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There was a sudden, metallic bite that infiltrated into his mouth as blood began to pour from Deon's nose. It was impossible to hear over the incessant noise of the crowd, but he could definitely feel the cartilage collapsing in on itself, bending and twisting in ways the flexible, connective tissue was never meant to. Deon had barely gotten the look of surprise off his face before the woman's knee connected with his stomach and though she held a great amount of power in those thin legs, it simply wasn't enough to penetrate past the dense, corded muscle to relieve the wind from his lungs.

He staggered back a few steps, finally given a chance to think as he raised his head up slowly to connect his yellow eyes with the female's impossible blues across from him and split his lips into a bloody smile. Taking a moment, Deon used his tongue to gather what blood he could from his mouth and like a practiced art form, spat it out onto the floor between the two of them.

"You fucking bitch!" Deon laughed out, not at all angry that she had bested him in the beginning and then, in a gesture that was nothing short than complete disrespect and mockery, Deon bent his body over at his torso, ignoring the small, throb of pain from where her knee had collided into him and mimicked a half-assed bow like he was some sort of gentleman.

[i]"Have I got your attention, baby?"[/i]

This elicited another laugh from Deon, amusement despite the increasing throb of pain from his nose as blood continued to mix in with his sweat-matted skin.

"You know... sneaking into the back room and waiting for me naked would have done the same thing." he suggested, using the back of his arm in an attempt to wipe the blood still streaming from his nose before extending out his now bloodied arm, hand palm-up as he beckoned her towards him. "But let's see what ya got anyway. Bit of daddy issues hidden behind those blue eyes? One time too much for him to force himself inside you before daddy's little princess snapped and decided 'no more'?" Deon smirked and dropped his arm, standing there in the open seemingly defenseless as he shook his head, as though he pitied her in the story he fabricated on the spot.

Elizabeth enjoyed watching him bleed. The red, glistening as it mixed with the sweat that beaded across his body. She felt the look suited him... or maybe it was just her tendencies taking over... but with that big, arrogant grin plastered on his face, he almost looked like a badass. Almost. Another exhalation of air was taken as the hitman steadied her pulse, eyes boring into the man across from her as he babbled about 'daddy issues.' Why was it always, always, daddy issues? She'd thought he'd at least be more original. She made a halfhearted effort to chuckle, the small little burst of noise nothing compared to the crowd beyond the bars. A slow blink again shut her eyes to the world for just a second, before her head tilted ever so slightly to the left, the predatory, hungering look in her eye clouded by the contacts she wore.

"You talk too much."

Three quick steps was all it took for Elizabeth to close the distance. Putting the equally tall fighters within each others reach, the teal haired woman's right foot flew up, no feint masking the leg as it struck out low towards his left knee, coiled muscles adding speed as the hunter again timed her strikes to the beating of the heart. Pulse one. Momentum, built up from such a forward approach, was what gifted both speed and power to her left fist, and as it came up, the crowd could see Deon's first strike mirrored as it flew towards his jaw, timed perfectly in the split moment between heartbeats. Pulse two saw the kicking leg touch ground, balance shifting as the other leg coiled between the fighters, lashing out to put the distance between them. It was an age old tactic. Close the distance, land the combos, make some space. Over and over, it had won Elizabeth fights; over and over, it had set her up. But now, she was in a cage. There was only so much distance she could put. And she saw that a little too late.

Nothing short of experience kept Deon's body upright as the girl began to wail down on him, determined to shut him up or some other shit that he didn't particularly care about. He'd let her have her fun. Hell, maybe he'd even draw it out for a whole three rounds. The crowd was liking the show enough as his ears were ringing in a high-pitched frequency but he didn't care much for the crowd now. All there was, was him and her, opponents locked in a match that had his blood pumping hot. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so exhilarated despite the growing aches and pains coming from his body.

