Underground Clash! Cicilia De'Reignhardt vs Margaux Lefeuvre

Cicilia winced as the frenchwoman bit roughly into her shoulder, lifting her up slightly and spinning them as if they were in some kind of dance. She groaned ever so softly, already disoriented enough with the the entire stadium rocking without Margaux taking them around the stage like they were at a ball or something! She felt the pinkette's arms wrap around hers gently, only solidifying their waltz-like movement. The German feebly struggled to get herself out of this, her stamina returning to her SO SLOWLY after that cheap-shot. The only thoughts that managed to escape the white-noise in her skull told her to get away! Get some distance between them! But Margaux wasn't going to let her go just yet and Cicilia wasn't in the state to make her protests mean anything.

Noticing the German's weak struggling, the crazy boxer whispered in her ear that she would have her long rest... Soon. That struck a cord in the Juggernaut, her teeth gritting as the pain in her ribs and now in her shoulder fading away into more pressures than agony...

"I don't lose... to people like.... you!" Cicilia growled, her struggling becoming more pronounced and obvious but still not enough to escape from her opponent's grip... Margaux seemed to be taking them somewhere, not just in random circles around the arena... even as disoriented as she was, the German could tell that she was being directed to someplace in the arena but where...? She couldn't tell until she was SLAMMED HARD into it! Cicilia cried out in pain as her wounded ribs did, red staining her vision for a second as she felt the sides of the corners press into her from both sides...

The french woman had taken her to the WORST place in the ring using her other weakness... That devious, crazy bitch! Her lips curled into a snarl as she tucked herself hard behind one of her arms, using that one to RIP her opponent from her shoulder while her other arm slowly began to gather power. She'd been saving this move for when she REALLY needed it and right now...? She was pretty damn desperate.

The corner was a safer bet then she’d imagined. The German woman snarled like a mangy dog. Her body tensed up, her muscles flared and her aura turned bitter. Margaux’s lips stretched from ear to ear. This woman had never looked quite so appetizing.

And her fury was truly the most exotic of spices. Unparalleled wrath, all for her. She giggled at the juggernaut’s words. How could she not? She was by far one of the most humorous bodies she’d come across.

“Oh, why of course. I do not want you to lose, Cicilia. I only wish to see you fall. Encore et encore.”

A strong woman like this? Losing so soon? In her own ring? That wouldn’t do. Not at all. The juggernaut’s career could never survive such an embarrassing spectacle. No, she wanted this one around for a long, long time. To see her fight. To see her struggle. To see her bleed and persevere all over again. Her imagination was running wild with all the possibilities the future held.

But that was then. This was now. And now...she wanted to enjoy this. Margaux pushed away from the juggernaut with a rough shove, just as the woman tore herself away, throwing her right back into the corner she had slammed the woman into not a moment ago. Opening with a straight jab, she’d quickly follow up with a left hook. Then a right hook. Then another left. Then another right. Then left. Then right. Left. Right. Left. Right. She wanted to make Cicilia’s head rock, crack her meal open from the temples, then move on to the main course.

Cicilia tucked her  head behind her one arm held up for defense, attempting to ride out the hooks Margaux sent her way. One after another, punch after punch and the German was only able to defend against a minority of them. Some of them she managed to duck under, others her arm deflected but the majority struck her cheeks blisteringly hard... Were these punches aimed at her already wounded ribs, they might've actually dropped Cicilia, sending her tumbling down like a tree cut by it's trunk. Now, though, her head was far from rocked and she could take a great deal of her punches much easier than her torso. Cicilia hissed with each blow, her punches sending sweat and spit flying from her lips but the Juggernaut clung to her lucidity. Between her durability and the ANGER she felt towards this woman, she was struggling to keep her mind, but she was doing it...

Meanwhile, on the offensive front, her other arm continued to grab more and more energy, bulking and bulking some more as she focused her strength into it... Even as she was bared down upon by the insane pinkette, Cicilia was smiling darkly as she knew just what would happen when this fist met this girl: It was going to BREAK that arrogance...

