The thick snow was just as much an aggravator as it was a hindrance to his vision as he stepped up to the masked figure in the blazing snow. Abaddon was sure that even when the rage from being so cold in the Frozen Steppe that he would be able to culminate some sort of win here. Here he was, standing against a brute much like himself in size and stature yet not quite up to the mark in height nor sheer bulk. Abaddon was the true hell boy here and he could feel himself just wanting to smash that pretty blurred skull in. For no real reason other than that it would make him some form of happy…

Abaddon's words ripped through the sheer mass of blizzardy snow like a knife and it seemed to have erupted some other kind of rage from within the ivory masked cranium. And the foe spoke, his voice tinged with the fire that gave the hell boy himself a desire to rip open every living creature including the one that dared cross him. It was not that he had not noticed the storm before, but more that it was now so much more exaggerated whilst he was stood there sinking into the deep snow that appeared to be forgotten to be melted by Birdsong's rays. His huge daggers were sinking ever further whilst he stood and waited for the blackened creature to make a move. He spotted the stag’s ruby tinted pools through the ivory mask even in the blurriness of the snow. How the pair fighting over nothing would have loved in all their blackened glory, pound for pound.

His immense heat pulses meant not much snow clung to him but it did not stop him baring his fangs at the opponent. As the other lunged forward, Abaddon stepped back by two paces, feeling like he may have just been narrowly missed. The snow clung to his feathers but Abaddon arched his neck and then took the steps forward with his cranium bent in order to bare the five twisted satanic horns lined in a crown ready to try and pierce the top part of the charcoal brute's neck, just as he unknowingly had the brute's puffed out chest upon him, the weight almost a match for his own. Whilst he was flinging his horns into the flesh of the creature, Abaddon decided to quickly tear to the left in the hope that it would just knick the soft fleshy area, and cause so much discomfort.

Why was he fighting in such abhorrent weather? Abaddon did not know, especially as the light seemed to be so low that both the dark figures just felt like blurs, particularly in the early stages of their pointless fight. He grunted and shouted at his brutish opponent, the noise rattling around the terraria was he stayed fixed in his position in the hope that his sheer size was enough to put force on his horns that he hoped would cut open the flesh. Abaddon’s pools were full of fiery rage that only brightened the orange hues even further, giving a hellish close to them as it illuminated on the mutilated old flesh on his skull that burned just that little bit in the biting cold.


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I'm so sorry this is so bad! AND SO LATE.

Abaddon counteracts the lunge from Volterra before arching himself and trying to use his horns to cause damage to the neck.

1/3 - 549 words

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