ground. All the while, the pain from the strikes coursed through her body, flaring her senses to their height.

Her stomach felt hot. It thumped rhythmically with the beat of her heart. Her jaw pulsed and tingled irrevocably. It made her so excited. This was it. There wasn’t anything to hold her back any longer. Either of them. The instant she fell back against the ropes, Margaux used the momentum to bounce straight back, running towards her opponent with the same wicked grin plastered on her face. Her right arm reeled back, looking as if she were to capitalize on Cicilia’s position with a devastating hook...

...until Margaux changed her stance. All of the winding force swished across to the left side of her body. She stomped her left foot forward and coiled her torso as she came in low. The French woman’s fist shot out, aiming a hook straight into the juggernaut’s side, crashing through the air between them. She’d follow it up with another hook. Then another. And another. Her aim wasn’t to keep her on the ropes. No, it was to send her traveling along them, working her towards the corner. Trapping her like a rat in its own blood.