Margaux Lefeuvre vs. Sabrina Anderson - Hellhounds

No. She wasn’t going to explain anything. It was beneath her.

Margaux Lefeuvere did not ‘elaborate’ to anyone. They spoke to her. They bent and scraped. If she felt bothered to point out every minute detail that sailed over the heads of the ignorant and ignoble whenever they were confused, the sun would sooner engulf the Earth before fools glimpsed even a hint of her truth. She had people for this. She had ambitions in life. Not every curious soul was worth her time. If Sabrina really wanted an answer, she would have to beat one out of her.

Though she seemed naturally inclined towards that decision regardless, even without the context of a sanctioned fight in the middle of an arena. This woman - this beast - was a born fighter. A struggler. As she stared those eyes down through her brisk charge, she caught the wild intensity flaring in each eye. The hunger glazed over her expression as though she were staring straight through her rather than at her. Again she felt that unnamed thing in her chest flicker against her gaze alone. The two were set a collision course and yet she could tell this wasn’t simply adrenaline, the rush of the moment.

There was something curiously familiar with this boxer. Something she had to break.

Margaux swung her fist and found purchase at a depth nowhere near where she was looking for. Sabrina had blocked her strike with about the competence she was expecting. Before she could reward that diligence with a followup strike to the temple, the American came back faster and harder. Her glove smacked across Margaux’s face, sending a splash of sweat and spittle off to the side that stopped her dead in her tracks.

Her eyes never left the woman however, staring back with a violent resurgence in mismatched pupils. Her teeth grit tight and her hand creased inside of her glove as she stopped on her back foot and went to throw a retaliatory left straight back into the dirty blonde’s face.

Guess you had to settle for a fucking psychopath being a psychopath.

Why the hell couldn't she go and meet someone normal? Sure, Sabrina had accepted that her underground opponents could be nuts, but why couldn't she just get someone fucking polite?! Then again, she was more than likely to go and screw that over, so what the hell, right? Maybe this was just her luck with things considering how she was dealt with a supposed snob who turned total dirty who turned total psycho.

Still, she wasn't so stupid as to not understand her opponent, at least somewhat. Eyes were the window to the soul and all, but that wasn't what she was going with right there. No, it was simply the way this chick held herself. Them prim and proper types would have been more reserved, held certain ways to move, but this chick...

She was probably as fucking brutal as she was.

Maybe even further beyond underground brutality.

The way they moved, the way their muscles slipped into action, and just the sheer aggressiveness had even Sabrina staring at her with a slight manner of respect. Hard to believe they could talk the talk of a fancy bitch and walk the walk of a hardcore fighter.

Sabrina was glad she had focused on SOME measure of defense rather than taking the hit with her face. Whilst planned, she wasn't going to lose this without giving it her very best. She could feel the very sensation of her glove, her fist, slamming into her opponent's cheek. Her opponent's face was distorted beneath her fist, but she could still spot those eyes of hers...

Despite that, Sabrina only grinned as the muscles in her arm slipped loose. Her form slipped about, her torso specifically, as the topless boxer retracted her arm and immediately began to twist her torso into action. With a snarl, Sabrina was already hoping to exchange blows as quickly as she possibly could and as brutally as she possibly could have made it...

In exchange for a rather violent straight slamming full-force into her face, she could feel the aches from her nose briefly, she attempted to swing forth her left arm from below. Hoping to do something, she wanted to unleash a furious missile straight for her opponent's liver with a snarl despite the glove impacted into her face.

Margaux had abandoned any pretense of defense for the moment. She’d had more than enough time to refresh in her neutral corner, she had to make a strong impression for the second round, she had to control the momentum of the moment and set Sabrina up for failure in the minutes to follow. If she could hold her own here, it would make all the difference in the fight ahead of them both. She intended to come out on top and this was the best way to do that.

Those were the trivial excuses. The ridiculous ones. Limp and useless.

