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Battles fought and battles lost, wars ensued and won. She had never had a problem with her strategy, with devising her wicked plans; if anything, her problem was individual battles, and her continuous poor luck. It was easy to send a regiment marching or gather scarred soldiers beneath her banners, to watch them die. Confutatis didn’t care. They were dispensable, but she was not.
And when the time came, she came screaming into battle louder than all of them together… but today, she couldn’t help but feel not fear, rather worry pulling at her gut. It was quickly becoming clear she was worse off than this stallion, even if but only slightly; the battle would have to end, and soon. Even with her black blood and hunger, she couldn’t keep fighting when standing was far more difficult than she anticipated. Still… she was confident she wouldn’t lose. October was here, softly rounded with pregnancy (at least she thought- she might have just gotten fat off the green summer grass) waiting for her to win. Her sister was probably even more eager than her to arise victorious, for she worshipped Oblivion like a god, and he had been a god in his own right, but he hadn’t been one of the gods that stalked above them.
Or was he? Maybe the old dead stallion was watching over them now, blood dripping from his mouth and eyes gleaming with hunger, waiting for his descendants to continue his rule even after he lay rotting.
Foam was lathering over her face now, bubbling and searing her own flesh, so that every time she opened her mouth her cheeks burned with the scalding acid chewing away. Sweat gleamed white too on her coat, a sick shade of gray, dripping profusely down her charcoal coat, coming quicker than the rain could wash it away. Beneath her armor, she was hot and tired, but she fought, a wolf closing in on its kill. Battered she may be, but she was relentless, she was the wolf, and he was a fawn awaiting the mercy of death.
He is weakening beneath her, she thinks to herself smugly as she claws at him, sliding as he stands upright, lips wrinkled into a mockery of a grin. Blood runs from her face, sheets and waves of crimson. With every passing moment Confutatis grows more dizzy, head swimming. She slips from him as he swings his haunches, hooves splattering into the mud, globs of the shit-brown muck splattering her slender legs, and she stumbles, crashing down onto her knees, mouth dipping into the mud and swallowing wet grit. Hooves are rising towards her face, and somewhere within her sick mind she registers two sets of legs coming at her. At the last moment she tries to duck, pulling her head away. They strike her on the right side of her skull beneath her ear, and her head rings.
The world falls silent and she struggles to her feet, clambering upwards, breath heavy and ragged. She can feel the rain, lashing at her eyes, but she can’t hear anything but the ringing dull in her head.
Fuck.
Vision obscured by the sheets of rain, she has no idea if it is his haunches still facing her or his head or his neck or anything- he is a smear of black, mud swallowing away the white patches, and she throws herself at him again, one last attempt for victory. Blood splatters her grimy bodice, and her mouth hangs open in pain from a taste of her own medicine. She can’t be bothered to close it and feel all the pain exploding all the fleshy red insides; her drool, acid-washed, splattered the front of her chest where the bone armor does not envelop her.
I am on fire. Confutatis thinks numbly to herself, for the entire region near her face is screaming in its death throes as the nerve endings seize and twitch. And then- I cannot lose to a healer. It’s just not possible.
She is slipping in the mud toward him, but she charges anyways.
Clumsy and driven half-mad with pain, she tries to climb up him- literally. She sprints, quick and straight as she could at her current state (not all that straight or fast, to be truthful) and she’s shouting, trumpeting soundlessly, and she throws herself at him in deranged hopes of clambering up him and beating him into the ground.
Die, you idiot, you were supposed to be dead by now.
It is at that point that her war cry takes on shape.
“OBBLIVVVVVVIOOOONNNNNNNN!”
CONFUTATIS
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[JUDGED] Denouncement [Apollo - Leadership Challenge]
