Fade To Black


So far, Styx wasn’t too impressed on the physical front, and she had good reason to be confident. This room favored her, and not just because of her familiarity with the space. Tight. Small. Confined. Solid. While she wasn’t the fastest in any situation, she didn’t need to be too agile, here, where her opponent was never far from reach. It was an arena built for strength and straight up fights.

To look at Margaux, now, plastered against the wall, pinned against her bulk? This wasn’t going to go well for her. That disappointed Styx, she wanted a good fight, but the thought of peeling this woman apart appealed, too. The stuff she could get up to in these four walls, what she could get away with no one to stop her-

Those heady thoughts were interrupted by a sudden burst of life from her potential employer, coming alive in Styx’s grasp. A hand clasped the back of her head and a fist followed soon after, crashing hard into her face, right on the eye. It was a blur of movement, swift and impact, delivered with the sort of precision that only comes from a practiced professional. Not the strongest punch Styx had ever taken, but the most complete. The best.

That was, until the next punch Margaux threw. And the next. And the next. And the next.

Styx’s face was battered about, taking blows that would surely lead to bruises in short order, wracking up damage in short order and leaving her loopy. Recognizing the danger, she reached up and grabbed a handful of Margaux’s neapolitan hair, using it as a handhold to throw her off to the side while she stumbled and staggered away. She didn’t much care where or how she landed, just so long as she made some separation between them, buying time to recuperate after those hammering blows.

If there was any spot that Margaux loved to punch more than anywhere else, any place on another human being that she could assault again and again without an inch of respite and never grow tired of it no matter how long the night drew on, it was without a doubt the face.

There was more to it than the physical. A broken nose and busted lip were among the most pleasant and satisfying sights for her to inflict, but blood coagulated and wounds sealed. But destroying the countenance of another felt more rewarding the more she employed every violent measure upon it, as if she were erasing the poor soul’s very identity beneath her knuckles, dashing their existence beneath her fists. And when she stopped, they were never the same again. The only certainties that laid beyond the miasma of death and violence were her smile and the blood between her fingers.

Styx wouldn’t allow her to get quite that far. But of course,she wouldn’t. Margaux wouldn’t have allowed herself to waste so much time in this decrepit room River threw her away with all the effort and care of an unruly pup and the pinkette was sent into a short tumble across the aging ceramic.

And like a certain four-legged beast, she recovered just as quickly. On the last roll, her hands and feet slapped and scampered against the floor madly until the momentum ceased and she shot into a low sprint back from whence she came. But she didn’t charge straight back at Styx. Not right away, at the very least.

Through the crimson hue of her bloodshot gaze, Margaux dipped off to the side and reached out, grabbing the leg of the chair that her humble host had helpfully kicked out of the way. An outside observer may have thought the Frenchwoman was planning to use it as a weapon, an experience she was sure Styx was thoroughly familiar with. That guess wouldn’t have been far off from what would happen in reality. With nothing but a step between them, Margaux would throw the chair up into the air between them. Then, chambering her arm back with a stomp, the pugilist would swing with an overhead punch into the head of the chair as it drifted before Styx’s face, slapping the headpiece across her head and splashing the force of her strike through her skull.

Margaux could throw a punch. That shouldn’t have been surprising to Styx. The woman came from Momentum, clearly had that sort of experience, the kind that only came from a hardened life on the street. Those poofy clothes, fancy words, that bourgeois demeanor? It might’ve been enough to fool a passerby, but that was all it was. A ruse, hiding something dark and dangerous underneath. She and Styx were much alike. The only real difference was the packaging.

That in mind, it would’ve been odd if she couldn’t throw a good blow, but Styx had no way of knowing just how damaging that blow would be until it made contact. Now that she’d tasted it - more than once - there was no denying the results. The stars in her vision were proof enough of that. It was a rough hit, but not enough to knock her off her feet.

No, what came next would accomplish that.

Styx looked up to see a chair in the air, one that wasn’t coming towards her. She had only a moment to make sense of that, before the purpose become clear: Margaux used it like a makeshift knuckleduster, bolstering her punch. A wild, inventive maneuver that brought the steel chair crashing into her face, slashing hard against the flesh.

