The retaliatory buck had met thin air as the skyrat struggled to remain aloft, but as the shade plunged her horn toward the exposed breast before her, she had the immense momentary satisfaction of knowing that she was about to cleanse the world of one more inferior. But the impulsive wave of achievement was short-lived, for no sooner had she begun to celebrate than her foe rose several inches into the air, and her horn scraped along the underside of the chest rather than spearing through flesh. The momentum was too great, her reactions too slow, and she watched with horror as the skyrat's hooves descended towards her face. Her front pistons stiffened as they impaled the shifting sands, her cranium dropping towards the ground (and, unfortunately, her attacker) with the force of gravity as she did so; her rear end slid until it almost scraped the sand, and she scrambled desperately, trying to find an escape. But the flapping wings surrounded her, creating a cavern through which she could not break free, and the feather-brain was on top of her, and her hind legs were coming at the Empress full-force -

And there was nothing she could do.

There was a sickening SNAP! and the Lady's eyes widened as she watched the upper half of her jagged horn splinter. It fell then, flipping and spiraling in midair until it stuck, quivering slightly, in the sand.

The skyrat had lifted and hovered somewhere above, but the Empress did not immediately move. She seemed frozen, immobilized, as she stared at her shattered crown, uncomprehending. How could this - this hideous, mutated canary have stolen the one thing that she fought for? How could she, the Lady of the Basin, the Dark Empress of Helovia, lead her race, touting the superiority of a horn, but not having a full one on her own head with which to rule? Who would follow her, after the battle, when they saw naught but a broken, splintered, six-inch-long stump where her glorious, beautiful horn had been?

Who was she, without her crown?

But this was battle, and although her bloodlust had been replaced with a numb sort of nausea that had nothing to do with physical pain, she could not allow herself to stand around and wait to die. She had made a promise to herself and to her followers. She would not stand aside and allow her fellows to fall around her without putting up a fight, and so not a fraction of a second had passed before she made herself close her eyes, focusing hard on the magic that dwelled deep within her bones, the magic that had been restored with the reappearance of the moon in the sky. Though the goddess hid her face on this night, the shade's powers swelled stronger than ever, and as she began to shrink and morph, she let loose a furious, cold, high-pitched gale of mirthless laughter, the likes of which had never been heard from her before and, with any luck, would never be heard again.

The time that the feather-brain had taken to restore her own balance had given the shapeshifting magic time to take hold. In the place of the pitch unicorn that had stood in the sands previously, a black jackal with glowing orange eyes crouched, tongue lolling and teeth showing in a wicked, feral grin. "But darling," she made herself say, allowing the fiery passion of her loss to bubble up within her, rendering her vocals nearly unrecognizable in the insanity that took them over. "How could I be the coward when you're the one running away? Come down and PLAY, rat!" The words turned into a snarl, the grin into a grimace, and the featherbrain fell from the sky, reaching for the scrape that she had opened previously. The Dark Empress dropped to the ground and the bite whistled through thin air, for her jackal form was much smaller, more flexible, and more agile than her unicorn self. As the mare scooped away, aiming a kick towards her, the jackal flattened herself to the ground once more, this time readying for her own assault.

As the leg with which the skyrat had kicked retreated into the night air, the shade pushed herself forcefully from the ground after it, opening her jaws and hoping to close them around the offending limb, to rip flesh from bone, and, if she were very lucky, to do some permanent damage. It was not as satisfying, perhaps, as ripping the bitch's wing from her body, but it would suffice - for now.

[Invasion Type: Traditional, SWP Applies
Time frame to start an invasion or defense post is from now until August 22.

Setting: Dragon's Throat borders, traveling toward center; midnight, cloudy.
Buffs: Endure

766 Words
2/4 Attacks
1/2 Magic + 0/1 Extra Magic Use (Herd Champions)]

"Talk talk talk."