Cicilia De'Reighnhardt vs Death Bunny!

Cicilia's attacks sent DB stumbling back, leaving her open for persuit... Well... that was if the German could move on her own... They put up a good, strong fight but her legs inevitably gave out on her. They just took too much punishement in those moments within the boston crab. Gasping out in surprise, the boxer fell back down on on her knees, huffing and puffing as she stared down at the floor in disgust. Fucking... Not NOW! Don't give out on her now! Her bad arm wasn't treating her much better... She could hardly move it, the joints locked in place by the burning swelling, adamant to not move again until the healing process was complete.

"Fucking... damn it..." She cursed. Right as she'd gotten a good opportunity to lash out, her body decides to QUIT! She couldn't even rely on herself to see this fucking fight through! Her sanguine eyes burned with a great amount of disdain as they flicked up at Death Bunny... But not for her... Only for the looker. She had felt worse... She'd almost DIED and came out of it faster than she thought she would! She'd fought probably the best martial artist in the fucking world and kept coming out with non-permanent damage despite her... reputation. She was supposed to be a fucking tank and she was already starting to fall apart... Fucking tank made of paper mache maybe...

There wasn't much she could do anymore. With her legs out of commission and one arm completely fucked, the most she could do was just kneel there, trying to breath and recover some strength after DB POUNDED it out of her with her own brass knuckle ironically. It was fucking embarrassing. She could feel the shame starting to leak in already. Never before in the AFW has her body given way so quickly. Never before had she been so brutally dismembered like DB had done... all she had left functioning were her head and ONE arm now... Not even her torso was working correctly! As any good fighter knows, sometimes the damage done to the body can be a LOT worse down the road compared to what is done to the head. Some fighters died in their sleep simply because they didn't know nor feel what was wrong post match. That was her main worry... Brass knuckles were an evil weapon.... Fitting for a fist-fighter but fucking EVIL... The damage they did... could do... It was like they were still in her stomach the way it felt...

Cicilia's eyes were heavy, her body like lead...

No one quite appreciates the tactical artistry that comes with concentrating your strikes on an opponent's torso over there head. If you fall into obvious temptations and clobber them in the head, they will feel stunned, dazed, groggy...but the pain is nowhere near that long-lasting. The right type of training can even have someone endure and tank through headshots like they were nothing, but internal organs...those can't be strengthened. This was what D.B. was counting on when she directed that brass-knuckled fist of hers into the gut of Ciclia, and by concentrating her pummeling offense practically solely on her battered abdomen like D.B. has been doing...the effect can be damn near crippling. Nothing felt worse than having your body betraying you from the inside. Something Ciclia was apparently coping with as she crumpled down to her knees...not that D.B. was in particularly stellar shape herself.

The barricade behind her was probably what kept her from falling flat on her ass after getting her chin rocked, that and some last second instinctual footwork. She hunched over herself with one hand massaging the bruised point of impact on her ribs with the other forearm wiping some blood from her brow. She already had double vision from that vicious uppercut, she didn't need it to be shaded crimson to make things that much worse. It took hoarse breathing to get air back in her lungs, and emphatic blinking to get her vision back to snuff, but with an aggravated groan, D.B. started striding back towards the still kneeling Cicilia.

D.B. ominously stood above Cici with malicious intent permeating from her aura, still not feeling quite sympathetic enough for this rampaging striker to go for the mercy pin. A lone hand reaching down to clamp onto Cici's hair, a bitter twist to the side of her neck for spiteful measure as she dragged her back to her feet, now looking her dead in the eyes. "You're still not smiling..." D.B. menacingly queried while face to face with Cici, just than burying her fist into her gut once more, before winding back and attempting a jaw-crunching uppercut that had every ounce of her strength behind it.

No, Cicilia was NOT smiling. There wasn't enough reasons why she would after all. Just because she was a tank by nature and could power through great amounts of pain didn't mean she enjoyed it! There were some that ate it up like cats did their wet-food or how a gluttonous devourer does to a feast and from THERE they derive their resistances. Those idiots always smiled, wide-eyed and crazy, hungering for more. Cicilia wasn't like that... The feeling of pain did not excite her. The fight here was brutal and rough and although the challenge was... challenging, it didn't bring a dark smile to her face... It might've if DB didn't explain herself... if she kept quiet and continue being the freak she had seemed like at the start... She might've taken pleasure grinding her face along the floor of the arena but, since she chose to reveal her humanity...

This just made it a fight like anything else. There were no sins to pay for, no vengeance to extract... beyond the recompense desired for those crippling holds... The pain made her mad... the fight...? It's nature had a minute effect on the juggernaut...

