Evening had come, and with it, tears began to fall from the heavens. Long-since passed souls were crying... But why? The painted colors in the sky were dark and muddled by the arriving storm, like jewels resting at the bottom of a muddy pool of water. The tawny purples and vibrant pinks of the setting sun lost their beauty, growing dull and rather mundane with the clouds billowed and collected in the sky.

"... Why do you cry?" The question, brimming with innocence, escaped the stallion's lips. The rain, a steady buildup of heavenly sobs, pelted against his bleached withers and along his back, and down the curvature of his muscled rump, dark rolling rivulets marring the white of his spotted underbelly. The sound of the rain within his ears, striking the ground in soft pitter-patters, drew the Chief into a false lull of relaxation... At least, until a booming clap of thunder and streak of lightning filled up the sky, and with it, a stranger's shrill bellow shouting his name to the heavens.

"APOLLO! Face me, coward, and fight me like a man!"

Ever so slowly the Merciful lifted his head, ears snapping forward, soulful eyes searching. Who? Mind racing, Apollo tried to place a face to the distorted voice that summoned him through the storm, and yet none came. Still... He was no fool. Apollo had heard such beckoning -demanding- tones before, during both his youth and his time in Helovia. With the relentless fury of the storm came a challenger and Apollo would answer.

Perhaps... This is why you cry. Give me strength.

Pushing himself from the water-logged earth beneath his hooves, the overo ventured to meet his challenger. With every step he took, hoofs sinking into the drowning grasses, his head rose higher, jaw setting in determination and honey-brown eyes sparking in defiance. Did he feel fear for the outcome? Yes, of course. Apollo was not so haughty to believe himself higher than such a vital emotion... But much more than his title as Chief was at risk.

With another reverberation of thunder and an electric pulse of lightning to split the skies, Apollo the Merciful arrived upon the clearing which would serve as their battleground and paused his leisurely walk. Around him, rain soaked the grasses and the trees, but the boundaries of their battleground were unspoken. Briefly Apollo surveyed his surroundings, taking it all in, analyzing and collecting the information he would need. The rain from the storm would make traction a myth of a thing for this fight, and so speed would not be an ally here.

As his eyes roamed the scene, they cast upwards along the crest of a mighty hill, and what he saw nearly took his breath away and caused a wetness to enter his eyes that had nothing to do with the storm raging around them. There, suppressed and hard to illuminate given the growing darkness and the torrential downpour of rain, was his herd. His family. Phaedra's beautiful glimmer was like a beacon of light, of hope, of belief, and it filled him with steadfast determination. Phaedra, Solace, Archibald, Ciceron, Mesec, Ktulu... They had come to lend him their strength.

Resolute eyes finally landed upon his opponent with a slap of his drenched tail against his flank, taking in the sight of the armored, ebonite mare with grit shining in his eyes. He had not spoken to her, but he knew her name. Confutatis. Here she was, his challenger, this brute of a mare with a faux sense of self-glorification. What had she done to warrant calling him a coward? Apollo had fought for these lands; he had shed blood and drawn blood to call the Foothills his home... And what had she done, this demonic bitch, save strut to their borders and ask for entry?

No. She was sanctioned nothing. Apollo would see to that.

Within her Apollo sees madness. This hellion full of souless, malignant spectres would do nothing for his herd, his family, save drive them into turmoil and destruction. The macabre spirits danced within her grisly mind would take form within their world and uproot their home, impregnating the Foothills with darkness and horror incarnate. It was for this reason he arrived; not to keep his title of Chief, but to challenge the darkness that threatened his home.

"... I have come, shinigami," his voice was raised and unfaltering to be heard over the rage of the billowing storm. Lifting a hoof, the Merciful brought it down upon the ground with rage, sending mud and water flying with a loud splat! "You summoned me, you challenged me... But you have challenged more than just one soul here today. Fight me, Confutatis, not for your 'right' to lead, but for your position within this herd!"

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Confutatis can make the first attack. Good luck, Wanderer! :D ]