Margaux Lefeuvre vs. Sabrina Anderson - Hellhounds

Oh, she was angry. That was exciting.

Sabrina had struck her as a foe hardened by battles in the least reputable of locales. It was something Margaux herself prided to have listed on her background checks to places less than welcoming of her kind. Battles such as those were just as much fought within the mind as they were crossed between fists and bites of blood. Given the degree to which the blonde was content to run her mouth from start to finish, she must have known those rules rather well.

It was admirable how long she appeared capable of keeping her mind focused on the fight, taking everything in stride and coming back with an even bigger smile than the last. And she loved it. That indomitable grin that challenged every single attempt the Frenchwoman made to bring her foe down. It had been too long since she’d found herself with another that shared her love. Someone that could truly thrive in this brutal life they’d crafted for themselves.

To see that rare flash of genuine frustration was rather enchanting...even as it did send a chill up her spine. Her skin tightened to the bone, goosebumps traveling from head to toe even in the sweltering heat of this boxing ring. Margaux chuckled to herself as she stood tall over her disabled adversary, punching her gloves strongly together with a hungry smile poised for the kill. This must have been so frustrating for Sabrina. All that bark and with no ability to bite. She loved every second of this moment.

“Promises and more promises...THAT MEAN NOTHING ON YOUR KNEES!” Margaux chambered her fist back and grabbed the top of Sabrina’s black-streaked mane with her right glove. A devastating left straight to the American’s cheek would follow a strong step forward, resounding with the power of a cannon in the instant it connected.

Sabrina snarled as her nostrils flared in aggravation and rage. Alright, she wanted to HOLD off from trying to use that move. Maybe go about, kiss, fuck a little, and knock this fucking psychopath out. However, the moment that French fucking poodle went and stole her god damn move was when Sabrina had decided that she wanted to make sure this bitch was left on a stretcher. Even if she lost this stupid fucking match, she was going to make sure this bitch knew very well what the hell pain was by the end of it all as she stood on her legs with a surprising amount of power still holding her up.

All those bare-knuckle brawls, weapons, and more gave anyone a thick hide, but it didn't mean you weren't going to go and cry out after a blow to the damn cunt! Seriously, that was one of her fucking signatures and this bitch went and...

Ohohoho, she was going to make her FUCKING pay.

Still, beneath that rage of hers, there was a tinge of respect for this lady. She wasn't as prissy as she made herself out to be. Sure, she could carry herself like one, dress like one, probably even talk like one, but at the end of the day? During this match between the two of them, during boxing, she could practically tell this girl was someone who didn't just go out of her way to have a cruel boxing style.

It was because she was molded from the fucking blood she spilled and the bodies she toppled on the streets. There was no damn doubt about it now. This chick was from her neck of the woods...

That or she was just nuts.

Still, Sabrina was awoken from her musings and thoughts the moment a pair of gloves were punched together. Hunched over, glove holding onto her crotch, Sabrina was mentally shouting at herself to block or go and strike back. However, the pain within her loins that had her panting hotly with a pair of flushed cheeks forced her down instead of aiding her. Before she knew it, Margaux had grabbed her by her black-streaked locks...

"Y-you better make it fucking count, you..." Sabrina was cut off in a single moment as a devastating straight smashed right into her cheek followed by a step forward that only provided more momentum to the blow. Her cheek distorted beneath Margaux's glove and Sabrina was left with her head jerking to the side, spitting up a slew of spittle tinged with blood that splattered the canvas floors beneath their feet. If Margaux had released her, she would have had a stumbling topless boxer with a slightly dazed expression at that moment.

Sabrina wasn't down and out just yet, but... She was fucking rocked right there considering her puckered lips and how her eyes twitched briefly.

Margaux felt herself near burst into laughter.

Excellent comedic timing was always appreciated at her court and Sabrina made for a fabulous jester indeed. Those thuggish characteristics that defined the subtle mannerisms of her brute physique were only best complemented by their influence on her vernacular. She appeared every inch as resilient and dirty as she was.

But what perfectly framed this particular Picasso was without a single doubt Sabrina’s expression when that glove deformed the side of her cheek. The way her face wobbled and waved. The way her gaze clouded and drifted a million miles away into the infinite dark for that brief, painful instant in time. The violence was one thing, but rendering that snapping that busy jaw if hers shut was some of the purest ecstasy she'd tasted all night.

It was everything she deserved.

There was plenty for Sabrina to be proud of tonight. A blossoming, unspoken respect that bud amidst the sprays of blood and impacts drenched in spittle was something that Margaux slowly acknowledged over the course of the night. To this very moment, she bore no ill will towards her adversary, the gruff and uncouth troglodyte she may have been. But she was still going to destroy her. She was going to make her regret the very first step she made into this ring. She would crush that face beneath her the weight of her fists and paint her body red with the stains of her own viscous essence. Because that was the only way to win. That was what it meant to be strong, and damn her for thinking she couldn’t.

