Underground Clash! Cicilia De'Reignhardt vs Margaux Lefeuvre

The fire in Cicilia's belly only burned hotter as the pain in her skull bled down inside. She glared at her opponent from across the ring, apparently her punch sending her to the ropes as well. How her hatred burned for this woman... She wanted to beat down her skull into a bloody, chunky PASTE, drink in her suffering with each blow and abuse the mad boxer's weaknesses. She wanted to make her laughing and enjoyment of agony into something she'd fear for the rest of her stupid, handicapped life... But first she needed to get off these damned ropes...

"Verdammte französische Kuh!" Cicilia growled under her breath as she pushed herself from the edge of the arena, trying to make it back into the center. She didn't get very far though because Margaux was right on top of her. HER GOD-DAMNED SPEED! Ciclia was really starting to get frustrated with this woman and her stupid speed, always reaching her before she could gain any momentum. Yeah... The first thing she'd do is break those legs... The next thing would be her arms... These fantasies kept her range and resolve strong, her desire to rip this woman limb from limb fresh. Not that she needed that kind of help... The woman's little blackmail from the start was doing just fine.

The juggernaut raised her arms to defend against that hook coming her way.... only to feel a sharp piercing stab in her ribs...

What...?

There it was again, slamming into the same spot and forcing the boxer back, leaning up against the ropes again and taking her air with her. The third one was met with the Boxer's arm, the German's guard finally running to defend her but she was already winded from this unusual assault. Cicilia blinked, her eyes finally picking up on the hooks the insane pinkette was throwing at her, each one forcing the Juggernaut back a step along the ropes. It was all she could do to defend against those punches and she was doing it well enough, her arms and gloves absorbing each impact instead of her already wounded ribs. The German gritted her teeth and attempted to hold her ground only to have her fortifications uprooted by Margaux's assault...

Eventually the Boxer would feel the turnbuckle against her back having been pushed all the way into a corner, her guard being the only thing between her and Margaux's fists. Cicilia glared at the woman behind her gloves before throwing a ripping hook at her cheek in an effort to get her to back off. She needed space.... Clinches were bad, but damned corners were worse!

Quite the mouth on this one. Margaux was by no means fluent in the language, but picked up more than a few phrases from her trips to and fro the country. Needless to say, Cicilia sounded rather disapproving of this whole ordeal. How sad.

The audience watching seemed to be of a similar mind. She caught a few of their winces and aversions to the sight before them as Margaux worked towards putting the juggernaut into the corner. The sound of her ferocious strikes would linger in their ears long after the final bell had sounded. As time passed, it resembles less and less of a boxing match. It was akin to two beasts devouring each other.

Who would be satiated first, only time would tell. Margaux, however, seemed to be enjoying herself the most.

The Frenchwoman couldn’t help but giggle at her adversary’s frustration. Relish the smacking sound of rippling skin as her gloves collided with the German’s supple flesh. Feeling the muscles pronounce themselves in some futile attempts at resistance. Hearing her groans and muffled whimpers of anguish. It was all too enjoyable for her. She knew she made the right choice accepting this bout. There were too few women like Cicilia out in the world. Too few opportunities for her to truly feel alive in this horrid business.

They reached the corner. It was only a matter of time, after all, and Cicilia would understand now the true depths of her depravity. But the angry boxer simply couldn’t go quietly. A hook caught Margaux in the cheek. It stunned her for but a second in the middle of her strike, letting her aim slip and the fist find nothing more than empty air. She had to abandon her momentum for now. Unfortunately for the juggernaut, however, it wasn’t enough to break free. Not nearly enough. She was at the disadvantage now, and Margaux intended to make the best of it, no matter the damage to her own body. So long as her opponent fell first. She adopted a balanced stance and went low. From then on, the audience would hear nothing but the quakes and creaks fo the turnbuckles as the pinkette shot straight jab after straight jab into the woman’s stomach.

Whether they found purchase or not mattered little. The force alone would wear on the German’s body, bring it closer and closer to its limit. Her goal wasn’t to bring Cicilia down here and now. It was to make her feel pain. To fathom the storm that has yet come.