She wanted to tear into Sabrina, she wanted to rip this dirty blonde apart and leave her bloody on the canvas. That sight was one she longed to see by the end of the night, to linger in her eyes before her nightly sleep.

The American was determined to meet her tit-for-tat with every breath. That determination she could feel dwelling in her gloves, surging through those muscular arms, and the result came flying straight at her. Margaux was elated to see Sabrina’s head snap back against her fist, only for a punch to land right at her liver the second after. Her eyes went wide and her body reeled forward with a gasp as the air was forced clean from her lungs, stumbling back a couple of steps.

Behind a hazy gaze, she found herself staring at the floor beneath her opponent’s boots. It felt as though a spear had gone through her side, making it too painful to rise of her own will as she clutched the injured area.

The first round may have been a bit back and forth, but it was clearly in Margaux's favor. Sabrina couldn't let that stand. She wanted to pay this insane bitch back for that crazy little outburst she had in full. She wanted to pay her back with nothing more than rage and leather on the menu. If this bitch wanted to give it her all, then Sabrina would respond in kind, but this rabid dog had no intention of giving up. She was gonna fight till she either won or till her opponent kept her down!

All she wanted to do was pound the smugness outta this bitch. She may have fought like her, even may have come from the same areas she did, but she wouldn't prove shit till she went and gave it her all. She'd knock the blood outta this bitch, splatter her sweat and fluids across the canvas, specifically blood and excitement maybe.

And then she'd proudly stand over this french baguette with a bright grin upon her face.

Sabrina didn't mind much for close quarters slugging. She was all about close quarters and she was all about pounding the stuffing outta her opponents. She didn't give a damn what hit her, but she'd keep going till she broke this bitch down! Even when her head had snapped back, the moment Margaux's glove fell back was when Sabrina's grinning face could be noticed.

Despite the heavy impact left behind from Margaux's glove, Sabrina was grinning brightly at her opponent despite how much her nose felt like it was cracked. Honestly, she wouldn't doubt it, but at least it wasn't broken just yet, right? Suddenly, she had Margaux left reeling forward with a heavy gasp.

Sabrina, not being a bragger, could only take advantage of this opportunity and follow-through. While she could brag and be smug, she learned a long time ago to take advantage of that after a match. With Margaux stumbling back a couple of steps, the topless fighter blew some blood out her nostril before pounding her gloves together.

With a snarl, she lunged forth in an attempt to start the real fun...

Her muscles bulged, her fists clenched down tightly, and she unleashed a snarl through her lips. With a charge, Sabrina attempted to start slugging her opponent's abdominals with a flurry of uppercuts coming in to dig straight into her body. She wanted to BREAK this bitch down and make sure she was left gasping for air, but there wouldn't be any mercy here.

She couldn’t have been certain without physical evidence and afternoon’s stakeout, but Margaux was beyond certain now that Sabrina came from an underground background. The decision to fight topless could have given that fact away, though that failed to prove much in itself when it came to AFW of all locales. No, it was the raw power and dirty persistence she was seeing on display. She stood on her own and smiled through the punishment, she prognosticated proudly with a warrior’s beauty, and fought with skill and resilience that only arose from a certain background of punishment. Right before her eyes, the American seemed determined to prove her wrong at every turn and shine with a coat sweat and blood.

This one would be trouble.

Margaux couldn't concern herself with defense in this inopportune moment. A solid strike to the stomach was an effective way to set an opponent off balance as surely as it expelled air from the lungs. A shot right to the liver that could have easily rendered her unconscious or worse if allowed another second of wind-up.

Deep down there was something oddly flattering in the gesture. Sabrina was far from content to hold even an iota of strength in the reserve. The harsh brutality stung as it reverberated in raw torrents through her abdomen. Someone was striking to kill. Yet as Margaux glanced that psyched expression across Sabrina’s face, she didn’t see any malice behind those violet gems. Her eyes were those of a hound lost on its bloodlust following the scent lingering on its snout.