Savoring the sight of Sabrina’s consciousness teetering on its delicate pedestal for only a moment in time, Margaux couldn’t content herself with only one blow. Sabrina was right in one respect, she would make this count. The Frenchwoman closed in and wrapped her arms around the neck of her dazed opponent, pushing with her elbows to shove the American back against the ropes. Margaux would press their hard bodies together, chest to chest, eye to eye with a manic grin etched from ear to ear.

All before her neck reared back and threw her heavy head forward into Sabrina’s. Once, twice, three times. Again and again with one sickening crack after another, the madwoman would keep crushing their dense marrow into paste until she finally saw the light in the street fighter’s eyes fade away into the deep purple.

Welp, this was probably one of the few times Sabrina could honestly say someone shut her up. She wasn't one for trash talk during a match, maybe some banter, but she didn't go nuts on the stuff. She kind of learned that one the hard way whenever she got the edge on an opponent and got beaten down in moments. The streets were great for conditioning anyone for a hard life. They gave you thick skins, tough hides, and a nigh-unstoppable will that couldn't be cut off unless you beat them down into complete submission.

Honestly, in this case, it was somewhat of a pain to deal with considering how much of a detriment it could be. Just meant you were either the world's greatest punching bag or someone with a can-do attitude.

Sabrina liked to be nice and think of herself as a little bit of both.

Still, concerning this girl, Sabrina wouldn't say she hated them nearly as much as she would have. Sure, they could talk fancy, act fancy, but Sabrina knew well enough that the actions of this chick cemented who she was. A street rat. Gutter trash. Someone born and raised upon the streets and someone who may as well have climbed her way to where she was whilst bleeding and broken. She was an insane fucking whore, there was no doubt about it, but she didn't mind. Chick wasn't a pompous bitch...

She was just a fucking nutjob.

If this chick, however, thought for one second that she would REGRET stepping into the ring with her? She was dead wrong. No. Even if she was broken. Even if her bones creaked. Even if her blood boiled. Even with blood seeping down every part of her body, Sabrina would make like any rabid dog. She would claw tooth and nail, bite whatever, and fall whilst making her opponent remember that a cornered animal was at its most dangerous.

As dazed as she was, she couldn't help but grin somewhat through the haze that clouded her vision. She felt a pair of slender and heavy limbs wrap around her neck, immediately shoved back with a pair of elbows digging into shoulders and forcing her bareback to meet the ropes. Her rear ground slightly into the ropes, cushioning her tight bottom, but the rest came. A healthy pair of breasts pressed to her own, body against body, eye to eye with one's vision impaired and the other mad with some form of sadistic love or madness that one would never understand.

Then came someone's fucking skull into her head. Sabrina was pretty damn positive that she was going to be feeling that. Then another. Another. Another. It didn't stop as sickening cracks filled the air as two skulls collided. Sabrina wasn't going to deny that her body honestly wanted to call it lights out at this point, but she wasn't a pussy. Even with years of endurance, this was just torture.

Sabrina's arms were still free, even as her head was concussed over and over again with numerous strikes to her skull. Trying to force some will into her body before she was too weak to handle any more of these headbutts, Sabrina's right arm shakily reached out to the side and wound up. Muscles tightened and tensed, her body locked in place as more and more skull bashing came down...

In one fluid motion, she snarled as another blow came forth and attempted to sock her opponent right in the kidney just one with a brutal and devastating right hook!

Even if it didn't amount to anything, she would openly defy her opponent till she was KOed.

Up and down and left and right. What was the difference between any of them? The Frenchwoman had lost all sense of orientation amidst the sudden whirlwind. Her head was weightless, light as a feather in the swelling numbness that connected her and Sabrina beyond the thin red line of viscosity straining between their mutually discolored crowns.

The silence in the air only complemented the white haze that had overtaken Margaux’s gaze. Her eyes couldn’t recognize anything, her fingers were tightly clenched into fists inside of her gloves, her breaths had become erratic and feral. The Momentum audience had no clue what to make of any of it. Compared to the Friction and Tension arenas, the lifeblood that flowed through these halls were not only younger, but sourced from an entirely different sport. This wasn’t the kind of violence they were used to tuning into on their televisions, following on their stupid little social outlets.

This was the real world. And Margaux could paint a bright canvas upon Ms. Anderson’s body.

There was only the face of a scraggly-haired blonde and the unquenchable desire to turn every inch of flesh into malleable red mush. Once, twice, thrice. She lost count of the impacts after the fourth. All she felt was a liquid warmth flowing free either on the surface or just beneath. The difference didn’t matter to her. She lived for this moment, the utter destruction of another in such a way that even the passion was transcended. Whatever she endured, it had to have been worse for Sabrina.