Cicilia's hook struck home, smashing into Magraux's face with great strength, but it was clearly not enough to get out of the corner. She had but a moment to prepare herself before the pinkette's barrage of attacks wrecked havoc on her stomach, one punch after another, each one strong and fast in their own right, pushing the juggernaut into the turnbuckle with each blow. Each hit the woman landed pushed a little more air out of the boxer, like she was taking the air out of a balloon bit by bloody bit. Sometimes her guard came to her rescue when she needed it, allowing her to counter a fatal blow but this was not one of those times. With how hard she was being shoved into the turnbuckle, the boxer was unable to work up the strength to mount a meaningful offense or defense... all she had was her durability to make this ugly, brutal beating last longer and longer.

And a substantial time it did last... Cicilia was called the juggernaut for a reason and that wasn't just because it sold hats and t-shirts. She could take a hit like no one else, most blows not even phasing her while finishers hardly make her flinch. This didn't seem to work in her favor this time, though, just elongating the time it took for her to fall to her knees... After at least a good solid 4-5 minutes of just being pounded in the corner, the Juggernaut fall down to the mat on her hands and knees, gasping her air and cradling her wounded belly... The fire of determination inside was accompanied by the gnawing parasite of agony, the two of them having an unholy argument within her for who would maintain control... It was so intense, in fact, Cicilia barely noticed the blood trickling down her chin as a result of her pummeling.

It seemed that they were now even, both Magraux and Cicilia downed once but unlike before, the Ref kept his distance and didn't begin the count. He'd learned his lesson from earlier on and he'd keep RIGHT out of their way if he knew what was good for him. Cicilia glared up at the insane pinkette with complete disgust, that she'd be forced to the mat under these circumstances. Adding to her disdain for the situation at hand, Cicilia would need at least a minute or two to get back to her feet and with the Ref sitting idly in the corner, that left Magraux to do as she pleased.

You’re not allowed to fall again until I’m done crushing you.

Oh, the words simply melted away on her tongue. The venom lacing her words turned to honey as the sentiment wormed its way back to the front of her mind once again. She savored the memory for all it was worth as she watched the woman fall to her hands and knees. Yes, that’s right. Bow. Bow and understand it all.

She paced back in forth in front of the woman. From the pummeling she had just taken, it would be no surprise to learn that at least one of her ribs had been bruised. By virtue of her thick skin, Cicilia should consider herself lucky that her lungs had evidently been saved from internal bleeding. Not that it mattered right now. It just made her all the more appealing in the end.

“Génial! So strong! I was beginning to wonder if you truly were made of stone.” She lifted her foot to let it graze the fallen woman’s chin. “Malheureusement pour vous, mon ami, you do not understand your limits. The body always surrenders before the mind. Remember that.”

Her tongue worked its way out from the corner of her mouth, clinging to the top of her lip as she looked down at the hardy woman. It was far too hard to contain herself. There were many ways this could have gone. Of course, this wouldn’t be the first time Cicilia would fall tonight. There was no need to rush such a display.
But there were was no harm in having a bit of fun.

“As for your mind…” She reached over to grab the ends of Ciclia’s top. Using her gloves to start pulling it back towards the German’s head, she had just reached the curve of her breasts...when the Frenchwoman suddenly let go. “No. Simple. Far too simple.” She leaned close to whisper in her ear. “You deserve a wonderful destruction.”

With that, she would step back from the woman and just a few paces away with her gloves against her hips. She heard something fall against the canvas. A slight disturbance. A drop. Margaux looked to her right glove and noticed a line of the woman’s blood Only giving the slightest hint of a grin, she lifted her hand and ran a tongue across the surface, taking the juggernaut’s vitality in one gulp.

Splendid. She wanted more.

Don't know her own limits... This woman didn't know when to shut up... Each word she spouted from her vile mouth only gave the boxer all the more resolve to rip her apart. Maybe that's what she wanted. She seemed so eager to get on her bad side at the start... Well who was she to deny her... And why was she still on this floor anyway? Her punches didn't hurt THAT bad. As she made an attempt to rise, the right side of her chest groaned in protest, causing her to pause if only momentarily. A bruised rib...? That's nothing... an annoying distraction at most. She'd been through far worse than what this woman had to offer! before she could power to her feet on her second attempt, the french-woman slipped beside her, her glove slipping under her shirt tugging a it up near her breasts... Cicilia froze, completely forgetting it was that kind of match... Well, in this case, it could've been ANY kind of match with how docile the ref was being over there... Good... Because that meant she could take it as far as she wanted...

