As a pair of FAWN ringside staffers (figuratively speaking, anyway) pull the rope ladder out of the pit, Bloodwind regards her enemy with contempt. Rather than directly petition for a rematch with the Tempe Temptress, de Cyr had decided to take her subsequent opponents and not only beat them, but injure and bloody them--and make Juliet understand their blood was on her hands. Then she tried to take what should have been the greatest moment of Juliet's best friend's career--reclaiming the FAWN title--and ruin it, no doubt adding Shea to her list of victims if de Cyr had been allowed to have her way.

But there was something else Juliet felt as she glared at the Frenchwoman across the pit: confidence. Juliet was the one woman in FAWN who could unreservedly claim to own a clean victory over Anciline, and on Anciline's own terms, to boot. Now, she had de Cyr fighting her on her terms--in a 6 foot deep pit, out under the New Mexico sun just after noon, a thin sheet of canvas covering the dirt ground below. The only way to win: to beat your opponent into unconsciousness. No pinfalls. No disqualifications. And no submissions, save one: trying to climb out of the pit. Any attempt to leave the pit would be to surrender in shame and retreat.

For her part, at least, Juliet would sooner be crippled by this French bitch than surrender in shame that way.

As for Anciline, her inscrutable face did not betray her thoughts... but no doubt Bloodwind could guess what they were anyway.

If she had her own choice, this would not have been the circumstances she would have chosen for their rematch. Battling like savages in a pit beneath the desert sun was as far removed from de Cyr's environs as anything imaginable. But these were the Native American's terms, and the Frenchwoman agreed to meet them.

Because it would make no difference... Anciline will destroy this detritus sans valeur before the sun sets. Let Bloodwind live the rest of her injustifie life with the cursed knowledge that she met total, abject defeat on the battlefield of her own choosing.

The signal to begin given from above, Juliet and Anciline dispense with caution, both charging the other. But instead of locking up, Juliet catches the advancing Frenchwoman with a quick hiptoss, sending de Cyr skidding across the ground, the extremely thin mat offering her back and backside little protection. With a slight wince, Anciline pushes herself up, and charges at Juliet again. But for a second time, Bloodwind manages a hiptoss that sends de Cyr tumbling away in the opposite direction, Juliet's fans cheering and laughing.

Her wince turning into a scowl, Anciline rises, and approaches her rival, much more slowly this time. And at last, the two bitter enemies lock up once again.

Both modern day Amazons strain their bodies against one another, every muscle coiled. Each knows a dozen different ways of shifting into an offensive maneuver that would throw the other back... but that is not their intent. For them, this is a simple... almost primitive... struggle for control, using only their brute strength.

The two of them, so evenly matched in size and strength, throw their all into the contest. Teeth gritted, brows furrowed, curses hissed. And then, slowly yet steadily, one wrestler begins to bend back at the waist.

Juliet shuts her eyes tight and draws upon her inner reserves to halt her backward decline. Her body trembles as she commands it to defy the leverage being employed against her, and to turn the tide. And suddenly, she begins to do just that! To the cheers of her partisans, she forces herself upright, and then begins to force de Cyr backward. It seems almost too easy.

Too easy...

Anciline sees the light of understanding just beginning to flicker in her rival's eyes, and she knows she has perhaps half a second before the Indian realizes what is truly happening here. With lightning-fast speed, the blond suddenly ceases her struggling, letting Bloodwind force her backward. And with one deft move, the Frenchwoman hooks the brunette's arm and, using Juliet's own strength and momentum against her, flips her over!

As the Tempe Temptress sails through the air, perhaps she has just enough time to register the realization that the whole thing had been a trap. But whatever thoughts she does have in her head are quickly replaced by a jolt of pain as she lands hard on the ground, the canvas absorbing nothing.

Within heartbeats, Bloodwind is pushing the pain out of her mind and ordering her body to move, to get up off of the ground. But she does not even begin to react before de Cyr is there. With a roar, the blond simultaneously lands a kneedrop squarely to her opponent's forehead while also driving a double axe handle blow into Juliet's belly.

Grabbing her stunned adversary by the hair and pulling her up to a seated position, the French grappler sneers, "How perfectly pa�en you look in your warpaint, Cheri. By match's end, I too shall wear such markings upon my face... but they will be from your own blood!"

Rising to her feet, Anciline drags Juliet up with her by her handhold upon the Native American's black mane, but then deposits Bloodwind back onto the ground with a suplex, the brunette's back arching violently from the impact.

