Confutatis had acquired a number of impressive achievements throughout her life. She was an embodiment of war, a queen of trickery, a bringer of destruction, but not in the same way any longer, not in Helovia. Others were stripped of their magic coming into the Land of the Sun, but Lady Death, as she fashioned herself, was lucky enough to avoid such a shameful procedure- but the barrier had taken something else. Her battle prowess. That had not stopped her before. Three times she had come to fight for a throne. Twice she had walked away. Once she had lost, to a medic. It had stung bitterly, the lack of her combative ability, forced her to halt and re-evaluate hopes she had nourished and the nightmarish dreams she had coddled to her breast. Until she met Tyradon. Tyradon, who assuaged the fears in the cockles of her black heart which she ignored, always trying to tamp down on the weakness she was afraid would blossom like weeds if she did not crush them underfoot. It was the war-bringer, who had met her as equal under the cloak of the undead night, who walked to the caverns of the Underground with her, a place teeming with the scuttling of equines so like cockroaches, who made her at ease. The black stallion was who she first shared the plans and formulations she had slaved over for weeks and ages; and he, who best of all, agreed and shared in her passion for leadership and anarchy. As days came and melted by, timeless in the sunless world of the sanctuary, she came face-to-face with those she had put in her past, those who made her heartbeat quicken with rage and reckless fury. Patience, she told herself, and she nursed the appetite for revenge as she had suckled Veil, a mother crooning over her firstborn child. She waited, for the arrival of a mare who she had met long ago when the sun did not shine in a different sort of endless night. Here in the glittering, slick footing of the crystal world, she was confident in her ability to navigate the labyrinth she had carefully memorized. Here the wolf was waiting for the perfect moment to strike at her unwary prey. 0/4 Confutatis is challenging for Seele's freedom. This is a stealth challenge, so I would enormously appreciate no spectator threads this time, particularly as Confutatis would not attack if there were other horses watching. Follows all regular challenge rules: 4 posts each, magic allowed, closing defense to first attacker.

I was rejuvenated. I could feel it in my limbs— the way that my steps almost seem to bounce. The way that the souls swirl around you with a strong sense of purpose? Unheil was mumbling in my head. It seemed as though even he was done with the teasing for the moment, just glad that he still had a vessel to prod and poke in his free time. A strange thing, I would admit. But, perhaps it was also a good thing. Every part of me was in unity. Every part of me felt even more guided towards the goal of finally having my family rise victorious. Maybe these caverns weren't so bad? Maybe they were offering the Asylum a chance at a new life. After all, I had seen more of my family getting stronger and stronger. And even though we were missing some of them I had no doubt that we would get them back. The world seemed to be on our side. At our side. A darkness was raging above, much like the darkness that swirled around inside our minds and it felt like home. I mean, who doesn't like the dark? Who doesn't like the shadows? The shadows are your friend. They cloak you and allow you to hide as you stalk your prey... Schwere purred pleasantly. Perhaps that was true. I was a better stalker. And it pleased me when I appeared up from behind someone and they jumped in fear. But, please. I may be a monster, yes, however I'm not ugly or deformed. No. I'm the vixen that enjoys the kill after seducing it's prey in. I'm a black widow in some aspects, I'd suppose. Get what I want— and then discard. If only it was so easy here when all seem to be cloaked with some kind of magic... Unheil taunted as I continued to edge forward through the caverns of the Sanctuary, as everyone was calling it. They were collected steps, my hips swaying with each step as I arched my neck at my poll and took in my surroundings. Glass hooves clinked against the crystalline floor in a rhythm that would have been soothing to those who could actually feel the full extent of the emotions that coursed through their veins. I could only ever feel the small amounts my mother would channel through me, and the anger which my father had kept at a low boil throughout my entire life. How could I ever forget that anger? But, I could smell something— no. Not something. Someone who has a nasty habit of disappearing... Schwere growled, and my audits pin back against my head. I say no words as I turn towards the scent which is now located behind me. A slow turn, carefully placing my feet until I am looking at the skull-faced mare with her blind right eye and astringent slaver. "Long time no see..." sarcasm was dripping from my maw. I can feel the tugging of souls against my frame as they all focus in on this mare's energy. No. I won't yank it just yet. I'll save the disorientation for later. Perhaps I won't even need to use it. "Didn't want to live in the darkness of the world above?" The souls are laughing. The souls are locked on the one being around, and the craving and hunger to play with it seems to be oh, so very strong. Voices "Speech" Normal ---- [574/800 words] && [0/4] ** And clarification on terrain please? What specific part are we in? The Sanctuary or a side cavern? Seele you better run to survive, before she makes you her latest slaughter