So when DB grabbed her by the hair and jerked the German to her feet, remarking how she wasn't 'smiling', Cicilia only stared back with a hard, sanguine gaze, her lips curled downward into an enraged snarl, almost completely refracting the rabbit's desired reaction.

"Sh-shut up..." She hissed, her good hand lashing out with a sudden backhand across her opponent's cheek! "Just because you're enjoying it... doesn't mean I am..." As if that truly mattered to Death Bunny. Twisted folks tended to want to share their insanity with others whether they viewed it as such or not. The rabbit might've been fighting for some code of honor or whatever it was, filling in her good deed for the day... but Cicilia just wanted a fight. She didn't want to make friends or any of that stupid spiritual crap the rabbit was spouting earlier... This was a SPORT to her and little else. A Passion, sure. A game, ultimately, yes. Therapy? Catharsis? The desire to help out someone by being their opponent? No. Maybe that made her selfish... Or maybe that just made her normal. Whatever the results were, one thing was certain: They ended in pain...

Cicilia's visibly shivered as Death Bunny buried her fist in her stomach once more, very close to where those brass knuckles had implanted themselves. A wave of nausia SHOT up the German's throat, her cheeks turning green as she heaved over, spit spraying from her lips... Before a fist CRUSHED into her JAW! The boxer's eyes shot WIDE as her head jerked up, her mind flatlining for several moments as she fell back, pain cracking across jaw and up her cheekbones as everything started to spin... Cicilia had a tough jaw... One of iron as some could attest. Sometimes, she would swing by the infirmary and notice their hands were bandaged, likely from trying to smash her face! It felt as if DB had succeeded where they'd failed... Even if nothing was broken (which was uncertain), the agony the blow brought to her was enough to make her believe it... Cicilia's already weak legs started to crumble as she began to fall back.

Should DB let her hair go, Cicilia would fall flat on her back, her buxom chest rising and falling heavily, eyes clenched shut as if that would help her cope...

If she wasn't... she would hang there for a moment, the aching in her scalp gradually calling her back from the sigh of unconsciousness. Cicilia's sanguine eyes would slowly pry open as she glared bloody death into DB's face... her hands coming around like a pair of cymbals to SLAM into the sides of the woman's head, clapping her ears! Cicilia's strength didn't deteriorate with that damage... Even now, her stubborn rage refused to let her die! Just as well too... She wouldn't lose.... NOT TO HER!

Her pride was on the damn line!

Times like these were when people could see some of the vague similarities between the grim hopper and Alexia. Although the raving harlequin was far less reserved in her perversely savage delights, their demonic smiles were one and the same. Even Margaux herself shared this devilish attribute once her veneer of mannerly politeness was washed away in the bloody carnage she found herself gleefully perpetrating. D.B.'s macabre questioning being more of an affirmation of her own sneaking suspicion that Cicilia was harboring some deeply shrouded thirst for this type of bloodsport...otherwise, why else would she be doing any of this? No amount of money could coax someone into taking part in something this potentially life-shortening unless they wanted to be doing this in the first place. D.B.'s inquiry being earnest...despite it accompanying two consecutive potential knockout blows.

Both close-fisted collisions delivered with the ferocity of a freight truck and with about as much grace, the rocketing pummels being unsettling to watch as they wrecked the internal organs and steely jaw of the rattled Juggernaut. D.B. biceps flexed as her positioned stance enabled her to center as much driving momentum as she could into both points of impact. Cicilia's spittle grazing the side of D.B.'s cheeks as the sickly inflection on Cici's wheezing face gave the bunny girl pause to concern herself with whether she could keep her lunch in. She nevertheless kept Cici hanging aloft by her auburn locks, intentionally wanting her to hang lifelessly in a somber display of what was left of this loud-mouthed, cocksure rookie after going several rounds with a sufficiently reinvigorated death bunny...until she opted to fan that rebellious fire of hers with a ear-drum shaking bell clap.

D.B. scrunched her face in a disoriented daze as the bell clap, appropriately enough, had rung her bells to an annoyingly bewildering fashion. The reverberating shockwaves pulsated throughout her skull, impulsively demanding that she cover her ears and release Cici in the process allowing her to drop to her knees, something she now regrets not doing in the first damn place. Even D.B.'s fluffy bunny ears trembled from the reverberating repercussions of the unanticipated counter attack, the crowd's cheering encouragement coming off as as a buzzing afterthought. But even throughout her own head-ringing haze, D.B. did not falter...even shooting open her soulless eyes stark-wide open to see where she had dropped that little punk. Than stomping forward to clench onto both sides of Cici's head to haul her aloft once more, manhandling the Juggernaut into standing back up and glare into Death's own blood-crazed iris' before arching her own head back while tilting Cici's backward as well. Death's headbutt not attempting to collide with Cici's forehead...but the bridge of Cici's nose...for what was sure to get Cici's own blood showing.