Finally, he had his chance. Her leg was attempting to put distance between them - a tactic he knew from others who used the 'hit and run' fighting style. Well he wasn't going to have it. His body moved with hers as she fell back, using his own momentum to wrap his arms around her thin frame and as he continued to push forward, twisted her body and pulled her back flush against his chest, his thick arms trapping her own between their bodies. Continuing his motion, he sent the both of them in a small spin, gathering up enough centripetal force until Deon had the woman's back slamming down onto the mat, his body falling with hers though he had enough time to plan to stick his leg out and keep him from landing on her body completely, putting only an inch or two between them as he hovered over her.

Blood from his nose began to drip down onto her face as he issued her another, cocky smile, his arms making sure he had her upper body pinned.

"You know, cunts like you should just learn to stay on your backs."

For the fewest of moments, Elizabeth didn't even try to think or struggle, the pain all across her back sending waves through her body while her head pulsed from the collision. He had, admittedly, surprised her. The swings had all connected so beautiful, had spurred her lust for violence to the point she was on high. It hadn't hit home that he could counterstrike until she'd already been laid out, the moment lost in a blur of muscles and tension. And now, here she was, pinned down by her own self indulgence. It felt all the more exhilarating.

She could feel him above her as much as see him. His breathing, the tempo off beat, his heat, sweat dripping down his skin and onto her clothing. His blood, crimson as it fell onto her cheek. It was... intimate, to say the least, a moment she capitalized on by narrowing her eyes, looking sultry almost as she soaked in his words. The tension around them could almost be felt by the crowd, but in one swift moment, it was cut in half. She began to laugh. Soft, low, nearly inaudible, but all the same, the beginnings of a chuckle formed on her lips, head angling to the left as it grew. She felt alive, dragged into the moment with the greatest of enthusiasm. And as the crowd leaned in to figure out what exactly was going on, her head snapped forward, the laugh stopped abruptly as she made to smash Deon's nose yet again, her right foot sliding up as a knee went for below the belt.

It was apparent he'd expected the headbutt - it was an easy dodge on his part. But these men had a secret code of honor in the ring, whether they realized it or not, like what not to hit, and Elizabeth had no qualms. The satisfaction she felt as kneecap met soft flesh was vast.

Deon's eyes slammed shut as pain flooded from his nether regions and into his brain, rendering him unable to move for a few short seconds. He held it together, however, only eliciting a quick intake in breath followed by an aggravated groan as his body slumped off of hers, rolling over onto his back next to her and then over onto his side. His hand, by male habit, moving to check himself over through his pants as though that would help to numb the pain.

"Man," Deon wheezed out, though his deep growl of pain slowly receded into a pained-laugh as he rolled back over onto his back. "you're all about the cheap shots, today. Aren't you?" It was unclear in his voice whether he was bashing, or complimenting her tactics though the Cheshire Cat worthy grin that spread across his face afterwards pointed towards the latter.

Few things illustrated pain better than facial expressions. The one on Deon's face was priceless. But what Elizabeth enjoyed most was the sense of freedom as his fat ass rolled off, releasing her with a loud groan of agony. The casual manner in which Elizabeth simply leaned up, pushing up to stand as if getting out a chair, simply rubbed salt in the wound.  All around the metal caging, men whooped and hollered, the women clapping while an occasional boo sounded for the low blow. Even Elizabeth had to admit, the atmosphere was... intoxicating. Trotting away with the confidence of a lion, each step was carefully placed before the other as she began to circle to finish her 'kill,' rolling her shoulders while she locked her hands together, cracking the knuckles in the iconic manner of showboat fighters.

"I have to say, you did surprise me." The huntress turned around, her eyes gazing hungrily at Deon with a half hooded appearance, a glaze over them due to the contacts. "I was expecting to take a few real hits. It's disappointing, really." It was her turn to shake her head in mock shame, a hand on each hip as she cocked her head to the side. "Who knew it would take a woman to turn you into a bitch." The slightest of smirks chanced across her face as she watched Deon, before what seemed to be confusion took its turn on her features. A light flutter of eyelashes, and her left hand was raised almost dramatically to her cheek, touching where Deon's blood ran down her features. Her eyes never left him as she began to smear the blood in a line, moving in an arc down towards her chin as the crimson formed a mark on her flesh. The flair with which her wrist twisted at the end, bringing her bloodstained fingers between her line of sight and Deon, was the touch of an actress, and as the smile on her face grew, she glared at Deon over the top of her hand.

