Margaux Lefeuvre vs. Sabrina Anderson - Hellhounds

Margaux harbored no particular praise or grievances for the structure and shape of her venerated assets. Her attire typically accentuated the area for the same reasons any other woman would have for doing so. She only noticed with time and some experience in her older years just how frequently they would garner others’...attention. It was an interesting trend, but nothing she had given special attention to.

That being said, Sabrina was turning into a very bad influence.

Retaliating with a shot to the bosom was hardly a conscious decision. Painful, yes, but not as tactical a choice as perhaps the ribcage. The liver. The gut. Somewhere with more lasting impact that would hamper her efforts further along in the match. But Sabrina was clearly rather proud of them. The eye was naturally drawn their way. If it were an intentional distraction, Margaux couldn’t tell, though she very much doubted psychological warfare was a chapter in whatever leaflet comprised her grand list of strategies.

No. Sabrina spoke for her own strengths when she retaliated with an uppercut of her own. The counterattack landed at the same time as Margaux’s. Her teeth grit tightly, letting only wisps of a frustrated grunt seep from between her teeth as she stepped back a couple paces. One arm came to her chest to soothe sensation while she worked to get a few difficult breaths out.

Margaux’s heart was beating to a jungle’s drum. Her moment of retribution had been tainted and slipped through her fingers. Her inflamed left breast branded the cost of her haste and stung irrevocably with every breath. But what was this soothing voice? What was this longing past the goading and indignation? Whispers of malice brushed over her mind in cool waves of relief. The longer she stared into the robust avidity reflecting through every bit of purple in the American’s fiery orbs, the more assured Margaux’s stance. The clearer her thoughts, the more delicate the voice crying vengeance.

The tension in her face slowly relaxed. The corners of her lips rose from an aggravated to twitch and jerk as they shaped themselves into an elated grin. The pinkette’s shaky, mismatched eyes stayed locked to Sabrina’s as she slowly rose her shoulder, running a tongue along the thin trail of blood staining the length of her inner bicep. She curled her arm as she went, running all the way down to her forearm and up her wrist, flicking the leftovers off the tip of her tongue and letting it fall to the floor as her arms dropped to her sides. More stains to soak the soil.

The Frenchwoman suddenly burst forward into Sabrina’s reach. Her left arm led the charge in a ferocious straight towards the blonde’s face, quickly accompanied by another from her right. Then again from left. Back and forth again and again with reckless abandon and speed that only came from a lean figure such as her own. The blows pierced like a human jackhammer, aiming to rip through whatever guard the American had hazarded between the two of them to get to that lovely, barley tapped face at the center. Those fine features woefully absent the warmth of blood and burn of broken bones.

Wouldn’t death be so fetching on you, Sabrina?

Sabrina knew shots to the tits weren’t the most effective... Hell, getting punched in the tit hurt, but it wasn’t anywhere as painful as someone punching you in a vital spot. She was getting too absorbed in her own craze against her nutty opponent and she was far from aware of how costly that was. She had resilience that she could rely on, even if her bones broke and her eyes were blinded from blood to swelling, she could still keep up on her feet till she either beat her opponent down or vice versa. That was the hellish price of fighting in the Underground with opponents who were willing to cheat or hammer away at you with whatever...

That left her taking blows from opponents that were just too skilled or too fast, but she managed to knock those bitches out when she could.

Still, going topless was more of a personal choice than anything else. To be frank, Sabrina hardly had shame unless it came to kids, she may have not cared for those maniacs who whacked it off to her on the streets when she fought but a kid was a fucking kid... Although she sure as shit wasn’t gonna stop swearing. Nevertheless, going topless was just because she got used to it. Sorta just how it went.

With Margaux stepping back a couple of paces, Sabrina stood tall, as tall as she could really, cracking her neck left and right before spitting to the side. The blood upon her shoulder still poured down a few thin trickles across her chest and back, but she didn’t seem to mind. She honestly thought she had Margaux pegged down for a bit, but the strangest fucking thing happened again...

From what was once a damn struggle came a fucking grin again. She didn’t know why but she just knew that things just got a lot worse. While she may have been a rabid dog, even she knew when to keep herself sane, but this chick? Nah, she wasn’t even close to sane... Yet that only steeled Sabrina’s resolve as she raised a single brow at her opponent’s blood fetish display.

