Sally and Alissa had been doing this dance for far too long. Both in a broad sense and in this specific moment that they found themselves in; their rivalry had lasted longer than either cared to remember, and this fight had lasted long enough than neither could remember much of anything at all; each was bruised and staggering between their slow, predictable and nonetheless brutal punches.




Neither was quick on their swing, but they were even slower to dodge by now, so it had reached the point that neither was trying to. They were stood, barely, face to face, eyes locked like the horns of stags, trading punch for punch; tit for tat.




Boxers might take breaks between bouts to clear their heads, and ensure that they weren't suffering any chronic injury from the blows to their heads. But to both Alissa and Sally, taking reprieve meant offering the same courtesy to one another, and the chances of that for either were as slim as the chances that either would be conscious at the stroke of midnight. Boxers would also be wearing gloves for it, and few would find themselves in the fifteenth round quite so often as these two did.




There was something about the way their disdain drove them headlong into one another...the way their hatred boiled over whenever they so much as saw one another...the way their utter loathing and spite kept them battling long after their bodies might've otherwise capitulated. The almost superhuman feats that they drove one another to in the heights of their despicable depravity and violence; the equal exchange of such incredible pain at the behest of nothing short of complete and overriding abhorrence of their counterpart.




To think so strongly about one another, to be so consumed by one's feelings of each other to the point of obsession, and for those feelings to be such a deep and complete revulsion, neigh, fury. What each would not give to see the other in a beaten and bloody mess upon the floor, without word and without movement; each would give enough of themselves to risk the same. Each often did.




Even with bloody hands, faces and hazy vision, Sally threw another seed of concussion which planted itself on Alissa's jaw, leaving behind a sapling of bloody marks and bruising flesh. Generous as she was, she knew that a gift of equal passion would vindicate her actions, when Alissa sowed the same upon her, and it was swiftly sowed back upon her. Each ploughing themselves into one another...literally sometimes...physically and mentally both. It wasn't just whose body could withstand the other; it was whose will could outlast the others.




But neither could have it any other way; nothing could sate them save for the suffering and destruction of their counterpart and with every blow traded in aid of that destruction each felt fulfilled with their spilt blood, even as it mixed with their own. Their faces fell together with a clonk and their scarlet red lips met, tongues lashing out to mulch the blood that ran from their gums like rivers down the Andes into their hated enemy's mouth.




Wolf and Squirrel's teeth clattered against one another in the sloppy and very bloody snog, as their fists looked south towards their opponents guts and became to migrate thus. Without the strength or space for a full windup the blood began weakly and barely provoked grunts in the two combatants, but as a rhythm was struck, soon, anchored at the mouth, the pair were working upon one another like pistons, eyes open all the while, even as they screwed up and filled with tears.




As long as Alissa was conscious, Sally wouldn't look away, no chance to strike, no sign of retreat, no concession for pain. Just the same for Alissa, it didn't matter how unbearable it became, and it became pretty unbearable once their already raw and sore tits came crashing together with the weight of their slowly fading bodies. It was pain enough to have them cry out into one another's mouth, spitting blood in profusion all over each others face, equal parts Alissa's and Sally's, but it wasn't enough for them to look away.




Leaning forward until their foreheads met and all they could see were the weeping eyes of one another, fists still sluggishly brutalizing one another below, but all of their focus was on the other's eyes.




'Fall damn you. Fall.'




The sudden withdrawal of their heads from one another was a blur, and finally their eye contact broke.




A grunt. A surge forward with eyes closed. A hollow clonk that resounded through their skulls as they came back together, forcefully. A dizzied moment of falling like a sack of potatoes and a thump of hitting the ground bloodily. A groan as darkness enclosed and the pain faded into obscurity with only one thing remaining clear.




Defeat.