His mind was fuzzy. There was a disconnect somewhere, but the stallion could not place it. The sun beamed above him as it rose towards midday, the warmth of the day still combatting the cool of the night, with already one victory in devouring the dew and dampness. For those that appreciated this sort of aesthetic, it was beautiful, but the Dauntless was not one of those creatures. A rumbling existed in the back of his throat, a gentle coo to the desires of his beastly mind. He needed to taste blood in his mouth and feel the demise of an opponent beneath his hooves. It had been far too long, and there was a command silently written in his mind, clouding his golden eyes. Go, Archibald. Devour. Take the world as your own. Kill. Kill. Kill. The voice in his mind was feminine, and not his own. It commanded him, drove him towards his target. Before him stood a pink painted mare, short in stature but with the refined bone structure of an elegant arabian-type ancestry. He chose her.

The beast was not himself. His once black fur, dark as midnight ink, was draped in the most plain of emerald, and his once virgin white markings were dipped in the purest of royal purple. The Dauntless was unrecognizable as himself, but as he stood in the field momentarily before sending his body into a collected canter, the image of the once monochrome warlord appeared in his golden eyes. His legs devoured the earth beneath him, shaking it terribly. He sent his magic out with fervor, his skilled hooves pushing over it with ease from his years of practice and mastery over the ability. He hoped his target was not as able footed as she looked. She was smaller than him, no doubt faster and more quick to turn and flee, but Archibald wanted to crush her. The only thought that raced through his mind was his desire to smash her, to send her to the grave, to end her. The stallion's neck arched and his ears pinned as he roared forward, feigning to the left. He hoped to end up on the mare's right, with his own right side parallel to her.

Quickly, Archibald pushed his body hard to the right, hoping to slam his incredible mass into the more lithe woman. His shoulder jutted forward, attempting to slam the point of the appendage into her ribcage. The draft's neck curled as his head snaked around, hoping to land a crushing bite to the sensitive patch of nerves behind the woman's withers. He continued to push towards the right, hoping to push the mare off balance. If she fell, he could crush her under his steel-clad hooves and demolish her like he had done with Svetlana the Stormchaser. This mare even resembled her in build a little, despite her lack of wings, and flashes of that day in the Deep Forest resounded in his mind's eye. He remembered the sound of her bones crunching under his hooves, the feel of her warm blood against his hide, and Archibald wanted to feel it again. Now.

Stopping his forward momentum complete,y Archibald dipped his weight backwards to be supported by his powerful hind legs. Propelling his front legs forward and up, Archibald lifted his body into a low rear. Harshly, the warlord struck out with powerful blows towards the pink-painted mare, hoping to crash his heavy, weaponized, metal-shod hooves onto her right hip. Kill. Kill. Kill. The words echoed through his mind, mixing eloquently with the thoughts of his past victories.

Of course the beast as not himself, his bitch was no where to be seen or sensed. Was this voice inside of his head his mother's, the nefarious Mandrake...or Loretta's, commanding him from afar?



[PC: 1/2 | Defense: 0/1 | WC: 636 | Costume: Archibald is the Hulk. His black parts are painted green and his white parts are painted purple. | Loretta is not present.]