"And you deserve a bloody destruction." Cicilia retorted, a blazing fire in her eye... TRIPLING in strength as she felt the girl's tongue along her chin, lapping up the blood that dripped from her mouth... God she was disgusting... If there were any qualms about killing her, maybe her human form or the restraint she'd shown earlier... Those were all bye-bye... Slowly her opponent was taking down all the excuses the Boxer had to take her time... In fact, why doesn't she just dump all of them... Enough of these games!

Cicilia leaned into the woman sharply, intending to shove Margaux away with a hard shove with her shoulder before powering herself to her feet, ignoring that stubborn rib. The moment her feet had a solid grip on the floor, Cicilia practically ran to close the distance, eager to give her harasser a taste of her own medicine. She liked being in the corner, huh...? Let's see how she took it! For her slugger shape, Cicilia began throwing hard, fast punches, painful to be sure, but nothing on the scale of her strongest blows, the flurry she let out was intended to push the woman back against the ropes herself as the German advanced, grinding her along them to the corner much as she had... Instead of using raw speed, however, Cicilia used her strength to force the pinkette's submission. While fast, each blow would attempt to rip Margaux guard to shreds while always leaving one arm back to act as a guard. If the woman attempted to slip free of the assault, Cicilia would be there to stand in her way, not letting her prey go after such a humiliating fall...

If she attempted to punch through, the boxer would slip around her blows and take a few others, blocking the rest with her free hand as she just pushed onward... Unstoppable and relentless...

Bitter. So bitter. Her blood was reminiscent of aged vinegar, overwhelming the senses and blaring out her nostrils. The adrenaline pumping through her veins seemed No, there was more to this recipe than at first glance. Beyond it all was the unyielding rage boiling up from beneath. It must have made a fine anesthetic.

Margaux punched her gloves together. It made her smile to see the woman beginning to rise once again. It befit her image. Laying on the ground in such a manner as this was so undignified. Not that there was any trace of a doubt in her mind that Cicilia would stand again, but the longer she didn’t, the less desirable she became. The juggernaut deserved so much better. She deserved to die standing. A dream come true for a woman such as this, wasn’t it?

Although, it seemed she had no intent of going quietly. Good for Margaux’s appetite, not quite as much for her health. The German woman pushed her back and came barreling forth. Resounding strength laid behind her strikes as she forced the Frenchwoman back. The sheer power behind it was enough to take Margaux off her feet, making her hop like a little bunny with each one that landed. The shock numbed her arms and them momentum alone jerked her body left and right. Cicilia was quite literally forcing her into the corner. She threw a couple straights towards the woman’s face, but she was under no illusions of how far that would change things.

In the end, she ended up exactly where her adversary wanted. Her back slammed against the turnbuckle as she kept her forearms locked together and elbows tucked low, turtling up as much as possible. A grim situation to say the least. There didn’t seem to be any end to it.

But if all you do is attack, how do you propose you defend, Madame De’Reignhardt?”

From her otherwise precarious position, Margaux would keep one forearm diagonal and tuck in her shoulder close, trying to form some representation of a guard as her opponent’s onslaught continued. With her free hand, she would send a few strong hooks into the German’s exposed side. Her aim was for the bruised rib, to add a couple fractures to the damage and slight her opponent’s offensive further. Mental fortitude only worked for so long. Cicilia would endure that lesson soon enough.

The german's offense seemed to undo any sort of progress Magraux had earned by knocking her down, flawlessly ripping her defenses a new one and making it impossible for her to hold her ground. The pinkette was practically bunnyhopping away in the face of a monster-wolf, her strength batting the poor, mouthy rodent around like a rag-doll. Ah, how satisfying it was to put that damned freak in her place! Seeing her might rip into this woman was an art form worthy of a museum, not least because of WHO she was tearing to pieces.

