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She didn’t like getting along with others. She liked to watch them tremble and shake, she liked to taste and savor them, to watch the certainty fade from their eyes. She loved to watch them bruise, liked to watch them degrade to tattered remnants, to become something gristly and tortured and hideous…
All because of her, glorious Her, mighty Her.
Confutatis wanted to devour him. Those cute little ears of him; how she longed to suck on them, let them dissolve in her mouth, she wanted to kiss him, to give him her acid kiss, to watch skin peel away, to pluck out his eyeballs and feed the gelatinous orbs to Mongrel, to eat him. She would share, of course, share the meal with her sister and smirk, her sly mouth twitching into a vixen’s smile as they feasted… no, she didn’t want to eat, she wanted to hear him sing to her, to soothe her into sleep with his hideous screams that was beer to the alcoholic deprived. And what screams he would have! Screams rich and layered and never-ending, woven full with emotion, just like his eyes.
The mud sucks at her like a lover, a siren that wants to drown her as much as give her soft-lipped kisses, and she pulls away, slapping her damp tail across her flanks, ruby red splattering shit as drops of blood fall from her stomach. It’s a strange thought, and she giggles, wheezing more than laughing, her voice a dry rasp that curdles milk, and water runs into her mouth, and eyes, and everything, she is really fucking wet.
Her hind hooves find purchase on the stickiness of his shoulder, and the scraping of hair is a pleasant sensation that sends satisfaction running through her. And it is this ripe sense of victory that undoes her, for her eyes roll madly and his hooves catch her in the face.
If not for the mud holding her upright, she might have crumpled, as black spots flicker across her vision, and her head begins to pound like someone is trying to crawl out of it. Maybe something was trying to crawl out of it, a cruel conniving something… she didn’t blame it. She wouldn’t want to be trapped inside her twisted and convoluted skull either.
For a long moment her jaw slacks and hangs wide, gaping in shock. He hit her, and not just because she threw herself on his horn.
That motherfucker would pay.
Caught somewhere between grace and hideous weakness, the hellion backs away from Apollo to catch her breath, eyes seeking out the shape of Mongrel, ensuring he was well-hidden. It would be far too easy for one of the idiots surrounding her to put a hoof on his spine and threaten with it. Shattered as she was, glue was holding her fractured mind together, and somewhere within the depths of her shriveled black heart she didn’t want that foolish fox to die.
He is bellowing, and she catches only the other word or so. The thunder is above them now, so loud it rattles in her bones and the lightning sends her hair prickling. “Serpent and mouse, fox and wolf!” She shouts back in riddled answer, head still spinning- Confutatis’ skull must be fractured to hurt this fucking much. And for perhaps the thousandth time in the brief duration of their storm-ridden fight, she thinks to herself of all the torturous things she will do to the Merciful, the graceless hunk of gray.
Her ears ache from the thunder and her throat aches from her screaming.
There are no words to waste on defiance now. She launches herself silently at him, the mud squelching and popping, while he approaches her; with practiced ease she twists her haunches out of the way, even despite the weakness in her limbs, so his horn goes flying by her, and she rears quickly. Off-balance as she is, her aim towards his haunches is more of a falling-on-him movement, graceless and stupid but perhaps manageable.
When she was younger, she had stolen milk from the swollen teats of nursing mares; she whimpered and cried out for them to feed her, and when they fed her, they screamed and shrank and withered, and their milk dried from her acid kiss. As a two-year-old, she fought with any who came her way, and at four, led her first little army out from under the rocks and began her first journey of conquering.
And now, she would rule Helovia.
Victory was here.
She could taste it- and it tasted like Apollo’s blood, salty and bitter and weak.
CONFUTATIS
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[JUDGED] Denouncement [Apollo - Leadership Challenge]