It was fitting in a cosmically tragic sort of fashion. The Frenchwoman was indeed bleeding and sweating like a freshly cleaved piece of meat. She could hardly blame the fierce blonde for pressing the advantage in such a decisive fashion. There was the promise of pain tonight and Ms. Anderson appeared eager to impress.

The sound of two gloves smacking together close to her ear drew Margaux’s attention. Her vision was only just begging to realign when a crisp blow to her gut rose her feet from the floor. Spittle expelled in a haggard cough as her body was thrown back into the corner. One, two, three more blows slammed into her, rattling her body against the post. Before a fourth tore her innards asunder, Margaux tucked in and brought her arms together in a closed low guard. Sabrina’s blows continued to pound away and rattle her bones, but it was all she could permit herself to do to resist the hound’s flurry.

For now she could breathe. She could stay alive. So long as those two things were constant, there was nothing she had to fear. In spite of what a few bruised ribs might protest.

Was Sabrina a murderous person?

Not really, no.

She was someone who loved the damn thrill of a fight, to spill some blood, get fucked, or do the fucking, and have herself a good time while making money. As far as things went, she was someone who did whatever she wanted as long as she could have a good time and make a profit. Did she get pissed at her opponents at times? Fucking hell right she did. Did she wanna kill 'em? Maybe sometimes. Then again, this was just a big match for a good starter as far as things went. Her opponent was experienced, she was rich by the manner she held herself, and she held a tone in her voice that practically made it seem like she was better than her in every way.

Yet, Sabrina could already tell this girl was different.

Prissy bitch with a sadistic streak or not, even they usually held some code to themselves so they didn't 'stain' their prissy little fingers with the blood of dogs and all that. This chick was getting in the dirt with her. She was practically rolling in the dirt and slamming it right into her face without pause.

Almost like it was natural.

She had taken blows that this chick could only hope to achieve with the usage of weapons. She had gone bare-knuckle boxing, outright no rules, down to even the harshest of fights in the underground pits and streets where she fought. Margaux was no joke, but Sabrina wasn't some pathetic jobber who came here to get her ass kicked.

And if she lost, she would make damn sure she made her opponent work for that KO.

She was gonna spill this bitch's blood though.

She was gonna crush her face beneath her gloves, bruise up every bone in her body, and knock that smug expression right off of her face. She didn't much care for the masks people put up, but this chick was already showing signs of what lay beneath. She wasn't smart, not really, but Sabrina wasn't an idiot. She knew people... She knew her type of people the best.

And as she slammed glove after glove into the toned abdominals of her opponent, she could still see the faintest expression there. There wasn't fear, no, but it was something else that had her curious. She found her fourth blow, a blow that would have surely had this French Poodle dry-heaving on the floor, blocked by the girl's arms coming low. She glared briefly, pounding away at the girl's arms before suddenly stopping.

She needed to switch it up if she wanted to keep her momentum up. She tucked her body in... She wouldn't be able to get a good shot at her face or body. She thought about one of her 'special moves', but there wasn't a guarantee she could hit it. With a shrug, muscles in her body exerting themselves, sweat dripping down her forehead, and sliding down in rivulets to her breasts and muscles, Sabrina took a new approach.

She raised her arm upward, bringing it high up just enough to pop over Margaux, before attempting to bring down her right elbow upon the girl's skull/back. Sabrina was by no means an MMA fighter or anything like that. However, she knew the very basics of brutality when it came to the underground. She could use her elbows, her skull, target sensitive parts to her opponent's body, and even her fucking mouth.

If she was successful, Sabrina would try and open up Margaux's guard by hammering away at her sides. If she could even strike them, but she was hoping to break it open and unleash a certain move she was sure would have her French Poodle gaping at in pain and possible pleasure.

Some girls just liked it, right?