Then as her arms dropped, the bitch suddenly lunged forth! Sabrina’s eyes widened and brought forth her guard straight upwards to defend her face just as a ferocious straight struck at her guard followed by another and another till it was a flurry! Sabrina couldn’t hold out for long and trying to strike only meant she was going to still take the brunt...

Her eyes widened as a glove slipped through and struck the center of her face with a slight crunch! Her head bounced back as her guard was broken away from her opponent slugging straight after straight into her face, the short black streaked blonde standing her ground as Margaux pounded away at her face over and over!

Beneath the pain and burning fire was a hound ready to snap forth as she absorbed every blow with her face.

Oh dear. This contest was over already, was it?

Olivier observed from the sidelines as Sabrina hid behind an admirably steadfast guard, watching with his typically attentive demeanor at his mistress’ merciless assault on the smaller woman. The signs were already there before the American’s back had even reached the rungs. The one-sided direction, the fumbled footwork, the backward lean away from the Frenchwoman as if being pursued by a rabid, nipping terrier. Her defense was worthy of some applause, and she may have received some by the end were it not for the shocked expressions and slackened jaws that typically presided over such a voracious display. No, he would only offer a solemn clap once her body finally fell cold and one arm lay raised in victory.

He coughed into his gloved hand and took off his monocle, cleaning a bit of dust off the center.

Margaux was too elated to pay the near future any regard. She lived in this moment. Thrived in it. Was more than willing to die in it in a heartbeat if it could be with this feeling burning deep inside of her chest. She’d broken stronger than Sabrina before and she could do it again here. The break in her guard was the first step to the massacre that would follow.

Claps and shockwaves echoed out from the ring on scales of disaster that Richter himself would shy away from observing. She loved the way Sabrina moved. She loved how her body listed and would react to each blow, how her trained and bulky frame yielded and shivered. A frame so accustomed to destruction finally on the wrong end of the offense. The American never looked so beautiful beneath this light.

And they hadn’t even reached the best part.

With one last hook flashing the dirty blonde across her cheek, Margaux relented in her assault only to bring herself upright. She permitted nary a moment of reprieve before hooking her left arm around the back of Sabrina’s neck. Her right glove trailed far back and clenched tightly, chambering power in this second of time with a flash of blood and pronounced veins along her toned extremity. Then, Margaux let the fist fly in a low arc aimed towards Sabrina’s chin in a vicious uppercut.

Lady of red. Instant death.

For any other girl, this spelled their defeat if they had the resilience of some wannabe little shit stomping rookie. Hell, Sabrina wasn’t impervious to pain, nor was she invincible either. She had taken her fair share of losses but had more than made up for it in victories in the Underground. Blow after blow had struck her face without so much as a pause... Leather sent ripples across her skin, jerking her head about all sorts of directions as she stood there absorbing every blow this little poodle had to offer.

For someone being just a little taller than her, and rich, she wasn’t anything close to being pathetic or even embarrassing. Nope, every blow Margaux made was one that didn’t hold back... Not a single punch that connected with her nose, her face or even her eyes seemed to truly stop or pause. This girl only just grew ferocious, even more mad than anything else, like crazy mad...

One last hook had SLAMMED into her cheek, an already bruised part upon her face which had taken up a good chunk of damage which was already more than she had dealt to her own opponent who looked relatively fine besides a few marks... Her arms were at her sides, her form slouched slightly as the woman before her hooked an arm to the back of her neck...

Yeah, she had a feeling that this wasn’t...

Sabrina’s vision was knocked upwards as she was staring up at the lights above... A misty spray of blood filled the air as the street rat stumbled back a few more steps before landing flat on her back with a heavy clap of her skin connecting with the canvas. The crowd roared just they would in the underground, but this wasn’t over till one of them was done...

This chick...

She...

Was...

Sachiko watched in silent horror at the massacre that had just taken place in front of her. Part of her told her that maybe she should step in. Underground rules be damned, having a boxer die on her watch would hurt more than her career. But everytime she even pondered a step forward, another shockwave would echo out from the pinkette’s fist. The splash of force clapped through the air and made her hairs stand up on end. It was like stepping forward into a hurricane. A whirlwind of death.

And Sabrina was caught in the middle. It was almost embarrassing, but Margaux was having too much fun in the way her face contorted and snapped beneath her gloves. The woman’s guard fell away and Margaux didn’t hesitate to seize the opportunity in front of her.