Stabbing pain in her side woke her from her bloodshed stupor. A blow to the kidney. She knew right away. But how? Her adversary shouldn’t have been conscious. Through the foggy haze of white came the blonde’s beautifully marred face, hardened and confident as ever. The resolute defiance in those magnificent purple eyes was the last she could see before her head lulled to face the floor for a long and painful moment. Vertigo and nausea dominated her senses for the briefest instant in time. That would have been enough to turn the tide for some. Only some.

When her head came back up, it was with a wide grin and even wider eyes an inch from Sabrina’s face. Close enough to touch noses and taste the heat off her tongue. The sweltering temperature bent the tiny pockets of air around them, hazing what lay between their predatory eyes.

“Again, Sabrina.” Margaux chambered an arm back and sent a stiff punch into the American’s stomach. “Better.”

God fucking damn it, did this bitch ever stop!? Sabrina was pretty sure her fucking nose was broken by this point considering the tender cartilage beneath and the amount of blood spilling from her nostrils. Her face wasn't in the worst condition aside from two swollen cheeks and quite the work about when it came down to her bloody forehead, but she was still standing all the while. She didn't want to admit it, but this was probably going down as a loss on her record. A damn shame in her eyes, but she wasn't going to let this French Poodle of a whore get the idea that she was a quitter. If she was going down, she wanted to make sure her opponent knew very well what it had to take to bring her the fuck down.

Still...

A part of her honestly lived for the underground.

She couldn't give a damn for normal rules or the likes of professional matches. They were fun, well-paying, but they never gave her that thrill. In the underground, you fought for more than just money. You were fighting for your life... Even as Margaux smashed that skull of hers into Sabrina's face, it was leagues above the likes of pro-matches. This type of pain, this excitement welled up within, and even the rage that danced across her body.

It was fucking awesome.

Still, Sabrina had managed to rouse her insane opponent from her little headbutt fest with one well-placed shot aimed straight for the woman's kidney. She could feel her leather dig in, muscles bulging outward as she twisted her glove in for good measure. She grinned at Margaux the moment the woman was left facing her before the Frenchwoman's lulled right to the floor.

"Win or not, you sure as hell don't get off without me staring you down, French Poodle," Sabrina growled out like the mongrel she was. Openly defying her opponent even with her very position in this match hardly stopping those violet eyes from hers from being so violent just as they were beautiful to many.

She met the woman's insatiable wide grin and eyes with but an almost feral grin, one filled with blood pooling in her gums.

Eat shit and die, Margaux," It was strange how friendly that sounded just before Sabrina sputtered and gagged as Margaux hammered a blow deep into her already battered and wounded abdominals. She hunched over, wrapping her arms weakly around the French woman with her bare chest pressed firmly into Margaux's covered rack. Head pressed over her opponent's shoulder, she moaned softly as she tried to ignore the rumbling pain within her body, her very organs, collapsing.

Well, tonight was certainly an enchanting experience. She had such diminutive expectations, such little hope for anyone that believed they could stand in the same ring she’d dominated - nay, thrived for years atop her throne founded upon the very ferocity dwelling in each glove. What could some stupid American truly offer her?

She should have known better than anyone, no?

Margaux leaned her head back and bathed in the pale light casting upon their battered visages. Over just the span of a single breath, the world seemed to slow to a crawl. She finally had time to savor the aching sores in her muscles, the pain screaming out in her arms set aflame from the inside out and crying for relief. The heat sweltering from their mingling bodies sapped the last reserves of energy away from her body. The wobble in her knees and the trembling in her throat playing on the back of her tongue like a rapid metronome. Scars of battle etched themselves deep into her, beneath the blood and discolored patches of irritated flesh to touch her heart and lungs, every vital organ with that killer intent. Sabrina truly moved her to the core. She felt oddly content with admitting that.

When that moment of refrain passed, Margaux found herself focusing again on the woman over her shoulder. The Frenchwoman's glove grabbed the back of the blonde's head, pulling Sabrina back and bringing her face to face with the violent Madame, that long and sickly smile there to greet her dreary American friend.

"After you, my dear." She whispered and sent a jab into her throat.

The puncturing sensation in her throat would leave her stumbling, but she wouldn't go far. Margaux was already winding up, clenching her fist tight into her glove and drawing back her arm close against her. Her body lashed forward like a crashing wave, her arm the magnificent crescent that would punch the underside of Sabrina's jaw with a fierce uppercut- her complete finisher, Gargouille. The force, should it find its target, would send the American out between the middle and top ropes in a loving fall to the only slightly forgiving floor below.

Her final resting place.

God, everything was sore.