As another one of the woman's hooks came around Cicilia's eyes suddenly flashed aggressively, her defensive arm lashing own to the side, preventing that fist from reaching it's target! Using this moment of broken momentum, the German would step in, unleashing a FULLY charged trainwrecker punch in a sightly different variant. Her fist came around in a BLISTERING hook targeting Margaux' ribs with enough force to at least crack them outright if it connected, putting them on an even playing field once again.

"I HATE people like you!" Cicilia roared, throwing a nearly as strong hook into the french-woman's other side of ribs. "Bullies and freaks! Insane women like you RUIN this sport!" Grabbing into the woman's shoulders with her gloved hands so that she couldn't get away, the German would SLAM her forehead into the her face, more than enough payback for that elbow...

The Ref seemed to look on helplessly, not wanting to do his job anymore. If he got in the middle of this... he was going to end up dead.

“Hehehehehe.”

Wham! Wham! Wham! Wham! Wham!

“Hahahahaha!”

“Juggernaut”. The name just didn’t possess the same ring to it as it did quite some minutes ago. Fierce, strong, unyielding. All of those things seemed to have alluded Madame De'Reignhardt as of late. For Margaux, it adopted a new meaning all its own. One that seemed to be an endless source of entertainment for her.

“HAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Juggernaut? Juggernaut! This woman? The one trapped in her bloody corner? The one gritting her teeth and staving off death with an inch of her life? The one being pounded into smithereens with only her one, trembling arm between the two as her saving grace? Margaux looked at her state now, looking at her as only an opponent could, and took all of those little details in…

And laughed. Oh, did she laugh at this woman. And why not? She was funny. She was so undeniably hilarious! If only those in attendance tonight could see it. Truly see it. All of the blood and anguish splattered across her face. The utter disdain pulsing in her gaze. It was too much for the Frenchwoman to handle, and it would only get better from here on out. She’d take this one to the floor, break her apart, destroy her from the inside, leave her bare for the world to see, and fashion a new story from her broken body. And the word “juggernaut” would loom over her the whole time.

Funny. So funny, it almost hurt-

CRACK!

….what...

Another hook. That was the one that got her. She leaned forward, coughing out a wad of blood onto the ring floor, just as the juggernaut collided their skulls together. The world went white for a moment. Margaux found herself taking quick steps backwards to the center of the ring. There she stood. Looking out into the distance. He senses alluding her. Little trickles of blood running down her chin as her brain attempted a hard reset, trying to pull herself back from the void Cicilia had sent her to.

"How the fuck does that feel!?" Cicilia growled, her fist smashing into Margaux' ribs so hard she coughed up blood! No doubt something had broken or else her lungs wouldn't have taken that much damage. She must've been bleeding internally at this point... The poor pinkette was now standing on borrowed time. She seemed stunned, distant and the headbutt to her face didn't really help it looked like, sending her stumbling back to the center of the ring... but she didn't fall. How could she not fall after a hit like that!? Rrrgh... How was she so tough! Cicilia moved in, fast at first but her head suddenly started spinning with her quick movements, her ribs moaning in agony with each step. She wasn't doing so hot herself... While she still retained her lucidity, she was made distinctly aware of how ruined her body's state was... She was nearing the end of her rope... But she MORE than had enough energy to beat the life out of this bitch!

"ARE!" She roared throwing a vicious hook at the stunned woman's face. "YOU!" Another hook from the other side. "LAUGHING!" A powerful uppercut to Margaux's stomach, no doubt doing her wounded ribs any favors. "NOW!?" If the previous hits landed as they were supposed too, Cicilia's fist would RIP up past her opponent's stomach, up through her cleavage to SLAM up into her chin, powerful enough to send the woman FLYING BACK if it hit... and likely bring the juggernaut to her knees...

She gasped, that quick burst of energy gone as soon as it came, her body shaking and quivering in pain... She was having a hard time breathing... Moving was pain, breathing was pain... Her adrenaline stores were spent... If Margaux got back up after that... the Best Cicilia could do at this point was throw limp, loose punches.

