The sweet taste of blood emerged her humanity from the covers. It stained her dirty lips and dripped to the snowy ground below, giving it a dark, red bathe. The crimson substance burned the electric cobalt color in her fawning pearls. Her nostril exhaled great amounts of silver mist as she galloped to Moniz in an acceleration of speed that was unbelievable for a Spanish draft such as her. Maybe it was because she had been locked in underground hell for so long and she had energy to waste away. Her neck was still arched in a charging position, ready to burst through any bones she could possibly get her body to connect with.
”I missed,” Hellä snapped at herself when the mare moved her rump away but then kicked her leg out. ”But not this time.” She smirked and slid to a gliding stop, turning her own rump to face the sooty bay’s. The dappled warrior kicked out several times, hoping to catch the mare on her back legs to make it where she would no longer be able to run to good. This was something she had watched others do before, trying to cripple the opponent to where they could barely walk. She had practice this trick plenty of times before, but all had failed. Now that the mare was bleeding and screeching in pain, it was much easier to abuse the small pony. This time, she would be the champion, and not this mangled rat.
The pony now reached out trying to grab ahold Hellä. ”Wrong move, bitch.” The grey sneered to herself. She kicked out again, her tan talons trying to grasp onto the mare’s head, hoping to knock some sense into the stupidity of the mare’s action. Snow flew up along with her hooves, but the dapple mare wouldn’t mind as long it blinded the bay for a minute so she could catch her breath. If not, well then, she would just have to live and fight like she would any other time in battle. Hellä had to be strong, for that’s what Valhalla had said that was what her grandfather, Adalwulf, would always tell her. So, she took her heart to it and stepping into her grandsire’s footsteps to follow his moves of which she knew.
As soon as her dark legs landed, she took off, not stopping to look at what effects she had caused the mare, for she did not care. She was nemesis at this moment, and most likely always would be. Hellä paid no gratitude toward her competitors, for that only gave them the idea of weakness, and the dappled mare had none of that nonsense. Or at least she had never wondered up to such thing. Kindness showed weakness, and weakness meant easy. She was not easy by any means. Hellä fought for what she deserved and what was fought for, was given. She did not waste her time mingling with a bunch of puppies for no credit at all. If she did not get what she earned, then she would make them pay.
Death.
She didn’t mind the crucial word at all, but to most, it sent fright streaming through their trembling veins. Her hoofs had cracked fragile skulls before, and she didn’t mind letting them lay before them again. To her, the snapping sound and the cries of pain were music to her ears. Death was not something most would enjoy, but Hellä, she loved to dance in the blood bathe.
The dark grey mare wasn’t stupid unlike the bay; she knew exactly what she was doing when she headed straight for the cover of the forest. She had plotted out her awakening call when she had activated her last attack, but this once was far more vital. It would cause the mare to lose her strength and pride, it would make her cry for mercy. It would end her days of being such a humiliation to the world, because that was exactly what she was. A scrawny toy, to make fun of, to torture, and to make a clown of. But Hellä enjoyed making it all-so-much-easier on her worthless little corpse. She had not been blessed with any sort of position.
She was worthless.
She is a doll to kick in the dust, to pull on her hair, to be something to chew on, and yet, she was still, worth nothing. She would never be a part of anything important. She would always be a slave, never to be set free, only to be caged up and worked to her fullest efforts. But maybe she would even be worked over her limit. Now, was her time to be put into the worst pain she would ever experience in her entire, short lifespan. Cold, hard, merciless defeat.
Attack: 2/3
Word Count: 800
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[JUDGED] Who's the crooks in this crime? [Hellä]