Maybe Margaux deserved to die like this. In a packed stadium, beneath the eyes of thousands and sweltering heat building all around her. The pain of a knife stabbing her intestines over and over again, denying her even the slightest inkling of resistance to the brutish blonde bearing down on her with the kind of ferocity she’d only known half a lifetime ago. It was as if she were fighting herself. Some twisted version from a parallel reality.

It felt right in some way. Of all the ways she could picture her end day by day, the poetic justice of self-destruction struck a familiar chord in her heart. The dilemma was as attractive as it was perplexing.

Though it was far from a pleasant sign that she was even having these kinds of thoughts, more so in the middle of a match. A match she would prefer lasted longer than two rounds for both their sakes. It was a thankless reminder of just how dead her body felt. Her arms burned against the onslaught as the sinew struggled to keep together. But she wouldn't capitulate. It would take more than a hard beating to bring her out from her shell. She could endure, and the moment this rabid mutt gave up the offense for even an instant she would-

Crack! A stabbing strike that stabbed her from above that snapped her head down and clacked her jaw. It felt like the broad end of an iron axe, or some sort of pike meant to pierce her through the crown. Neither of those were likely, but they were the only things Margaux could think of as her brain mushed and swirled inside her rattled cranium.

The Frenchwoman buckled, her eyes frozen for a moment as they slowly rolled towards the back of her skull before her legs faltered beneath her, falling to both knees and her gloves to the floor. She focused on her hands, on the bloodstained canvas as they blurred in and out of existence.

What happened? How could she hit with that much force? Her spine chilled with an instinctual fear. Every hair stood up on end as her skin clung to her bones. Margaux's trembling lips crooked at one side, threatening a lethal smile beneath Sabrina’s shadow.

Crack!

Even she could feel that shit. Sabrina could already tell the moment her elbow slammed down upon the woman’s was when she nearly came crashing down upstairs in the head. The black-streaked blonde was left to see her opponent buckle on her legs, eyes rolling straight to the back of her skull just as the woman’s legs failed her. Sabrina watched as the woman came crashing down upon her gloves and knees, staring down at the bloodstained canvas. Despite her success in the matter, Sabrina looked more amused than anything else before stepping back.

”Hurry up and get back up, chienne. I ain’t letting you off the hook that easy and there ain’t no count either. C’mon and get back up so I can paint this fucking ring with your blood, ah?”

Nothing but the utmost confidence in her voice despite all the blows she had absorbed. Sabrina winced briefly as she pressed the thumb of her glove to her nostril, blowing hard and allowing some blood to spill out briefly before finishing it off with a shrug. Her stomach wasn’t in the worst position and her breasts were pretty fine, she got used to getting punched in the tits after a while, but she could still feel how numb her face was. For all the confidence and endurance she had, her opponent wasn’t no weak-willed opponent who couldn’t throw a punch.

Nevertheless, Sabrina wasn’t going to act like Margaux and pound the girl’s skull into the canvas floor once or twice. Don’t get her wrong, it was damn tempting, but she didn’t see the need to. She was gonna plow this bitch with her gloves whilst she was on her feet or meet her on the canvas floor and pound the living hell out of her on her knees. Either way, she was going to be pounding leather into this woman.

Taking a few steps back, Sabrina pounded her gloves over and over again, awaiting the Frenchwoman to go ahead and take a stand.

”It ain’t over till the Frenchy screams and I haven’t heard a lick of screaming for you. C’mon, ya fucking maniac. Let’s get back to it!”

“Manger de la merde et mourir.” She whispered under her breath.

Oh my. That wasn’t very sporting on second thought, was it?