"Let's finish this, showboy."

Deon had propped himself up on his elbows, his bare abdomen muscles flexing to keep him upright as he watched, and listened to her showboat around [i]his[/i] arena with a mock grin on his face. The pain was all but pushed into the back of his mind, his thoughts instead focusing on the confident girl in front of him who truly was a lot more than she seemed. He had faced women in the right before though not very often. The majority of them were 'roided up dykes with nose piercings and shaved heads with tattoo sleeves and fishy-smelling breath. He wasn't sure where the hell [i]this[/i] one had come from, but he was glad for the encounter. She was a lot like him, however, and that posed as a problem. There could only be [i]one[/i] cocky, arrogant, badass, mother-fucking cage fighter.

"Ooohh, baby girl..." Deon responded, dragging out his words a short while as he shook his head. Supporting himself with his arms, Deon kicked his legs back a bit, his back rolling up against the mat towards his neck and with a quick kick and a strengthened push from the palms of his hands, Deon was back on his feet, standing straight from his bended-knees and extended out both of his arms as he faced her. "We've only just started."

It was his turn. He was done playing the cat-and-mouse game. He had taken her attacks, biding his time, having fun, but the bitch was right - it was time to end this. He had a reputation to keep up, after all.

He took a moment to bounce on the balls of his feet, swinging his arms around a bit to warm up his muscles, a sly grin creeping over his face as he simply watched her, reveling in the fact that she had no idea what sort of pain was in store for her. Then, he anchored down one foot after the other, his torso bending and using the built-up energy in his feet, took off like a bullet with the strength of his calves propelling him forward. No hesitancy. No showboating. This was going to hurt.

As the lights turned out, everything from bright light to pitch black, Elizabeth had enough time for one word. 

"Fuck."

The cage door swung open, the metal creaking on it's rusty hinges managing to reach Deon's ears through the sounds of panic from within the room and his fists colliding with whatever part of the body they could find in the darkness. He didn't care how, or why the lights went out. The bar fuckers probably didn't pay their electric bill again or something. Power outages weren't all that uncommon at The Spit... which gave Deon just the right amount of experience to continue the fight - whether the patrons were able to watch or not. The cage was his throne, he knew every nook and cranny better than the back of his hand, splitting, bloody knuckles and all. He had oftentimes heard those betting against him that if he was so good, why not fight blindfolded? Well... this was essentially the same thing.

"Darth. DARTH!"

A pair of strong arms wrapped themselves underneath and around Deon's shoulders, pulling him off of the bitch he had sights on to kill. He knew the voice - all too well it seemed as the moment it reached his ears, he could feel his drive of blood-lust fading. Like losing an erection because something reminded you of your mom, or, something like that. The arms, however, didn't belong to the short, portly man that called himself Deon's manager which only meant he had found some bouncer jackass to do all the heavy lifting for him.

"The fuck you on about, Cal? The fight's still good!" Deon protested, jerking himself out of the grasp of the bouncer to stand on his own two feet again.

"Shut yer yap, Muhammad Al-Asshole. We got a BoD agent here an' 'ntil I figure out what the hell she wants, you're done!"

Describing what it's like to be hit by a freight train...it's painful, to be put plainly. But it didn't matter how much the swings hurt, with the base of her neck throbbing, her ribs aching, and her shoulder likely dislocated, Elizabeth could still move when she heard 'BoD." Three cursed letters that shouldn't ever be strung together. From her place hunkering against the cage, arms thrown protectively over her face, thought didn't even exist as the hitman ducked down and to the left of the voices, legs carrying her with haste a she crouched in the corner and began to feel around. Props to her for wearing a black leather jacket. Hand met fabric, and with a groan due to a newly earned ache in her hip, legs pushed her up against the metal as she felt her way along and to the door. The panic didn't register, nor the cries of Darth and his crew. All that mattered was getting into the crowd, and out of sight. Then, maybe, she could rest.