Specks of blood graced her skin in their descent, staining her blotches of her enchanting countenance and catching the pink locks of her two-tone hair covering her eye. Her face felt lukewarm. Her vicious smile cast a stark white contrast against the spots of virulent red, only growing wider and wider as she watched Sabrina’s lifeless body fall to the floor with a thud.

The referee was silent for a moment, watching with wide eyes at the still blonde on the floor. With a blink she stepped forward to go check on her...before Margaux happened again. The pinkette dived forward, throwing a punch clean across her cheek, snapping her head to the side with a smack against the canvas.

“You liar! You and your injudicious falsehoods!”The referee’s arms came around pulled her away, throwing her off towards her corner. Margaux didn’t step back there. She was content to watch and “TWITCH AND DIE LIKE THE MONGREL YOU ARE!”

“Shut the fuck up, will ya?!” The official placed her hand at Sabrina’s throat, genuinely convinced this crazy Frenchie had knocked the life out of her. That moment of heart-pounding concern had bought Sabrina a few precious seconds, a lapse in time to prove she could still get up and fight. That her pathetic form wasn’t bound for the poisoned earth. Sachiko had to call this one.

Jesus, this was a bit of quick one, wasn't it? To be frank, Sabrina hadn't found many fighters who could honestly slug as hard as her opponent did, but the two were pretty much even on the scale. The only damn difference was that her opponent was probably some raging psychopath of a woman while she simply adapted and stayed on the streets. Still, she just laid there on the canvas with her eyes nearly having rolled into her skull, but she was still conscious enough to make sense of what the hell was going on and what had happened. Hell, she was pretty much able to hear, through the whole blurred and dizzy vision down to the fact a punch had smashed her face into the canvas again.

Blood pooled around her mouth, specifically around her head as she lay there, looking more akin to a corpse than anything else. Still, that little punch her opponent had thrown just a few more precious seconds into what she needed. She wasn't sad or even disappointed at herself for having gone down... She should have gotten serious and focus more on her opponent's body and face.

This chick...

She...

Was...

Really pissing her off now.

The moment the official had laid a hand upon her throat, she would find a heavy slam accompanying such a motion. The canvas beneath their feet and body practically shuddered beneath the force of both gloved fists slamming down upon them with enough force to break in most opponents with ease. Sabrina's body started to slowly shudder as the topless fighter began to rise starting from her head up to her torso, slowly, but surely, clambering up and onto her two boots. Blood dripped from her nostrils, as well as a stream having caked her bruised and battered face as the blonde stood with a slightly hunched form.

She honestly almost looked punch drunk if not for the fact that when she brought her head up, her face looked akin to a true rabid animal. Her teeth were grinding against one another that one might assume her teeth would shatter. Her gloves clenched so tightly that whatever she probably grabbed would have struggled for air. Her eyes were practically seething with anger directed at her French opponent, but also what appeared to be enough for herself as well.

And then she grinned an almost feral grin.

”Jesus fucking Christ, was that ALL you got, bitch?” The tone she had taken was one of mocking, the girl standing before Margaux looking more confident than ever despite the numerous blows she had taken. Sabrina looked amused really... Right before chuckling and spitting up a wad of blood off to the side, allowing that to be a bit of a symbol for her now.

Her opponent had gotten some blood from her, but she didn't repay the favor. How could Sabrina not repay her back for all the blood she took in this fight, right?

”Because if that was you thinking you could fuck me up like that, then you really are a sad sack of shit... No wonder you French always surrender, eh? Either way, bitch, you've had some fun of your own, right?" Pointing a single glove to herself, Sabrina pointed her glove straight to Margaux and brought the thumb of her right glove down.

"Now, how's about I rip you apart and show you just how we do it in the streets, eh? Brass knuckles do more than what you did there... So, stop talking all that fancy crazy shit and lemme pound that FUCKING FACE OF YOURS INTO THE CANVAS!" She had practically roared such words out, almost acting like a vicious animal...

A rabid dog.

The black-streaked blonde cracked her neck once before rolling her shoulders as the muscles upon her body tensed. She gave a single look to the official and flashed them a simple thumbs-up, looking good as ever despite the pain and damage she had endured.

It was time they took this shit to the next level though.

Sabrina was a special kind of woman. Margaux had felt that from the moment the pair had crossed gloves. She attacked in this ferocious way of a carnivore hungry for another bite of its favorite game, never satisfied with just one lick or another. A perpetual confidence shrouded her smaller, riffraff appearance, and the Frenchwoman couldn’t say it was unearned. From the moment the bell sounded, it was only when the moment finally fell flat to the floor that her lungs could accept an air of relief.

