Above their mutilated and sodden battlefield, the skies continued to cry.

Great, unearthly sobs the Heavens let out, lightning and thunder taking form of the quivering shoulders of the grieved, mourning the loss of something that only they could sense. Would one of them die tonight? Is that why the Heavens wept for the two bodies locked in battle upon mortal land? Grass and vegetation had gave way beneath dancing hooves, uprooting the greens of grass and transforming their turf to nothing but soiled, sinking mud. Traction upon this damned terrain was becoming more difficult and hard to find, and his eyes stung from the beads of rain that stabbed mercilessly into them.

... Give me strength.

The plea filtered itself once more through Apollo's mind, outstretching to any and all who may listen. The spirits of his ancestors and his long-dead parents, the lives of those witnessing this very battle, the friends and loved one's he had made during his journey, the soul of the God of the Earth himself.

Please! Give me strength!

The Merciful was no fighter. He wasn't a soldier. His horn was meant to heal, not to destroy or draw blood... And yet, since coming to Helovia, the monochromatic stallion felt that the only thing he had achieved had been partaking in violence. Being taken in by the Grey, fighting for them, shedding blood for them... Had it all been worth it? His choices reaped of un-sewn consequences, and Apollo had no one to blame but himself.

Why, in his time in this damned, beautiful land, was he just now suffering from this revelation? Why, in the midst of battle to protect his home, his loved ones? His family?

Apollo was given confirmation that his hoof had smacked rather soundly into Confutatis' unsightly face by a sickly, bone-jarring rattle that seemed to travel through his hoof and upwards, caressing through his cannon bone like a touch from an unwanted lover. It's sickening, the sound and feel, but Apollo could take no sense of satisfaction. The battle had yet to be won.

Black ears prick forward then, however, at hearing Confutatis' remark to his words... And for the life of him Apollo simply could not make since of what she means. 'Serpent and mouse, fox and wolf!' Was she making an assumption that she was the hunter, and he the hunted? Still, there were more important things to focus on than the self-ridiculing blubbering of the mad.

His next attack, however, proved fruitless and a waste of precious energy, as the only thing that his crystalline horn sliced was damp, empty air and the tears of the Heavens. Despite her wounds it seems that Confutatis is still quick on her hooves, and it's as Apollo tries to catch and re-balance himself that the skull-faced shinigami launches her next attack.

Like the Devil's specter she arrives beside him; sudden and terribly unwanted, a curse and bane to his existence. How she manages to leap upon him from such a precarious position, Apollo would never know, but suddenly his left side is swallowed by both the larger black mare and the pain from his screaming wounds. The cuts and abrasions from Confutatis' first attack are still very much present, and with combination of Confutatis' greater weight and the armor that cradled her, Apollo's legs threaten to give out from beneath him. The mud sucks at his hooves, holding him in place, and for once in this damned fight it seems to aid him rather than decide to be cumbersome.

Honey-brown orbs clench shut at the onslaught of pain and the undistributed weight bearing down upon him, a groan escaping the stallion's cracked lips. Brief memories flash in his mind of the Grey invasion upon the Foothills, and how Tharos had thrown himself upon the overo stallion in a very similar way to how Confutatis was now... Back then, Apollo had balked and reacted like a fool. Now, well... Time had changed him.

Sucking in a sharp, wheezing breath, his back and left shoulder aching something fierce, the Merciful's eyes opened to narrowed slits and he shifted his weight. The sucking mud nearly covered his front hooves, and summoning as much strength as he could, the Merciful attempted to swing his hind end towards Confutatis and unbalance her. Bracing himself as well as he able, his left front leg trembling from the exertion and pain, Apollo then attempted to buck out with his hind end. His goal, should Confutatis not remove herself from the situation entirely, was to either throw her from him, kick her in the gut where his horn had gouged her, or simply knock her to the ground. Anything would do.

You want me? His mind asked morbidly, teeth gritting and a grunt forcing its way from his throat, Then try and take me!

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