Styx was a tough human, but a human she was, and that unorthodox strike had more than enough force to drive anyone to their knees. Such was the case with her, bringing her down in front of her closet, back hunched. Her vision turned red as a deep cut above the right eye gushed, one that started at her nose and crossed through her brow. First blood to Margaux, then, and that would’ve been enough to deter some and weaken resolve. For Styx, though, it just made her want to claim second blood. To even the score.

The first step to all of that would be standing up, though. Smiling with her gritted teeth, Styx hammered her fist against the floor and pushed up, defiant and determined to push her way back up. Her mind was fighting the haze, trying to stay lucid, but it wouldn’t be easy after a hit like that. Regardless, she knew she needed to be on her feet as much as possible when it came to a woman like Margaux. This was the type of fighter than made sure her opponent stayed down.

This would have been enough to seal the end for anyone else. Someone weaker, lighter, with less of a will to fight and die inside of their heart. The blow would have knocked them flat on their back, left their face broken at an unnatural angle and whimpering on the concrete with their silent prayers for divine intervention. Then the horrific pugilist would fall on them, answering their woes with a cacophony of flying blood and loose tissue. Done in time for tea. Another mess for the rest to attend to.

She knew Styx would be different. She had no reason to walk into this decrepit room otherwise.

Nevertheless, the Frenchwoman couldn’t hide the hint of disbelief in her eyes. The giant staggered as expected, but stagger was all. It was surprising enough to see this woman still full of lucidity, let alone making an effort to stand. Margaux felt her own smile react to River’s manic grin, an odd law of attraction working magic on the corners of her mouth. Her breathing quickened and her blood began to boil beneath the skin.

Such a masterful display of skill was not without its drawbacks, certainly, if the vibrant ring from her knuckles was anything to attest at it circulated her hand and concentrated into the center of her palm. The muscles felt numb and the bones hollow. The feeling was finite, but certain. It was all worth it to see the river of red that now graced Styx’s lovingly unruly aspect. Restraint was not a quality she’d be lauding over others anytime soon.

Administering pain, however. She would not be outdone.

Margaux elected not to waste any more time than necessary on complementing her assault. As Styx made her defiant rise, the Frenchwoman reached out and hooked her fingers around the back of the burly woman’s head. Bent low, her knee came up with a pop rather than a thrust to meet River's jaw from below, intent on sending the larger woman flat on her back.

Okay, that hurt. Yes. The blow that Margaux delivered would’ve been a nasty one if she hadn’t buffed it like that, and Styx took it head on. Had she been rocked that hard before? She was having trouble remembering at the moment, but she was of a mind to vote ‘no’. It wasn’t just that this woman could hit hard, either, wasn’t even the technique - she’d faced stronger opponents, maybe even ones that could throw better punches, though both of those lists would be short.

There was a brutality to it. No restraint, no holding back. The kind of force that came from a place that few could tap into to.

It made Margaux deadly, gave her an edge, and it was that same edge that drove her forward now, coming straight at Styx, giving only the shortest of moments to recover. An arm came up and around the back of her bald head, pulling her in close, and a knee followed soon after. A quick, popping strike, exploding into Styx’s jaw. The sound of bone cracking against bone filled the room, and it was only by a small miracle that she didn’t wind up swallowing a chunk of her tongue.

The blow sent a shockwave through Styx’s brain, and for an instant, her world went white, blanked out, then came back as a searing red. Instead of letting that knee go back down, Styx wrapped her arms around it, clutched it, embraced it as a mad grin spread across her face.

Rage was the best anesthetic. ”Mine.”

Holding Margaux close, Styx stood, lifted her up along with her, and broke into a run. This time, though, she wasn’t aiming to smash her opponent against the wall, and would instead be using gravity to her advantage. She took a big step and leaped, falling in an arch, attempting to drive Margaux’s back into the unforgiving floor with their combined weight behind the crash. Would definitely do wonders for that spine, and more importantly, it would end up with her on top. A good way for the real fun to begin.

At any other point in her existence, this plan would have worked.

It was far from a terribly complicated one after all. There her opponent was, fallen and reeling after a hefty blow. Down on one knee. Practical food for carrion but waiting for the call to come and feast. How better to respond than with an explosion of viscera courtesy of the Frenchwoman’s solid knee.