But it was only at this moment that she could truly recognize how special. Margaux’s incessant giggling had stopped for a moment. A dirty blonde rising as if from the dead, extolling her promises and debauchery, casting sin that flowed off her tongue like honeyed poison.

Margaux’s gloves creased in her palms. That voracious grin flashed across her face once more as she strode forward with her gloves raised and-

Ding!

The sound of the bell caught her mid-step, nearly throwing herself forward entirely before she could regain her balance. The referee was quick to push her back and help her stand upright again. Though one look at her face told her that was far from the woman’s intentions. “That’s the round! Back up!” Her head whipped to Sabrina. “To your corners! Seriously!”

Margaux’s mismatched eyes went from the official to the hot blonde only a few steps behind her. A younger, more impulsive version of herself would have acted. She wouldn’t have been able to control the beating of her heart or the burn of her muscles. Not a force on Earth could have kept her and Sabrina from tearing each other apart once she crossed that veil.

She knew that well and good. And that was why she dropped her stance and, with the slightest hint of knowing smile, turned away to make the walk over the corner. She pressed her back to the corner and rested her arms over the ropes, eyeing her prey from beneath the shade of her bangs and the dark of her thin smile.

Now, this is exactly what she wanted... Not some prim and proper match, not some overhyped piece of garbage standing before her, and not some jobber girl was thrown to the wolves. No, this was a FUCKING FIGHT! The thrills, the excitement and the damn payout she would get at the end of this was what fueled her, drove her forth into the fray despite the wounds she may bear upon her form and looking like a cheap slut. So, what if she didn't wear a top? What if she didn't talk normally?

This?

This was real fucking excitement.

THIS WAS FUN!

She was ready to drop all pretenses of skill, dodging, blocking, and anything else her old trainer had taught her. A veteran that woman may have been but Sabrina was something else entirely when it came down to fighting in the ring. The muscles within her body would have strained and begged for rest were she a weaker woman... The bruises, the punches laid into her face would have had any weaker fighter calling for some mercy, but Sabrina? No, they only seemed to deter her slightly. She was akin to a true animal, a rabid beast without restraint once unleashed.

She clenched her fists tightly, her cloves curling forth, and began to move forward with every step signaling a rather epic display of bloody proportions. As the war drums to an army, she was about to TRULY begin this battle and put an end to her baguette of an opponent. Yet just as she slammed her boot down upon the ground, ready to rush in and smash into her opponent at full speed...

Ding!

Sabrina faltered and nearly stumbled forth at the sound of the bell, her eyes wide as she looked up at the ring lights above her before looking down to the canvas corners. The bell? Already? So soon? Wait, it wasn't soon... Sabrina sighed and realized she must have been on the receiving end for a little too long. Were this the underground she wouldn't have actually cared and rushed in, but this wasn't the underground.

She glanced over to the referee in the middle with an annoyed glance. She wasn't pissed at the woman, but she felt like she had been denied the chance to make her opponent bleed for that crazy crap she had been spewing. She honestly wondered if she would be seeing women like that around here. Prim and proper but fucking nutty when inside the squared circle. Sighing, she spat out a simple wad of bloody spittle off to the ground before turning around and stomping over to her corner.

Laying her bare back to the ropes, her arms slung across the top ropes, Sabrina merely cracked her neck and sighed. The wounds she had sustained were pretty brutal considering that French bitch had gone to town but her durability and resilience were high for someone who had gone down to pure bare-knuckle boxing and more. That certainly wouldn't mean she was invincible but in a match of pure endurance?

She was fucking positive she'd be still standing.

Eyeing her opponent, she only grinned at her and flashed a simple wink.

"Hey, Frenchy! Don't go thinking I forgot that little fucking spat you got going earlier, but that doesn't mean shit to me. Insane, crazy, or even a fucking psychopath. As long as you're in this ring, you're just another fucking bitch to hammer into. So, you better be fucking ready to fight because I'm done playing like I'm proper. I'm playing dirty." Sabrina's shout out to her opponent could be interpreted in a variety of ways, but one of the simplest ones was that she couldn't care who her opponent was now.