And again, she is hauled back up to her unsteady legs, and this time is Irish whipped. In a ring, she would bound off of the steel cables... but there are no ropes here, only the unyielding limestone walls of the pit, which Juliet slams into face-first. Dazed, she staggers backward, awkwardly turning to face her foe... and walks straight into a standing dropkick!

The blow sends the brunette hurtling backward into the pit wall again, the back of her skull smashing into the stone with a heavy thud. Eyes glazed and rolling, Bloodwind totters forward several steps before collapsing in a heap to the floor of the pit.

Mounting the back of her foe, Anciline grabs Juliet by the chin and yanks her head back, the shock of pain to her spine snapping the Native American somewhat out of her fog. But this is a mixed blessing, as it means she is cognizant of what comes next.

With an almost maniacal gleam in her eye, the Frenchwoman's hands maul the face of her adversary; one hand pulls her jaw in one direction while the other gouges into her flesh and yanks in the opposite direction. The intent seems to be to not merely inflict pain, but also to mar Bloodwind's beauty forever, to ravage her noble majesty. The scream that rips from the Indian's throat sends chills up the spines of all present... save one.

Anciline merely smiles.

Bloodwind continues to cry out, her hands gripping Anciline's, trying to pry herself free of the Frenchwoman's clutches. But de Cyr simply will not have it. Juliet's torment ends only when the taller blonde shoves the battered beauty away, the brunette crashing face down to the pit floor. Before she can try to push herself to her hands and knees, though, Anciline places her right foot on the back of the Native American's head, and roughly grinds her face into the extremely thin sheet of canvas.

Below the Frenchwoman, Juliet's body writhes and thrashes as the rough surface just below the barely there padding abrades her face. Above them both, the gathered masses shower the aristocrat with vociferous jeers and boos. Finally tiring of this sport, de Cyr eases her foot off of Bloodwind's skull, and roughly helps the Tempe Temptress back to her feet by her dark tresses.

Her smile growing in satisfaction at her rival's disheveled and disoriented appearance, de Cyr takes her by the wrist, and whips her toward the limestone wall one more time. But perhaps she was unwise to return to that well so soon, for somehow, Bloodwind manages to plant her feet, and it is she who sends Anciline rushing into the wall of the pit.

"Oooph!" de Cyr exhales as her stomach and chest strike unyielding earth, her ample bosom momentarily squished against the wall. Before Anciline can do anything else, though, Juliet's body crashes into her back, splashing her into the wall, and drawing a longer, louder moan from the French blonde's lips. Juliet uses her weight to keep her foe pinned against the wall, and then uses her hand to repay the indignity de Cyr had just visited on her moments ago, the Native America shoving Anciline's face into the wall before rubbing it back and forth.

Juliet steps back just enough to allow de Cyr to stumble away from the wall and back into her, a small trickle of blood dripping from her lower lip. "Maybe it's YOUR blood that I'LL wear when this night is through," she whispers maliciously into the Frenchwoman's ear, and then swings her arm around de Cyr's throat. She pulls Anciline's head back, arching the noblewoman's back, thrusting her impressive bosom out to the appreciation of the fans.

Juliet then falls backward, driving the back of Anciline's head into the mat with a textbook scorpion death drop.

And just like that, Anciline de Cyr was a splayed heap, motionless save for the occasional twitch and spasm of an arm or leg. Beside her, Juliet sat with a broad grin, delighted at having been able to weather her adversary's initial storm. Shifting to her knees, for the benefit of her fans--who cheered loudly--Bloodwind made a dramatic show of fashioning her right hand into a claw.

And then she sank that claw into Anciline's belly.

In the space of hearbeats, the French beauty goes from semi-conscious to vividly alert, thanks to the grueling pain being inflicted upon her abdomen. If applied properly, the abdominal claw both paralyzes its victim from the agony while simultaneously exhausting their strength. And Bloodwind's application, much to Anciline's distress, is textbook perfect.

"Mon Dieu... mon ventre ! Ah, mon ventre ! Faites-lui l'arr�t!" howls de Cyr as her body spasmodically thrashes... there was no deliberate rhyme nor reason to the wildly erratic movements... from the punishment. But there is no mercy from the Native American, whose grim visage betrays no spark of pity as she whispers heavily, "That's it, de Cyr... fight it. Struggle. Give yourself some flicker of hope, so that I can snuff it out!" The blonde's response is a long, pitiable whine.