It was not a matter of enjoyment. It was a matter of personal pride... As durable as Cicilia was, she never liked being pushed to the limit quite like this, forced to battle brutality with brutality. She could outlast almost anyone but she always preferred to end her fights early, akin to a bear mauling it's prey when it can easily take any damage given to it. Just because she was being pushed though didn't mean she'd quit... Potentially life-ending or not, her personal pride would be SHATTERED if she gave up just because she was bleeding a little and was in pain. No damn fighter worth her weight would give up under such circumstances! There was no fun to be had in a battle that went on this long unless something agonizingly personal was at stake... Cicilia's anger towards DB had more to do with her demenor more than anything she was hanging over her head. If such were the case, the Juggernaut would smile as she bashed her head to red, sticky dust against the floor of the arena, feeling the weight of the hypothetical blackmail relieved from her shoulders... if only for a moment.

So why wasn't Cicilia enjoying this? Beyond the fact it was agonizing and that she was LOSING to someone she didn't particularly like, it was because this had barely any significance to her. She wanted a battle... She got one. She didn't have time to snicker and snort at every punch thrown. She wanted to WIN! That was all there is. No feelings of joy... no elation. There was only the battle. She'd feel all that with the agony of recovery later... when she won.

Speaking of "that's all", The German's head-clap didn't do enough to stun... at least, not enough.... When she cocked back for the headbutt, DB had done the same... except instead of colliding with her head... her opponent's forehead slammed into her face! Cicilia's eyes went blank as she fell back... an arm shooting out wildly, impulsively, wrapping around the Rabbit's neck as if to hang there... Blood leaked out from the boxer's nostrils, dribbling down over her lips... Cicilia looked almost completely out of it... but yet her grip on DB would continue to tighten like a vice... Suddenly, she would JERK her rabbit opponent down with her, hoping to plan to dumb-ass skull HARD into the ground, tucking her neck under her armpit in the process in some makeshift DDT!

Cicilia's world was slanted... twisted... the same but... barely recognizable. Still, her instincts powered her more than her head, dragging on the fight while her true self recovered from the utter blue-screen it had suffered.

Unless you were trying to blast someone eardrum's for some sort of instant knockout, which D.B. can attest to is nigh impossible...than aiming for the ears is just a disorienting tactic meant to buy you some time against someone who was overwhelming you. A fitting tactic given the specific circumstances, but not one that D.B. was going to be offering any kudos to. Not when the ringing was vibrating in her ears with only muffled sounds like she was underwater being parsed through. Even in underground fight clubs, aiming for someone's ear just seemed like a dick move...and more of a general nuisance to those who had the battle-hardened fortitude to not be immediately stunned by the thunderous ear-clapping. As evidenced by D.B. still having the wherewithal to power on through the pain and leverage in her own counter attack. The bloodied bunny girl starting to get just a little really freaking infuriated by Cicilia's stubborn insistence on not taking go down as an answer. Not that she could complain too much considering that she herself was still standing after all of the damage she had just taken, but it was still annoying to be confronted with the same type of inhuman endurance she typically brought against her own adversary.

The bloodied carnage ensuing with D.B.'s blatantly aimed headbutting for the bridge of Cicilia's nose, the true and proper target for a coordinated headbutt. Scores of hardcore brawlers who just bang their head together not even knowing about this simple fact, and are left in just as much of concussive daze as their opponent's. A sign of rank amateurs if D.B. had ever saw one. It defeats the purpose if you just end up banging eachother's head, whereas if you aim for their face, you send them reeling while minimizing the damage brought upon yourself. The dulled over look in Cici's eyes and her complete slackening bringing D.B. the appropriate reaction she had been looking for all this time. The macabre bunny girl breathing hoarsely whilst standing upright at a bit of a hunch as Cici sagged limply against her, only just than motioning to remove Cici's limp arm from around the back of her neck before it suddenly tightened into a noose that dragged the wide-eyed bunny girl face first into the thinly padded floor. Scores of audience members wincing from the audible impact, D.B. briefly hunched over with her blue jeaned backside in the air before she slumped down, uttering blithering mumbles with her cheek pressed against the floor with her left arm draped over Cici's heaving chest.