She may have seemed prim and proper but the bitch was far from it. She didn't play fair and while she was clearly fucking nuts, to Sabrina at least, the Rabid Dog could hardly see any downside to this. Win or lose, bloody or broken, aroused or downed, she was going to give her opponent everything she had. Who knows?

Maybe they could grab a drink and talk shit about people, right?

Breathing was becoming a little easier as she relaxed in her corner, but oddly Margaux didn’t feel any less tense from the moment she walked away. There was anticipation, of course. The fire was still flickering strongly, boiling her blood beneath the surface. She couldn’t wait to continue and pleasure herself in tearing this rabid dog apart. It wouldn’t be any different from the others. Sabrina was fierce, strong, evidently resilient, but nothing she was unable to contend with. Compared to Cicilia De’Reignhardt, this was quite a gentle experience all hostilities considered.

But then what was this uneasiness? She was failing to find a comfortable spot in her corner. Her legs shuffled every other moment and her fingers busied inside of her gloves in tandem with her irregular breaths. Why did it feel as though she couldn’t allow herself this moment of reprieve? What was this nameless tension that wouldn’t leave her be? Why wouldn’t her heart stop drumming inside of her chest? She hadn’t known anxiety a day in her life. Fear was her instrument, her pet. Nothing commanded her, she commanded all.

Who was doing this?

Her ears perked up when Sabrina made her presence known once more from across the ring, spouting the same inane nonsense she’d been standing by from the outset. Margaux only listened silently. After a moment, her troubles left her and she could only offer an honest chuckle at the American’s expense.

“I am all too pleased to deserve such recognition, Chienne!” She flashed a smirk to the blonde as the ring girl strutted the space between them, announcing the next round with her card on high. “Perhaps now you will pose something of a challenge.”

Akane, standing still as a statue with her attention split between the two of them, just shook her head, knowing she had an unlimited number of rounds to go before this was all over. Fuck her life. Fuck it entirely.

Reluctantly, she raised her arms and called for the bell, inviting both of the bruisers to stand before the chime made Round Two official. Margaux raised her gloves and came in quick behind her guard, moving to storm the castle before Sabrina had the chance to put up her barricades. The instant she was in range, she went for a roaring uppercut straight from the bottom up, going to knock her flat once more and place a nice little ‘period’ on all that filth she was so content to let run from her mouth.

Sabrina sighed as she ignored the aches coursing through her face at the moment. Her opponent had gone on a good onslaught, she could give the chick credit for that, but it was thanks to that natural endurance of hers that she could keep going. She wasn't inoperable, even that French poodle hadn't done enough to do her in, but she was trailing behind. This match of theirs sure as hell wasn't ending till someone stayed on the canvas with their eyes rolled up into the back of their skull and Sabrina wasn't gonna let this crazy woman get that win of hers.

Her muscles were tense, every breath calming that simmering rage that made her who she was. Her breasts rose prominently, a testament to her bust, even after taking a shot straight to the girls, she hardly blinked much. It wasn't her first-time tit boxing with a gal, but her opponent screwed up on that end.

Still, how the hell was she gonna work this girl down? They weren't normal...

Raising a brow at the response Margaux made, Sabrina simply tilted her head cutely to the side. In a way, she was almost adorable if not for just how brutal she could get in the ring with an opponent. "Still not a clue what the fuck that means, French Fry. You gonna explain that or do I still gotta beat the shit outta you till you're out on the canvas?" Sabrina asked her opponent as she cracked her neck twice, sighing as she slowly eased the tension off her shoulders, but it would sure as hell come back soon.

"Really? Maybe you'll hit me with something that doesn't feel like it came from an orphan. Scratch that, even the fucking orphans from my neck of the woods hit harder than your ass." Sabrina practically laid out the smug in her tone as she pointed to her bruised cheeks, grinning at the woman without so much as a lick of care in the world.

Still, the moment the bell was rung was when the black-streaked blonde rushed forth without so much as a care. Her arms were pulled in close, defending her chin as well as keeping her arms close to her chest. Still, it seemed her opponent had the same idea as they both charged forth to meet each other head-on. Margaux had closed the distance pretty fast, but Sabrina had managed to lay out her guard just in time to stomach in that roaring uppercut aimed for her.

She grinned beneath her guard, absorbing the brunt of the impact with her arms before splitting them apart. In one moment, she went from defense to offense. Hoping to rock her opponent hard, Sabrina hoped to unleash a devastating right hook aimed for Margaux's cheek, hoping to distort the flesh and work her good.