All sensation in her fingers gone numb and her hands starting to tremble from the exertion, Juliet releases her deadly clawhold at last, and de Cyr's sucks in air. But the Frenchwoman has no respite from the thrashing as her foe grabs her by her hair, now matted with sweat, and brings Anciline back to her feet. Bloodwind then deftly sets about locking her adversary in an Abdominal Stretch... but then modifies it into an Octopus Stretch, lifting her leg and wrapping it around de Cyr's head to better bend it back, thus adding to the Indian's already crippling leverage!

Again, the blond screams. And between pained pants of air, she gasps, "Vous me... cassez... dans ... a moitie!" Juliet gives a mirthless smile and says, "I'll do more than break you in half, you callous bitch. I'll prove to you and the world that I'm twice the wrestler you are! Comprenez?"

Anciline's lower lip, flecked with her own blood, quivers, and as the clock ticks from one minute into two and into three in the devastating hold, tears begin to trickle from the corners of her eyes, despite her best efforts to contain them. Finally... inevitably... the power seems all-but-drained from her lush figure, and she begins to slump within her rival's grasp. Bloodwind releases the hold, and de Cyr drops to her knees with a groan.

She could end this now, the Native American knows. But she hasn't gotten her bloodlust for the Frenchwoman out of her system yet, so instead of taking Anciline out of the fight once and for all, Juliet grabs her under the arms and hauls her back up to her feet; were it not for the brunette's physical support of her, de Cyr would immediately collapse back to the floor of the pit.

And the blond certainly presents a sight that brings joy to her opponent's heart. Her regal bearing is stripped away, with blood smeared beneath her mouth, her mascara streaked by her tears, her body soaked with sweat, and her right breast having fallen free of its bustier. At this moment, Anciline de Cyr presents an image that is far removed from the deadly warrior of FAWN legend.

"I've been thinking," the Tempe Temptress coos to her dazed rival. "I had to scale your Olympian heights to beat you the first time in the penthouse, and now you had to crawl down here into the pit to lose again. That's an interesting metaphor, don't y'think, Anci?"

With a voice heavy with anguish but still majestically defiant, the European wearily says, "What... I think... is this: You speak too much."

And to punctuate her reply, Anciline drives her head forward, slamming it into Bloodwind's forehead for a crude but devastating headbutt! Juliet staggers back several steps, shaking her head to try and clear the sudden fog away. For a moment, it looks as if de Cyr is about to fall to the canvas, but instead she suddenly marshals her last dregs of strength and delivers a Shortarm Clothesline that nearly decapitates Bloodwind, and sends her crashing to the unforgiving mat with a heavy thud.

Knowing she needs time to regroup, but that she cannot also allow her foe that same time to do likewise, de Cyr cannily applies an Ankle Lock to Bloodwind, immobilizing the Native American with a minimum of exertion while simultaneously inflicting tremendous pain upon her.

But it is not enough pain to satisfy the French battler. No, not nearly enough.

Juliet's screams are piercing as de Cyr twists her ankle clockwise, then counterclockwise, and then clockwise again. Instinctively, the Native American stretches her right arm out in front of her, searching for the ropes... ropes that it took her a second to remember did not exist in this match. The only way she could save herself from this or any other move was to actually fight her way out of it.

But another savage turn of her ankle quells any ability to fight her way out of anything for the moment, Bloodwind reaching for and tugging at her own pigtails, as well as biting her lower lip to keep from screaming anymore. Finally, she manages to kick her free left leg back, the blow catching Anciline in the shin just hard enough to force her to drop Bloodwind's other leg. As quickly as she can, the Tempe temptress pushes herself back to her feet, gingerly testing her aching right ankle.

Anciline interrupts those tests, however, by driving her shoulder into the back of the brunette's left knee. As Bloodwind's shapely left gam is knocked out from under her, all her weight is transferred to her right leg--and her wounded right ankle. With a howl, Juliet crashes to the thin canvas, curling up as both hands clutch her throbbing ankle.

Brushing Juliet's hands away, de Cyr rolls her opponent onto her back, then lifts her left leg by the ankle. Assuming a wide-legged stance, Anciline bears down, stretching Juliet's left leg away from her body, and sets to work on twisting and turning this ankle as well. But de Cyr does not forget about the other leg, as she bears her left foot down on Bloodwind's tenderized right ankle, both stretching out that leg and inflicting further punishment on the joint.

And also preventing Juliet from using her legs to escape this time.