The simplest answer to Cicilia’s question was ‘no’. No, Margaux was not laughing. She wasn’t doing much of anything as a matter of fact.

The only activity her failing body could manage was guide her pupils from right to left in a desperate attempt to realign the ten different Cicilias charging towards her. She went to raise her arms, but her body refused to move. Not so much as a twitch could be felt beneath her gloves.

All at once, her flesh felt though it were being torn apart bit by bit. Capillaries exploding, skin shredding, muscles wearing beneath the skin. Her bones grated against the impact, rattled her to the very core. Her vitals spiked, her threatened to explode in her rib cage. Although, that last detail hardly mattered. The juggernaut’s final strike to her core shot straight through her, carrying the force to the other side of her body before it traveled upward, finding purchase in her jaw.

Her feet left the ground, lifting high and away from the Momentum logo. For a moment, she seemed to be ascending to a higher plane. She certainly hadn’t felt as though she was still part of this world. She couldn’t feel anything, for that matter. Margaux hadn’t been this detached from her body in a long time. The closest memory was from her days bending metal and casting molten iron, the heat washing over her body. Burning her from the inside out.

This was...close to that.

She hit the canvas with a resounding thud, almost splashing against it, her head inches from the ropes. Unmoving, unresponsive. The official took careful steps from his meek little corner towards la bête, taking an occasional glance over at the recovering German war machine, careful to not be caught in the middle of another skirmish. Given the state of both combatants, the pinkette in particular, the battle appeared over.

She looked to Cicilia, as if silently asking for approval to do her job. Seems the German had taken complete control of this match in more ways than one.

Cicilia sent the pinkette crashing to the ground with the SECOND most satisfying punch she's ever thrown, falling to her knees in a nearly defeated state herself. With her ribs broken, her energy spent and blood now openly flowing out of her mouth, it was the most the Juggernaut could do to remain conscious. One of her eyes fell completely shut while her other was half-way closed, her chest rising and falling shakily, unevenly, feeling nauseous with pain with each and every breath. She was literally on the verge of passing out, vomiting and falling hard on her face all at once but maybe... MAYBE she could stay up for a 10 count...

Groaning loudly, the German slowly crawled to her feet, nodding at the ref to begin his counting. Bless him for being there... Cicilia shivered and swayed on shaky feet, her eyes clenched tightly from the strain of even holding herself up right.... Everything was burning lead, piercing, burning, searing bloody LEAD!

1!

2!

She could feel her ribs beginning to swell, pressing even harder against them and making it harder for her to breath... So hard... Her intakes of air were short, rasping, agonizing, feverish. She was going down soon too... but she just needed to outlast that STUPID 10 COUNT!... She could already feel her mind beginning to swim.

3!

4!

5!

“ONE!”

“TWO!”

Ah. There you are.

“THREE!”

“FOUR!”

Margaux could feel herself drifting away from the end. She’d been there only a few times in her younger years when she wandered the Mende streets as a vagabond. There were her fair share of encounters that brought a spark into her life here and there. A few minutes of fun one time, and endless hours of entertainment at another. But then there were those that came…“prepared”, in a word, and those moments only ended in agony. A bat to the skull, a knife to the back, a shot to the jaw. In a moment, they all sent her to that place. It was dark. Cold. Miserable. Quiet.

She hated it. The only thing she could imagine was that this was what awaited everyone. This was at the end of all things. This was life’s final reward. For all the neglectful, worthless souls she knew.

Her eyes were slow to open at first, but shot wide in an instant as the smell of copper filled her nose. The pinkette slipped back into reality, hearing the roaring crowd around her, the chants of unrefined masses swarming for blood.

“FIVE!”

“SIX!”

Why not give them more? Cicilia certainly had plenty to spare, if her memory wasn’t failing her. She placed her gloves on the canvas, pushing herself upright before making her way, on quaking legs, to her two feet, baring her teeth against the grating bones and agonizing tension.

“SEVEN!”

“EIGHT!”

The official stopped, stepping away ever so carefully back towards her rat hole on the other side of the ring. Margaux was standing once more, licking her lips as she looked down at the German’s disheveled state.