While revered far and wide for the legions her upper body had dispatched, Margaux was nevertheless a vile subject from the same streets as Styx. One could only survive by knowing how to turn every inch of their fleeting corporeal existence into a lethal weapon. The number of broken noses and ruined careers her legs had afforded to others couldn’t have been too far off from those in the ring. It seemed as though she were headed for another strike on that list. Styx’s face rippled like waves. Her eyes blanked, her body froze.

And then it all went wrong.

Margaux was taken aback by the smile that struck straight back at her when she looked down, the woman very much alive and moving. Before she could even think to draw her knee back, River had already snagged it away and raised the Frenchwoman toward the ceiling. The view was somewhat nice through the rush of blood. It was a shame she wouldn’t be staying for long.

Her back met the floor with a splash. The walls shook and the tiles cracked beneath her solid weight. Her body bounced off the floor, forcing a choked gasp from her lungs before she settled flat with her arms wide and her eyes to the roof. Stiff, unable to move, a trail of blood ran from the corner of her lip to the side of her cheek. One could just make out the faint hint of her old smile when they followed that trail, but if it truly existed, it was far from a conscious effort.

In the back of Styx’s mind, tucked behind the rage and the hate and the animus that she used for fighting, she couldn’t help but wonder just where this woman had come from. She thought she was pretty much up-to-date when it came to scouting out the roughest women in the AFW and beyond, and it was hard to imagine someone like this - so wild, so strong, so brutal - slipping past her radar. Had she been trying to stay hidden? Keeping herself under wraps? What was she playing for in the long term.

Interesting questions. Relevant questions. Questions that she would be sure to ask, in her own unique way, when Margaux woke up.

How long that would take wouldn’t be a matter of speculation for much longer. Styx’s little gambit paid off with dividends, driving her potential employers into the floor without an ounce of respite, and with her on top as an added bonus. Here, she was more comfortable. On their feet, Margaux’s boxing prowess could rule the day, was hard to deal with, but on the ground? Size. Leverage. Positioning. All in her favor.

Styx’s smile was back now in full, mirroring the growing one on Margaux’s face - they were both pleased by the developments, and it seemed this woman had some expectations on what would come next. Styx would hate to disappoint her, so…

She mounted her, sitting hard on her stomach, dropping her full weight down to keep her pinned. Her right hand reached for Margaux’s throat and squeezed tight, digging in with her ragged nails for a vicious choke. Her left hand was more animated, though, and she put it to work, throwing feral punches into the Frenchwoman’s lovely face, bashing her skull against the floor.

It was elegant, brutal, merciless. It was River Styx, all day long.

Margaux wouldn’t call herself a masochist by any stretch of the imagination. On a typical day, at the least.

Pain and pleasure were a volatile mix, a pair that worked best only under certain conditions. She was far more accustomed to distributing pain in an efficient and exhilarating manner than having such an experience unleashed on herself. The intoxicating aftermath of standing over a broken body was a greater high than anything the weight of ten thousand fists upon her body could offer. 

But she must admit. At the moment Styx executed her reversal, slamming her relentlessly into the tiled floor, throwing her entire weight into the motion to make the very earth yield beneath her strength, Margaux couldn’t help but feel a rush of arousal between her legs. Raw and untamed power tended to have that effect. It was a narcotic one could so rarely bear to turn away.

The feeling would have been fleeting had it not been for River’s singularly aggressive nature. The Frenchwoman had little more than a second to recapture her breath before two tons of weight settled over waist, inhibiting her lungs and general movement. Her eyes went to look at the giant on top of her, looking to catch a glimpse of what she was planning before a fist stowed those fleeting curiosites straight back into her noggin. The calloused hand at her neck pressed her hard to the ground and denied her so much as a twitch, leaving her body to flail and spasm helplessly against the force of the blows Styx continued to rain down. One landed on her eye and Margaux struggled to open it again as it began to burn. Her bottom lip cut open and filled her mouth the taste of metal as a vicious line ran down her chin. Her nose cracked and felt hollow, leaking a curious stream of red that she couldn’t feel. Nevertheless, Margaux’s smile endured. If anything, it seemed to grow. Shivering along its unnatural length.