DB's insolence came to an end with a firm SLAM to the floor, causing her to lie ass-up with all that strength bleeding out onto the floor along with her sanguine life-essence. Snarling like the beast she was, Cicilia forced herself to sit up, the effort involved not unlike that required to lift one's self in a metal body-suit... Her vision instantly spun like the world on a top as she raised her head, very nearly losing everything all at once (including her lunch) to the ugly, brutal vertigo she allowed herself to suffer. She couldn't even voice her protests so focused was she on keeping herself awake... keeping herself alive to end this fight...

The Juggernaut let out great gusts of steam from her nostrils as the few burning coals within the furnace of her war-machine pushed her onward, her body creaking like the broken pieces and joints of a damaged machine. She glared down at her opponent, the noises she made... almost would've extracted pity if she didn't force her into a corner... Now she was a threat that needed eliminating... Funny how motives could change with circumstance... First it was anger... Then she didn't know what... Now it was survival. Cicilia grabbed the Rabbit's arm that had graced her chest, contemplating what she should do with it... It would've been easy to grab it... maybe dislocate it... Possibly break it if she had the time and the energy... Both of which were debatable. She then glared down at the face of the rabbit, helpless... left stupid by her impact with the floor.

No.

Enough. She didn't want to draw this out any more and nor did she want to leave this idiot with any lasting bodily harm. That wasn't her way. Instead, she wrenched it off her chest, throwing it to the floor beside DB's head as the Juggernaut attempted to flip DB on her front and off of her. With her opponent discarded, the Boxer would attempt to stand... but found her legs wouldn't obey her... Not immediately...

"Fuck.... off..." Cicilia cursed breathily, realizing that she wouldn't be able to stand... God, she was starting to feel sick... It must've been those multiple headblows piling on... Her body was shutting down one limb at a time... and it was this bitches fault! Her anger was there... but those mines had been gutted... Her adrenaline reserves used only to keep her awake... her mindset, to keep her functioning. This was going to be the end of her... She could feel it... All it was a matter of if she could end DB first...

Cicilia would try to throw herself on top of the rabbit, hoping to use her raw weight as a boost to the elbow she intended to drive into her chest...

Upon impact, the German, with inhuman effort, forced herself up once more, dragging DB with her... It was time to end this little game... And the only place she could pin her was the ring. With a loud grunt, Cicilia would force her opponent up and shove her just barely under the ropes before crawling under them herself, each movement slow... sluggish... a wounded animal crawling with the busted limbs and burning muscles it had at it's disposal.

It remains to be seen who actually emerged triumphant in the agonizing beatdown that just transpired, neither party looking like the concise victor at the moment. The adulterated savagery of the disturbing portrait that the two combatants painted was not for the squeamish or easily unsettled, both of them laying beside eachother with shades of dripping crimson masking their faces. One too many concussive slams to her cranium finally having the desired effect of stifling D.B.'s seemingly unending and vicious impulsiveness. Indecipherable wooziness and the sweat-slicked warmth of Cici's chest felt against her extended arm were the first tactile sensations D.B. could parse together as she made unsteady attempts to start attempting shuffle off of the floor. Non-successful...but still signs that she was not in fact down for the count.

These were just like the good old days...The All-Or-Nothing days. Back when she was nothing but another name on a fight card, in a place where your worth was weighed by how much blood you could spill on any given night. When crossed out names on that fight card didn't necessarily mean that someone had only lost the match...but wouldn't be making any return visits period. When for every win that D.B. wasn't capable of walking away from, she needed to think up new excuses for the doctor's in the emergency room. Not everyone would wax nostalgic about such a chaotic time when your life was on the line every week, but D.B. only felt life to be just that much more precious on the days she woke up the next day. Knowing that for one errant strike or mis-timed step, she very well wouldn't be waking up to hear the birds chirping that morning.

Every muscle flared with a fiery intensity until the faint sense of being twisted over gave her reason to unfasten her eyes, and see Cicilia tumble on top of her to help hammer home an elbow strike into her breasts. Somewhat uncalled for, but one that drove the air from her lungs with a squirming twitch to her limbs. The raggedy bunny girl half-heartedly protesting to being forced to ascend along with Cicilia...purposefully leveraging her sagging weight against the bloodied brawler as she stumbled a step or two until finally finding her feet beneath her. A feeling she wouldn't appreciate for long considering she was than unceremoniously chucked back inside the ring where this all stated, the bunny girl rolling along until she came to about mid-ring.

Traces of blood now dotting the pure white of the canvas as D.B. began to sluggishly prop herself up on her hands and knees. Gravity seemingly like ten times the normal amount as she lethargically started making her body work against it's wishes, panting profusely with the foggy disorientation of being clocked upside the head only now starting to fade away. Her sagging posture was slouched with her arms dangling in front of her, but as she hungrily licked her chops and turned to face Cici...the slightest glimpses of the same smirk started making itself visible to the brawling newcomer...