“This...has all been rather...eventful.” She spoke between rasped breaths, her voice clearly raised a pitch as the consequence of a compressed lung. Maybe two. Her eyes drifted up to Cicilia, pink and brown pupils locking onto those determined, scarlet orbs. “But I believe it’d be best if you perished now.”

She raised her gloves, only keeping them to her hips as the weight of them had seemingly grown substantially. Her body was shaking without her, attempting to rouse her muscles back to life. Her heart felt as though it would explode in her chest. That was no matter, though. Her thoughts were only towards the juggernaut. She’d send her to that same place. And she’d make sure she’d never come back.

Cicilia blinked as Margaux began to stir from her docile unconsciousness, somehow managing to climb to her feet just before the ref counted 9. She looked at the crazed pinkette in shock, never thinking for a moment she could take hits like that and get up so soon! What in the actual hell was she made of? A full train-wrecker punch and that beating...? What was she made of, metal? Seeing her opponent rise again (if just as wasted as she) sent a flash of anger through her, almost as if she took it personally that this woman wanted to win. Somehow, after all that, her anger had enough adrenaline in her reserves to keep her up and moving... barely. She felt like she was coming apart at her torso, everything important beginning to unwind in agonizing fashion. Her breathing was shallow, her heart was practically beating it's way through her broken ribs, everything was tilting as her senses warped.

And she had to fight like this... Cicilia's face contorted into a drowsy, hateful snarl as she too drifted up to Margaux, currently only able to lift her arms up to her sides... Her chest bumped into the french woman's heavily, almost pushing against her, the German's depth perception damaged as well!

"Nnng... Fuck that..." Cicilia grumbled at her opponent's threat, trying desperately to recirculate energy through her battered body. "I'll crush you... and throw you into the wind!" Her declaration was the psyche-up she needed to raise her arms back into her boxing stance, despite how painfully heavy they now were... Her bones felt like they were replaced with lead or something equally heavy, her muscles replaced with jello... But even if her world was beaten to a bloody red and her body reduced to a barely-functional state, she wouldn't stop fighting until Margaux was BROKEN!

Letting out a frustrated huff, Cicilia brought her fist around to connect with Margaux's jaw with a lose, wild hook, an embarrassment to the form and power she was known for. She didn't have the time or the energy to care about such things though as she was on her last legs... This was going to be the longest, hardest part of any official fight she's ever been in....

Was the woman truly that surprised? Did Margaux’s actions honestly warrant such a flabbergasted expression from this fearsome titan of the boxing ring? A bit of tenacity wasn’t something that should be so foreign to her. If anything, Cicilia should be commemorating her for such a remarkable display of endurance. For being gifted an opponent that could actually manage to spark some proper competition in her preferred arena.

Would she have rather had cannon fodder for her Momentum debut? The Frenchwoman supposed not.

Yet there they were. Those sanguine eyes expanding to twice their size, pupils shaking left to right in utter disbelief. For a moment, Cicilia was looking at the reality of things. For once, she was realizing that everything she was, everything she built herself to be, wasn’t enough.

And at this moment, the pinkette intended to show her just how far from ferocious this “juggernaut” truly was.

Margaux merely chuckled at the woman’s inane prattle, feeling the woman limply bump against her not a moment prior. Finally, her limits were coming to light. Whereas Cicilia was one to war against pain, to reject with every fiber of her being in favor of command over a seemingly endless battalion of rage, Margaux had made her pact with such demons a long time ago. She invited it as a mysterious stranger in the night. A lover into her bed.

The hook came roaring towards her from the side, and with almost childish ease, Margaux ducked beneath it. Her eyes had never left Cicilia’s as she looked up at her now from her crouched position. A wicked smirk struck across her face, the slasher smile haunting the arena for a terrifying moment as the titantron displayed her bloodied countenance to the crowd.

“Négligé!” She yelled, popping up and firing a roaring uppercut with her right glove.

“Pitiful!” She followed it with a straight towards Cicilia’s chest, crushing her already thoroughly weathered rib cage.