Sabrina had proven herself time and time over. If there was anyone to blame for Margaux finding herself in her current state, it was none other than the woman herself. She should have been more prepared after she’d seen how the Rabid Dog had stood right back up from her assault refurbished and eager to wreak havoc anew. No fear, no hesitation. Margaux had seen the look before and she knew how dangerous it could be when left to run wild. It had manifested in herself more times than she could count. Seldom was that spark gifted to others, but when it was…

There was something so curious about this blonde-haired destroyer that the Frenchwoman couldn’t help but ruminate on using the still-functioning half of her shell shocked brain. It was confusing. She’d heard the Momentum roster had been nearly devoid of any talent worth note. The majority of them were little more than pretty faces, blank slates for the federation to refashion at their whims for the sake of easy ticket sales. It was difficult to build a base atop an audience of empty seats. That was what made it so easy to conquer. At least, that was Margaux’s thinking. So who was this beautiful thug that waltzed under the stage lights with her? How had she hidden so well?

They were questions she would earn the answers to one way or the other. For now, as much as she detested the tone with which she was advised, Sabrina was right. Margaux had to stand up, or she never would again. It was a simple choice, but far from easy.

The Frenchwoman’s rise was slow, shakily pushing herself up to one knee as thin droplets of blood stemmed from her hairline and fell to the floor. On two wobbly legs she stumbled toward the blonde, lurching one foot forward after the other. Her arms remained drooped low to the floor as she dragged herself along. Her shamble lacked any direction behind the foggy and distant eyes that seemed to be guiding the woman. To everyone, Margaux looked to be a dead woman walking. The eerie sight continued all the way until she would stand right before Sabrina, unable to even raise her head to face her adversary.

Because Margaux threw her next punch low, a sudden burst of life with a devastating uppercut to Sabrina’s crotch.

“Still don’t understand what you’re saying, bitch. Still, you can take one hell of a fucking beating, that’s for sure.” Though, Sabrina could tell this chick wasn’t as durable as her. Honestly, a part of her DID want to smash a punch into her skull and rattle those brains one last time. What happened in the ring happened. Sure, she might win or lose, but she wasn’t going to go and have a fucking crazy spat as this girl did. Sabrina wasn’t truly a cruel person. Not exactly...

There was nothing that would stop Sabrina from laying into someone who liked to abuse their fucking position in life to lord over people. Sure, she wasn't a fucking saint, but she wasn't going to stand by and let some snob take over and abuse the shit outta people like her. She fought and tussled on the streets and built up a resilience that was truly hard to compare to. Even when she was down on the ground spitting up blood, her body begging her to quit, she ignored. it and stood right back up.

Far as things went, Margaux didn't draw that out. Sure, she was a total prissy whore, and a bit of a bitch too, but she didn't FEEL like one. As weird as it was to her, Sabrina almost felt like this chick was similar. She didn't fight as some rich heiress or princess did. She didn't feel justified or entitled, not as much, but...

It was almost like she was fighting another woman from the very streets she had come from.

Still, Sabrina kept her gloves up, looking down at Margaux as she slowly pushed herself back up to her feet. Christ, she must have rattled the girl's brain and body way more than she had realized. Honestly, she wasn't going anywhere near as brutal since she hadn't pulled out one of her 'special' moves. Not like she needed to, and she WAS trying to make a habit of not using them due to some...

Personal complaints she had received.
"...Look, I know what the rules of this match are, but if you gotta stay down, stay down. Ain't no fucking..."

Well, until now at least. Now, despite how resilient she was, let it be known that Sabrina Anderson was still only human. She fought to the very best and the peak of her body, even going beyond it, but this was more than simply absorbing a shot to the breast. Oh, yeah, she could eat those up to her puppies well and good, but the crotch?

Well, imagine her eyes going wide as she shuddered, folding over and bringing a single glove to cradle her now searing nethers. Honestly, a part of her was aroused, practically dripping alone, but another part of her? That was currently in pain, stomping on somebody's corpse, and seeking out blood. You could imagine how wide her eyes were, one of them twitching as she glared down at the woman.

"Y-you... PIECE OF SHIT!"

Yep, now she had done it.