Juliet sits up off the canvas, her shrieks of agony renewed as de Cyr's efforts combine to torture her ankles and hyperextend her hamstrings. "Priez," Anciline commands, knowing her opponent understands her. "Grovel like the paysan you are. Rampez, and I might show you some pitie."

Juliet's one concession to the anguish the bigger blonde is inflicting upon her is to raise her arms pleadingly, but no requests for mercy escape her lips. Anciline gives her left ankle one final, vicious twist, before shoving the leg away, easing her weight off Bloodwind's right ankle as she does so.

Mewling, Juliet rolls onto her stomach, and then slowly begins to push herself up to her hands and knees. She only just gets her arms under her, however, when Anciline places a boot in the cleft of the Native American's backside, and dismissively shoves her back to the ground. De Cyr towers above her, hands on hips, and though her right breast remains exposed, she has regained that unmistakable heir of supremacy that she was known and loathed for.

"Typical sauvage," the Frenchwoman sneers. "Too stupide to know when you are battu." Bending down, she entwines her fingers in Juliet's disheveled hair.

"So be it. That just makes this all the more satisfaire pour moi."

Her grip securely fastened upon Juliet's ebony mane, the blond drags her up to her feet, then leads her opponent on shaky legs over to the wall of the pit. This battlefield was dug specifically just for this battle, and the walls are of rough and jagged stone. It's damaging enough to simply be thrown into them... but far more malevolent to do what Anciline does now.

Holding Bloodwind by her pigtails, de Cyr begins to rake her face back and forth across the limestone. The Native American screams as her flesh is abraded again and again by the harsh rock. When the Frenchwoman finally throws her foe back to the canvas, all can see the blonde's handiwork, as bloody streaks are scratched across Juliet's beautiful face, and a trickle of crimson makes its way down her forehead.

But Anciline offers her adversary no respite. Pulling the dazed battler up into a sitting position, she undoes the clasp of Bloodwind's bikini halter and pulls it loose, freeing her breasts from their confinement.

Next, maneuvering the brunette so that she lays face-first upon the mat, de Cyr quickly goes to work, pulling the halter around Juliet's neck and crossing it over in the back, then placing her feet upon the back of the Indian's legs just above the knees, followed by hooking each of Bloodwind's feet behind the Frenchwoman's legs. Wrapping the ends of the halter-cum-garrote in her hands, Anciline finally grabs Juliet by the wrists and leans back, hoisting the Native American up into the air in a Mexican Surfboard, the strain on her limbs and shoulders exacerbated by the fabric wrapped tight around her throat, strangling her.

The Indian maiden's sweat-soaked skin glistens in the blazing desert sun as she is offered up much like a human sacrifice to some ancient deity in the sky, her face purpling as she gasps for oxygen, her eyes shut tight in a futile effort to block out the pain that tears through her joints. And it is to the gods of her forefathers that she prays for a miracle... else her sacrifice be in vain.

For several agonizing moments--both for Juliet and her fans--Anciline keeps the Tempe Temptress hoisted to the heavens. Bloodwind's gasps for oxygen grow increasingly ragged, and a thin line of drool begins to trickle down her right cheek. A miracle was indeed what the Native American needed--the only way out of this hold was the mercy of a woman who was renowned for her lack of that quality.

But however inhuman her absence of mercy might make her seem, Anciline is indeed merely flesh, blood and muscle. And muscles can and sometimes do tire and cramp, and finally de Cyr's finds the muscles in her arms and legs beginning to burn with fatigue. With a frustrated growl, she lets Juliet fall to the ground in a sweaty, moaning heap.

Rising, the Frenchwoman stands above her foe, patiently waiting as Juliet begins to drag herself forward across the canvas. Bloodwind begins to pulls herself up, using the aristocrat's legs to support herself. An arrogant smirk across her lips, Anciline reaches down and entwines her fingers in Juliet's hair...

And suddenly, Juliet sends a punch into de Cyr's midriff.

Anciline staggers backward, still keeping her firm grip of Bloodwind's raven tresses. Undeterred, Bloodwind sends a second punch to Anciline's belly, this one buckling the Frenchwoman's knees. Juliet pushes herself up from one knee to her feet, slamming a third fist into Anciline's gut.

The punch elicits a moan from the Frenchwoman's lips, but fails to stop her from slamming her forehead into Juliet's with another headbutt. This time, it's Juliet whose knees buckle, and Anciline makes the most of it. Pushing the pain in her belly out of her mind, Anciline dips down and scoops the Native American onto her shoulders. Holding her there, de Cyr begins to spin, around and around and around, picking up speed with each revolution.

