Just as small rays of lights danced over the cave walls and floors, remnants of the iron mare’s attack shot a white hot whip of pain of the onyx warrior’s back, Nyx’s horn puncturing the very spot she had managed to clamp down on moments before. The wound stung and throbbed instantly, the sword a formidable foe against any opponent. Archibald sucked in a breath, clenching his jaws together tightly. The pain, however, was lost in the satisfaction of the thud of his heavy hooves against her smaller chest. It was not his intended target, but the muscles and organs beneath his purchase would feel the wrath of his attack just as much as if he had hit her ribcage. Nyx was a quick beast upon the solid ground, her hooves finding purchase and throwing her away from him. The Dauntless was glad not to be fighting on the slippery knolls of the Foothills as he had against many before—Romani, Jackal, Locket—nor the needle covered ground of the Deep Forest where he had killed the Stormchaser so long ago. He had better ground here, the hard stone keeping his footing steady and solid.

Loretta’s attack landed similarly: not in her intended target, but in such a way that made the beast grin with joy. Blood dripped into her mouth as her teeth ripped into Nyx’s leg. Her blunt claws found gain on the mare’s skin, ripping away, albeit without the same blood draw her jaws brought. Loretta dropped to the ground just seconds after her attack, legs bending to collect pressure from impact. A rabid snarl danced in the air with Nyx’s scream, a joyous song of tragedy and mirth. The beast scrambled quickly forward, an attempt to escape iron hooves and obsidian horn. Loretta mostly succeeded—Nyx clipping the cur’s left hip with a forehoof as well as scraping her horn over the set of her tail. Loretta yipped, pain jostling her body. A rage unmatched ripped through Archibald as he watched Nyx attack his bondmate. A deep, rumbling neigh erupted from the king’s throat as he lunged forward, his assault of a bite on Nyx’s ribcage hitting well, though his attempt to crack her knee was lost to the cave.

Visions of Lace driving to kill Loretta filled the back of Archibald’s mind as his bonded fled, moving with a fierce limp towards the pool of water. He had wanted to kill the grulla then, and now he felt the same towards Nyx. The idea of Loretta injured—or worse, dead—racked the ex-General’s brain and heart. His red and white malamute was a part of him; she shared half of his soul. She was a soldier at his side, and the desire to protect her and fell any threat to her was greater than he had ever felt for any comrade in the past. Archibald began to tremble with and intense anger as he pushed himself forward, hoping to land parallel with Nyx on her right side. The Dauntless shifted his movements ever so slightly, using his left shoulder as a battering ram in an attempt to push Nyx to the side, away from Loretta. As he did so, Archibald curled his neck in towards her and let loose several bites, all aimed for the neck and withers, hoping to pull skin from muscle and leave his mark.

As Archibald pushed into her he sent out his magic, hoping to incase the mare’s internal structure as a statue. If she were to be still Archibald would demolish her. He wanted to feel her bones shatter beneath his strike, though he had not begun the spar that way. This was certainly the cruelest use of his younger magic to date, for he had not wanted to break Gaucho’s or Ailith’s bones as much as he wanted to cripple the grey mare. Archibald remembered the fear and defeat that danced in the grapefruit eyes of the buckskin mare so many moons ago, and he wondered if Nyx would feel the same sensations. Again, the heavy draft struck out with his left forehoof, hoping to crack it over Nyx’s right fore-canon. The rage that rippled through his body and fueled his muscles now dulled the pain in his mind, though the warlord knew well he would feel the wounds with more force in the coming days. Archibald’s ears lay flat against his neck, his golden eyes narrowed. His breathing was coming in hot, short spurts at this point, rhythmic to the thrum of the water in the background of the brawl. The beauty of the cave, dotted with sunlight and glistening water, was lost to the rage that rattled Archibald’s brain. Many tactics jumped through the warlord’s mind, memories dancing solidifying each one in turn.




[WC: 797 | PC: 2/3 | M&C: 2/2 | Archibald is using his buffs Dance and Aim. || Sorry for the wait, dear. Feel free to smack me ^^; ]