Madyrn was like one of those robots that had malfunctioned, with flailing limbs and a voice that shouted a warning to all: crush, kill, destroy. His 'off' switch was only found when his enemy fell, there were no troubleshooting options, not when he was this far gone into his rampage. Maskan sighed from the sidelines, wondering what damage his beloved brother would reap, upon himself and his foe. He had to contain himself on the sidelines, to fight to urge to school his brother to see past the rage that drove him. But there was no point, no real use to it - Madyrn's greatest ally was not his brother, it was in fact his anger, and that he was able to harness it, to use it, to direct it towards goals and tasks that would ultimately do the world good. It wasn't always this way, and Maskan shuddered to recall those days where only he could stand the rage, only he could subdue his brother, school him in the art of refined shadow walking like their mother and sisters had so easily mastered. Madyrn held too much of Voraer in him, too much of a temper, his fuse too short, his reaction too explosive.

Satisfaction rolled through him, almost as pleasurable as an orgasm, as one of his hooves connected directly with the bony joint of her left hock, the other leaving a scrape along her right leg. Surely that would render her leg useless, unable to hold her weight, unable to do anything but take his continual beatings. He would not rest until he was allowed to pound her thick skull into the ground, repeatedly. Lips barely grazed over their mark, but he was too gleeful to notice the shortcomings of that strike, instead he watched his little prey struggled to find her feet once more. But she did find them, and without stopping to wonder how his near-perfect strike upon her hock joint did not hinder her more, he simply became enraged again, gearing up to follow in her steps, to stay close to the hind end that he had disabled. Orange eyes caught a glimpse of the horn she wielded at him once again, and, vulnerable as he was to mental onslaughts, memories flooded through his cranium of the piercing blue sword Deimos expertly used against him, the magic that nearly killed him. It was not fear that filled Madyrn then, but a very keen sense of weariness; he was not about to let that horn come anywhere near him.

When she had turned to her left, he had followed her closely, swinging himself around on rough steps so that he was still mostly behind her, not next to her, not allowing her to line up that pesky face ornament to his shoulder again. His legs were still working fine, and though he ached, he could still use what were his most effective weapons so far. Just as she lunged for him with her crown, he struck out with his right foreleg at her left hock, hoping to truly crush it beyond repair this time, using the leg that had slightly more strength and co-ordination left in it due to the fact that his left side was aching more than his right. Her aim was diverted with his repositioning, as he was driving forward and she too, they moved in a sort of circled around one another - he felt her horn glance off the left side of his rump the same time he attempted to destroy what remained of her left hind leg. Dust, dirt and debris was stirred up from the motion, and the rhythm of Madyrn's heart beat was loud and growing ever faster in his ears, breaths were coming in deep rasping gasps that burned with effort, fatigue, as well as the fact that laughter still rang from his lips every other exhalation.

Even madmen have their triumphs. Madyrn would be one of them.


[662 words.
4/4 attack posts. ]

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