After several turns, Anciline shoves the dizzied brunette off her shoulders, sending Juliet smashing face and chest first to the extremely thin canvas. Her own equilibrium thrown off by the airplane spin, Anciline takes a couple of unsteady strides, and then takes a tumble onto her backside.

But even as she sits on the ground, she appears in much better shape than the crumpled, mewling Native American sprawled on her belly a few feet away.

"I think it's time we bring these festivites to an appropriate apogee," Anciline mutters wickedly as she rises, and then advances on the weakly stirring Bloodwind. Again grabbing Juliet's raven tresses, she begins to drag the Native American back to her feet. To her credit, Juliet responds with another punch to the aristocrat's midsection. But Anciline brings that offensive to a quick, shrieking end by raking her fingernails across her foe's eyes.

Juliet immediately raises her hands to ease the burning sensation out of her eyes, but de Cyr will have none of it. With one quick motion, she pulls Bloodwind's arms back to her side, and then spins Juliet away from her. With the brunette's back to the Frenchwoman and her arms still at her sides, Anciline engulfs Juliet in her arms, her clinched fists digging just under Juliet's navel as she squeezes the bearhug even tighter. Juliet's head lolls backward against de Cyr's left shoulder, a loud, almost pleading moan escaping her lips.

Unfortunately for her, the worst is yet to come.

Lifting the captive brunette off her feet, Anciline charges toward the nearest limestone wall. With her arms pinned by the French blonde's bearhug, Juliet is unable to brace herself from the impact, and her face and exposed chest are driven into the jagged surface by 135lbs of French aristocrat at full speed. Juliet's moan transforms into a whimper as her oxygen is driven out of her lungs, first by the impact and then by another constriction of de Cyr's arms. With Juliet still in her merciless embrace, Anciline backs away a couple of steps, only to throw herself at the wall again, Bloodwind's scratched, bruised and glistening body once again.

This time, however, Anciline keeps Juliet mashed into the wall, and grinds the Tempe Temptress into the limestone. Bloodwind's eyes well with tears, the tender flesh of her face and boobs mauled by the wall of the pit. With each wipe of her foe's dishrag body, Anciline can feel more and more of the fight ebb out of Juliet. Pulling away from the wall again, Bloodwind's head droops toward her marred chest, each breath more difficult than the last.

"Please..." Juliet whimpers pitifully.

"Avec plaisir," de Cyr whispers into Juliet's ear, and then charges into the wall again. After grinding her into the wall for several seconds, Anciline steps back and finally lets go of her rival. Juliet's slick body sags back against Anciline's, and she would have certainly fallen to the ground if de Cyr merely stepped to the side. But instead, Anciline leans to her left, just enough to swing her right arm up and over Bloodwind's throat.

And then, taking a page out of the Native American's playbook, she plants the back of Juliet's head into the nearly nonexistent canvas with a scorpion death drop. Juliet's body spasms and twitches, and then lays still in a splayed heap.

An arrogant smirk plastered on her lips, de Cyr glances over her shoulder at her adversary. "It appears I have vanquished you your way, Cherie," the Frenchwoman sneers, before nonchalantly shrugging her left breast free of its confinement. "And now, it is time to vanquish you my way."

Moving with a grace that belied her own exhaustion, Anciline entwines her legs with Juliet's, and holds the brunette's arms overhead by Bloodwind's wrists. The grapevine secured, Anciline lowers her bosom down onto Juliet's already apparently slumbering face. As soon as her airways are sealed off, Bloodwind's body jerks back to life, her arms and legs straining against de Cyr's restraints. But her efforts are futile.

"How does it feel to be at my mercy completement?" Anciline asks as Bloodwind's struggles continue to fade. "I could take your very last breath, if I wished. But I'll be content to simply take your blood and your pride."

And finally, Juliet's protests cease altogether.

Anciline keeps the breast smother in place for a couple of lingering moments, just to ensure the brunette is not playing possum. Satisfied, de Cyr disengages from the unconscious Bloodwind, rising to her feet and raising her arms to a chorus of boos. With a contemptuous shove of her boot, de Cyr rolls the insensate Bloodwind onto her stomach, and then slips that foot under her mouth, leaving Juliet's lips pressed against her right boot. She then completes her victory pose by placing her left foot atop the small of the brunette's back.

"So I had to go through you to get to London?" Anciline scoffs. "I can only hope she puts up more of a challenge than you did."

WINNER: Anciline de Cyr