As Styx’s fist came down once more, Margaux wrenched the hand at her throat back just enough to allow an inch of freedom. Rather than hitting her pristine countenance dead center, the brawler’s knuckles would scrape along her cheek and collide with the tile if she hadn’t caught herself. Whether she did or not mattered little of course, as Margaux would crane her head to the side, reach out, and grab River’s forearm with two hands before sinking her pearly white fangs into the meaty flesh. Lapping and gnawing like a starved bloodhound in the midnight city streets, lashing out at anything it could fit between its jaws.

This felt good. Really good. More than Styx had been anticipating when Margaux threw down her gauntlet and issued this little challenge of hers, by miles. She’d figured that it would all feel good, that she would get a thrill from tossing this woman around the room, and that she might get some real challenge out of it - impressing her prospective employer while knocking her teeth out.

But this was so much more. So much more primal. So goddamn raw. It had been a while, too long, since she’d taken on someone who could match her when it came to this level, and she couldn’t remember taking on anyone who could find themselves in that same feral state of mind. Who could smile even as her skull was getting cracked to pieces.

A rare treat. A good thing. And, like all good things…

It all came to an end, a bloody end.

It was Styx’s mistake, really, for overestimating just how dead this woman was. When she’d gained a little space, she didn’t see the significance, too caught up in the moment - until her punch cracked on the floor and sent a jolt down her arm. She hissed as the pain made its rounds through her bones and her skin cracked, but that was only the start of things. Styx was expecting a punch to come her way, a kick, something you might expect from a boxer. Instead, she got teeth. Sharp, savage teeth, sinking into her arm and drawing blood, a wild animal gnawing on her bones. So, that was the way Margaux wanted this to go.

Good.

Styx threw her head back and bellowed, a harsh, raspy roar that had no business coming from a human’s throat. One of her legs slipped to the side, losing her full mount in the wildness of it all, but that wasn’t on her mind right now. Her vision turned red as she brought her head down, opened her mouth and sought to give as good as she got - she bore her fangs and sunk them into Margaux’s shoulder, sinking them in as deep as they would go into the wiry muscle.

This arm was hers. Styx wasn’t ever getting it back. No takebacks. No please. Ands. Buts. Ifs.

Margaux felt like a child again. Locked in ferocious combat against her rebellious lesser and better halves, taking toys, candies, limbs from the undeserving and hoarding the spoils for the rightful queen. She loved being outnumbered. She loved being overwhelmed. It was an equally pious and entertaining means by which to reassert oneself. Taking on the world could be so much fun.

But even a queen had her limits. It didn’t take becoming a boxer for Margaux to finally develop a taste for being punchdrunk. She’d been dealt all manner of fierce blows and unorthodox injuries in darkened corners and sleepless hostels. An accidental venture into enemy territory, a desperate ne'er-do-well making his move at just the right time, an overambitious thug eager to prove his worth to the equally-foolish superior above him. There was no end to the avenues of pain she had been forced to wander to reach the summit she now sat proudly upon. And she hadn't expected those avenues to grow any easier on her venture to the next peak.

Styx was all of that suffering and anguish combined and personified. She’d spent only a few moments on the floor, but the blows she’d been delivered were in a caliber all their own. Beneath the skin, her delicate features felt held together by thin threads of sinew and battered flesh. If she hadn't taken this arm, she would be unconscious right now.

There was no doubt. She could taste the bestial power and raw energy on her tongue, in the blood flowing across her taste buds. Scenes of a likely past traced in its recesses. It was vile. It was ravenous.

It was beautiful. She bit and River bit back, harder. Margaux’s eyes slowly began to draw back in a rapturous haze of blood and ecstasy. An indelicate growl Sanguine scarlet began to pool between River’s canines and flowed down her arm like her namesake. Lingering doubts surrounding this arrangement dripped worthlessly to the floor and stained alongside the rest of the refuse and mire between inches of ceramic.

Margaux pushed off her back foot and surged forward, letting her bloodied shoulder lead the charge in her attempt to topple the giant over and smack the back of Styx’s skull into the hard floor. If her weight didn’t prove too much to bear, it would afford the Frenchwoman a chance to batter the underground fighter’s face in with a series of hammer fists, driven with indefatigable purpose in her effort to force those jaws free from her shoulder.