Her plan worked like the charmiest of charms, her blows forcing the frenchwoman off her feet long enough to practically THROW her into the corner of the arena, the poor girl turtling herself up in her arms like any of that would make a difference. Cicilia smiled a slow-crawling cruel grin, one reminiscent of her sister's when they fought so long ago... She felt so powerful, like her arms were the barrel of a gun and her fists were the bullets. She felt like she was a monster among humans in the best of ways. She felt like an unstoppable force... And she'd unload all of it into those numbing, feeble arms of Margaux Lefeuvre. Each punch was HUGE, mighty as the god but avoidable to anyone with half-decent foot-work and speed. In this case, her opponent had nowhere to go. Cicilia took up as much space as she POSSIBLY could with her body and punches, making any attempt to fight out of this corner like climbing up an obsidian-glass mountain at a 90 degree angle: Painful and damned-well-near impossible. The punches DIDN'T stop coming... In fact, they seemed to grow faster and harder with each one thrown slamming into the woman like a locomotive getting started on it's track.

Even DESPITE all that, the juggernaut's waling on her and her defenses seemingly dropping as one arm fell away from her guard, Margaux managed to get in a few words, asking with all this offense... how could she expect to defend? Cicilia didn't respond, letting her fists to the talking as she poured more energy into her punches for MORE offense! You know what they say about what the best defense was.

Cicilia's tankiness wasn't just her guard and one could notice that in her fighting style... She had armor. Not literally mind you, such things would ruin her career forever but her ability to take hits like no one else was what really made her a threat on the battlefield.

Well... The juggernaut eventually felt what that fallen was for, that pink-gloved fist biting into her wounded side with ravenous determination. She felt her rib groan and cry under the force of the punch, the rest of her not too happy either to have suffered this punch... Cicilia didn't let up though, working through the pain with gritted teeth... But after the third and forth punches to the same area, her offense began to slow, the pain in her side like a stake... It was tight, felt like it was bleeding and it restricted movement! Cicilia still waled DOWN on Magraux with BITTER VENGEANCE but that revenge was barely supported by her body anymore. She was right in thinking mental fortitude only got someone so far, her massive punching power CUT and withering. Her weak-spot was being CLOBBERED but her anger wouldn't let her retreat... Even as the bone began to crack under Magraux's covert assault.

There were few experiences in her life that could truly measure up to this. Few instances in her short time on this miserable planet that properly compared to the unrelenting force she was being beset upon. The wild beast bearing down on her was her own force of nature. Unbending, unrelenting.

The stadium echoed with the brutal shockwaves that kept the Frenchwoman pinned against the turnbuckle. Her bones rattled and the air was being pushed out of her with every strike. Some were asking her to fight back. Others cheering for the German to dig even deeper. Enjoying this were they? They weren’t alone. Through it all, Margaux was keeping a wide smile on her face.

She loved this, thoroughly, but as she found herself mentioning, again and again, there were limits to what the body could take. Including her own. She was merely better...tempered than others. Staying here wasn’t going to help her. It would seal her fate. Take away her meal before she had even finished eating. That wouldn’t do.

So she dug in with her punches, wanting to reward her opponent with a few fractures for her remarkable display. But the woman wasn’t done. Far from it, clearly. The war machine kept turning. Her fists kept flying, albeit a tad slower, but just as deadly. The former, however, was the only thing she was aiming for. This wasn’t a woman to crumble from a few pecks on the cheek. Margaux needed an opening, and thankfully, the juggernaut was willing to give it to her.

Margaux lunged forward, tucking low and trying to wedge between the strikes. She wouldn’t get by ungrazed, but that wasn’t her intent. Her glove would soar up, past Cicilia’s face as if she were going for an uppercut that fell short. The real danger, however, became clear in the next instant. Her forearm bent back, jutting her elbow out as she rose, aiming it right into her adversary’s jaw.

Conventional methods weren’t going to get her out of this. Not with this woman. It was stupid of Cicilia to put the referee on a leash. It was the only thing that could have saved her right now.