That was probably the only thing she could honestly describe the current status of her body. Everything was sore. Her muscles were on fire. Her legs wobbled and struggled to keep her body afloat. A part of her was disappointed in herself. Honestly, how the hell could she only go this far against such an opponent like this? A bitch like this deserved her at her best and she could only manage barely what she was capable of. Sabrina wasn't going to tell herself that she lost because she 'held' back. That would have been a lie and disrespect to anyone in the underground. No. She lost because she should have welcomed this. She should have thrived right back in the mud and blood where she belonged.

However, for all of that, Sabrina was content to say that despite being a 'rich' little prissy whore...

Margaux was anything but that. She could see it. Smell it. She FELT it in every blow they exchanged. Her opponent was like her. Something clawing their way up from the streets and marking something for themselves. For Sabrina? She just did whatever she did because she enjoyed it. For Margaux? If anything, she was sure this chick was insane.

Either way, she felt oddly at peace resting against the slightly taller woman. Drooling across her shoulder quietly as every muscle in her body screamed, especially around the discolorations that painted her face, she closed her eyes for a moment.

Eventually, she was pushed back a little, the back of her head wrenched back by her beautiful opponent. No, it was better to say her equal in that regard. She was happy to say that she was glad Margaux was her fight here. She was a REAL fight. A REAL battle. Something nobody around here might be able to offer from the streets once more. Face to face with the French maniac, Sabrina smiled drowsily through her slightly swollen cheeks just before she gagged loudly, eyes going wide as Margaux popped her throat with a jab.

She stumbled back, her body ready to meet the ropes, but there was more to it than just that. Despite all the numbness and aches in her body, Sabrina could still feel that very last blow. A blow from below that plowed straight into her mandible, rocking her head upward and firing off a spray of bloody spittle high into the air. However, that wasn't all there was to it. She slipped back, her body landing right beneath the top rope as she slid off the middle rope at last. Her form slammed down upon the only slightly if only, forgiving floor.

Landing flat onto her front, her body lax, every inch of her frame stopping as she breathed quietly, it was clear to everyone what this was. As she drooled blood from the side of her mouth, that was all any ref needed to determine the victor of this match.

Sabrina was KOed.

Margaux finally felt it. The life gushing out.  The impact resounded from one side of the arena to the other, bouncing off the walls as the shockwave echoed out from its epicenter eclipsed around Margaux’s closed fist. Her eyes looked to the heavenly lights above. She need not bear witness to the rabid beast’s descent to realize its ultimate fate. Margaux had been in this position long enough to tell the signs and feel that final breath of life at the moment before unconsciousness. The vibrations from the blonde bruiser's tumble outside of the ring shook the ropes and sent tremors beneath Margaux’s boots. The final crash against the floor rang against her ears. The corner of the Frenchwoman’s busted lip curled upward in a knowing smile. Sabrina was gone.

The final gong of the bell assured her victory. Ravenous applause and bloodthirsty shouts broke out all around them. Only then did Margaux finally lower her mighty glove and leave her arms to dangle at either side. Burning sweat dripped from every pore and dripped from the end of her chin, washed over the bruises of her cheeks and the cuts on her arms. Pain like no other dominated every sense and nerve that still electrified in her battered body. She closed her eyes and took a couple of breaths. It was close. Very close. Margaux knew that before she threw her last punch.

It was a ferocious venture and she had been met with resistance at every turn. Sabrina had durability that only a select few would regard as even remotely natural. Beyond that, she was stubborn, focused, rugged, half-tinged with an earthly bloodlust. It was as if Margaux had slipped into an alternate reality and forced to combat her less refined, American doppelganger that preferred to make her way her fists rather than her acumen. In a less...formal setting, this match could have gone very differently. It had been a while since the pinkette had suffered a fractured skull, but she had confidence that Sabrina’s blows could make do with another five minutes and a ground made of pavement.

She pondered that thought...

Sachiko, for her part, just wanted this night to be fucking over. The striped woman had all sorts of concern written on her face as she dove back into the ring and hurried to Margaux’s side. The medics were already making their way down the ramp to Sabrina. She might have a pretty bad concussion from that fall from looks alone. God damn it, she wasn’t even moving. If she ends up-

Where the fuck is Margaux? Sachiko looked left, right, then back to the left to find the Frenchwoman already through the ropes, stepping down to the ring floor at Sabrina’s side. A nurse attempting to aid the American suddenly felt a chill at her back. She looked over her shoulder and up at the bloodstained visage smiling back down at her. Margaux pushed her away with little resistance, giving her a full view of her defeated opponent. There was a mix of admiration and fascination in her mismatched eyes. It was impossible for anyone except the woman herself to know what she was thinking for certain, save for the destruction they’d wrought and the blood staining every inch of the ring.

The pink ravager reached down and slipped an arm underneath Sabrina, hauling her up and onto her shoulder with a final feat of superior strength for the masses to feast their eyes upon. It would be the last sight they would see of the two as the Madame carried her quarry off into the dark, never to be seen again.

Le Fin.