Cicilia was starting to hate that smile... The way it looked, the way it taunted her. As the two women forced themselves up once again, DB dawned that creepy, twisted grin of someone basking in pain, basking and enjoying it for all it was worth. At this point, the German was too tired to ask "Why", too frustrated to muse on the nature of insanity. In fact, the thing she wanted most at this moment in time was to go home and sleep... for days. Maybe forever... Who's to say? She wanted to be anywhere else but here. These were not the wishes of a coward... Cowards don't stick it out this long. Cowards don't fight to the bitter, bloody end for the sake of winning. Cowards didn't bleed out over the floor from smashed noses and torn flesh and don't complain about it.

...But even so, there were always limits to what someone was willing to put up with. For example, there were limits to how much bullshit she'd take from someone like DB... There was only so much pain she could stomach before her natural need for survival overrode everything and started to take her down. Like her blood, energy was starting to drip out of her, the boxer's human weaknesses eventually being her downfall. In battle, Cicilia liked to be a monster... Monsters couldn't be hurt... They couldn't be afraid... They couldn't be killed. She could rip through her foes like a beast through paper and not even feel bad. Cicilia liked to be an inhuman fighter because it let her feel the illusion she was facing up to something... That she grew larger while her shadow shrunk, eventually growing stronger than any of the problems that plagued her. Margaux... Juno... Her sister... All these things would pale to her in a battle... She wanted to be the rampaging beast that killed ALL who were stupid enough to try and wrangle her!...

But enough hits eventually start to chafe that mask. All it takes is enough damage to reveal the tired, weak human underneath. Exhaustion was the main human plague that shown through her relentless facade, a true sign that the boxer was reaching the end of her rope. The way her body moved, the way her chest rose and fell like were an air-pump, the way her eyes were dulled and unfocused... these things gave her away.

Cowards didn't continue to fight... even when their strength crumbled around them.

...And that was exactly what Cicilia did... Oh, she'd regret it when she came home.... when Sayumi saw her so hurt and broken... She'd regret it when she saw the look of concern, perhaps even fear in her eyes when she looked upon her wounds... She'd regret it when she'd once again come face-to-face with her inability to call it quits.

Still... despite these inevitablities, the German stumbled mindlessly towards her opponent, unsure exactly what she'd do when she actually got within reach... Whatever it was, chances were it'd be utterly pathetic.

Shambling upward with an otherworldly gait that complimented her inhuman endurance threshold, D.B. felt herself pushed back to that old familiar edge. In the blood-splattered barbarity of it all...almost all other thoughts, concerns, and basic human emotions just melted into the recesses of her subconscious. Being brought to the brink like this was now becoming the norm, from first pummeling Alexia bloody raw to her two on one match. And each time she felt the same metallic taste of blood in her mouth and the mystifying haze that comes with being in a blinding rage, she felt herself yearning for more. More time to indulge in this far too neglected part of herself and see just how far the rabbit hole goes in terms of her raw potential. The way her heart pumped like a jackrabbit and the subtle clenching of her fists indicating she was ready, willing, and oh so able to go into what felt like her final second wind...

...but upon peering upward to glance at the lumbering juggernaut practically tripping over her own feet....her excitement dulled. Those wishing to call D.B. the walking dead were better off assigning that term to the battered Cicilia lumbering towards her. Whatever fumes Cici was running on were beginning to dissipate probably before she could even reach the middle of the ring. The openings in her defense were too many to count, and to D.B. she was practically begging to be put out of her misery and most importantly, out of this match. The grim hopper could offer credit where it was due, and drone on about how valiant an effort Cicilia had offered by giving D.B. more of a fight she had expected....but the cold truth of it was that Cicilia just really pissed her the hell off. All of that smarmy shit-talking and now she could barely stand on her own legs here when D.B. was just getting truly motivated...

*...How disappointing.* D.B. exhaled through her nostrils and spat a gob of blood off and to the sides, remaining hunched over with arms dangling and with her deathly scowl. Oddly enough mimicking Alexia's unhinged posture before she straightened out her back with a wincing flinch and audible crack. Throbbing aches pulsating with every forward motion footstep as she eerily sauntered towards the lumbering juggernaut. Her next movements weren't particularly fast, but still seamlessly fluid as D.B. sidestepped around and behind Cicilia, coiled her right arm around her neck from behind and judo-flipped her backward. Landing the hardcore rookie flat on her front side with what must have felt like a noose cutting off a lot of her airflow. But was in fact, just D.B.'s flexing arm contorting her head backward in her submission finisher...Death Trap.