Cicilia gritted her teeth and swallowed her cries of pain as Margaux's fists bore down on her wounded rips like hunting spears, her blows piercing deep and far, crushing her lower chest with pain... The War machine didn't stop though just because it's core was under attack. Even though each hit took a little more out of her, Cicilia waled and WALED on the pinkette with a brutal resolve that bypassed the pain that threatened to take away her strength. Hook, Uppercut, cross, jab, jab, cross. Her own movements made tears well up in her eyes, from her punches to her leaning into them, her ribs just refused to stop screaming. That small crack...? It wasn't so small anymore... She could feel it hot... burning, her skin... So sensitive it seemed to sear away at her sports-bra...

But she didn't stop.

She cocked back her fist, channeling her energy into her arm for a 'mega-punch' as it were, her muscles bulking up as she prepared to plant the lights-out kiss upon her crazy rival. She knew from the strength she gathered that if her fist struck her dead on, it would knock the stars right out of her sky, shatter that perverted, mangled brain she possessed... And she smiled... Good. It was EVERYTHING SHE DESERVED!

She threw her punch...

And Margaux used that moment to regain her bearings and tuck into Cicilia's guard, her fist slipping right by her cheek, grazing it instead and worming her way under her defenses... She braced herself for the ugliest punch to her stomach she would ever feel, suspecting that she'd abuse that quick and easy target... but she was oh-so wrong... Her sanguine eyes widened as her opponent's fist slipped up past her stomach, past her breasts... and up past her chin, scraping against the tip at this close proximity. She missed...? Margaux must've taken more damage than she tho-

*CRACK*

Cicilia's eyes went numb as her head shot skyward as the pinkette's elbow struck her chin...

"Was zum teufel..." She choked out before suddenly leaning forward, her arms reaching out to wrap around the disgusting woman in a clinch... A disgusting, pitiful clinch. One arm wrapped around the woman's neck, the other attempting to wrap around the girl's arm and pin it to her side... She needed a moment.... two... three... Her world was completely rocked...

But she would not fall.

Despite her desperation to leave the corner, Margaux had almost missed the onslaught the instant she left it. As easy as flipping off a light, Cicilia stopped. Her rage quelled, her body nearly limp. It was rather...disheartening, to say the least. She missed the expression splattered on her face, the deep wrinkles and hard twitches of the skin. Margaux could almost see the berserker once more if she closed her eyes. It elicited a giggle from her, doing her best to hide her disappointment. Oh well.

You never know what you have...

She was too caught up in her opponent’s dismay to work against the arm wrapping around her neck. What a silly-looking woman. She looked so simple. So lost in it all as she fell forward towards the Frenchwoman, wrapping her arms around her opponent and clinging to life. It was perhaps the most elegant moment she could recall seeing from the juggernaut, both in and beyond the ring. Even her and Madame Lavender’s feverish frenzy, as intimate as it may have been, was far lacking in its elegance.

Here, she was like a feather...falling to earth. Never to take flight again.

Margaux pondered simply annihilating this woman here and now, but quickly enough decided against the approach. Her opponent was gone for the moment, numb to everything. The punches would merely aggravate Cicilia, drawing the woman out of her dazed state all the faster. Her side was no doubt adjusting to the discomfort as well, however bad her ribs must have looked beneath the skin. Margaux couldn’t see the logic in trying to strike it again until another minute or so, when the fruit was ripe once more. And, truth be told, that barrage had slowed the Frenchwoman down significantly. There was no rushing this.

No, no. What was wrong with the here and now? Why tear herself away from such a tender moment. There was no need to rouse her plaything from such a well-deserved rest.

Wrapping her arms around the woman’s midsection, she would pivot on her back foot and slowly turn them around. A gentle, smooth motion, as the two dancers clung close to one another, feeling their energies resonate as they continued in their circular motion.

“Shhh, it’s alright." She placed a rough bite on the woman's sweat-clad shoulder. "You will find yourself in a long, long rest...soon.”

As soon as the juggernaut’s back was to the corner, the very same the pinkette had been trapped in a mere moment ago, Margaux would push forward, shoving her opponent hard against the turnbuckle. It didn’t seem to matter what state the German was in. Confined spaces seemed to be her Achilles heel. Something she made no attempt to hide in her frustration. All the better, truly.