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She is a stygian monarch, an omen of hopelessness, the emblem of ruination and decay; a mare who does not await for power to fall into her hands, but seizes it. Determined that this first step towards domination will help her ascend the ladder to her ultimate goal, she awaits with unrivaled patience for the approach of one she would mark as her foe. It is not a game of chess, war; it is the ruthlessness to take and keep taking, rather than waiting for an opponent’s response. Why should the hellion wait for others to notice the future strength of the Regime? Strike now- and she will steal her enemies in the dark, figuratively throttle and suffocate them with the malice of her black magic, manipulate and puppeteer until the odds are in her favor. It is the Asylum she thinks of now, traitors and backstabbers, of a girl with a clown’s face in particular. Steal Seele, and seal the deal; take her hostage, await the banter for her retrieval, and sell her back for an alliance. Of course, it was all the better to snatch the Saddlebred to satisfy the needs of her own particular VENDETTA. Confutatis did not move as Seele waltzed so arrogantly and naively by; nor did she commentate on the cynicism meandering abysmally from between glistening ivories as said interloper turns to rest eyes upon the hellion. In a faint smile the harlot’s lips curl. She had forgotten how much she truly loathed the young mare, with her yellow eyes and war mask (how rude it was to copy Confutatis’ own skull-faced marking, the obsidian mare thinks to herself vainly.) Between teeth and tongue she tastes the bitterness of seeing such an ugly face- no, not bitterness, the poison of her magic, her salivary glands bursting into action due to the conceited contempt rising in her breast. The bone armour melts into existence on jet hide. Confutatis, reigning queen of evil, does not move; she lets crawl forth black magic and wicked sorcery, creeping from her hooves, waves of decay and rot, desecration and decomposition; it comes to tedious halt short of Seele to what she imagines would be the necromancer’s unknowingness. Smile, bitch. And she advances, slow and steady, a decoy. It is her companion, slithering and sliding like liquid smoke at the edge of the caverns over crystal and rock, who carries the hope on his shoulders of a swift end to their kidnap of Glassfox; dark as soot, he melts into the shadows, praying to be unnoticed. As the mongrel moves, he crafts and weaves the illusions, images he so loves- hallucinations and horrors, forged for unearthing fears buried at the backs of minds. He draws inspiration, as an artist does, from his bonded’s memories of Circuta (though he knows her name not) and Eris; stripped of skin, broke of bone, horns shattered, legs bruised, faces swollen. Torture. Death. He perfects the details. And then the mongrel unleashes these nightmares, directed towards the clown-faced mare who Confutatis abhors, regardless of whether she may or may not have seen him. Teeth bare in simpering grin as he awaits a reaction- will she squirm, will she writhe, will she SCREAM? He hopes so; he hopes for the Glassfox to collapse, to be swallowed by the visions, and thus allow his companion to make a move forwards. The succubus makes her move, the ringing of her hooves loud on the ground as she skitters towards the smaller mare, ears curling back to clamp down on her skull. Seele is roughly seven inches smaller than her; it would be easy for the unicorn to swipe up with her horn- she would need to be careful of that diamond-like weaponry. Yet for all the extra tedium it takes to fight a unicorn, a glass crown does nothing to deter her charge, and she does her best to approach Seele head-on. As she [hopefully] reaches Seele, she rears, but all without the usual calls of anger- there is no place for shrieking in a fight of stealth and secrecy. Hind legs locked firmly beneath her, balanced precarious and tall, she aims to bring her hooves down upon the silver horn should the Necromancer not move her crown. If the Saddlebred rises to her meet her, she moves her slavering maw out in an attempt to close down her jaws on the girl’s muzzle, to shake it like a dog with a mouse. The damage, she imagined, would be pleasurably horrific- all blood and gore dripping from those precious, pretty nostrils. Even as she makes this attempt, she hopes to crash her right knee into Seele's chest- to bring her off-balance. She would fuck this bitch when she was done with her. 800/800 words 1/4 + 0/1 The setting is the Crystal Cavern; soft, changing light, slick floors. Summary: While she has her magic at the ready, it is not her intention to do anything with it yet. She starts advancing on Seele, but very slowly, while her companion creeps around the cavern in hopes to sneak up unnoticed on Seele, and then unleash his dark illusion magic with dreams of Eris and Circuta being tortured and eventually dying. While he releases his magic, Confutatis charges Seele, hoping to catch her off-guard; she rears, hoping to either break Seele's horn or, depending on if Seele rose to meet her, bite at her muzzle and give her an "elbow" in the chest.

Golden orbs trace the Hündin's frame as she creeps in closer and closer. Perhaps she likes the idea of a game as well, but her acidic mouth is feeble when I have the ability to confuse her with a little slip of that precious soul. I smirk wryly as I watch her pin-pointed stride, each step slow and precise. But, it would have to be, I feel, if she wants to keep some kind of even footing upon this surface at all. It was slippery, and I could hear the grind of my glass hooves as they slithered (as cautiously as possible) upon the almost diamond-like crystals strewn across it. Unbecoming... Innerste gagged, repulsed at the expanding bone creation that spawned from somewhere (more like nowhere) that I couldn't quite see and wrapped around the upper parts of her bodice. Innerste was definitely the vainer of my voices— I wouldn't have been granted even a second should I have appeared with even the tiniest of burr's clinging to my locks. Watch! Schwere commands suddenly, and I am instantaneously bristling my stance. Its only her top-line... her chest, belly, legs! They are exposed— destroy her! But, she had been Asylum, no? And while I cannot say I trust her I have no reason to attack her— not yet. Yet, there comes a point when even the insane begin to question that depth of irrationality— and it seems as though I am there. Images invade my mind unexpectedly— Circuta, Eris, the two mares that I held (almost) as equals on this path. Their skin is being stripped so that the crimson of their flesh can pulse exposed whilst blood-curdling screams echo around my head. They are being tortured, broken, and their swollen, agonized expressions stab at whatever small amount of a conscience I actually possess. I'm wavering between realities for a moment, struggling to find my footing in the real world as dread begs me to steal their souls and make them numb so that they don't have to feel that pain. But before I can even conduct the souls that are spinning around me, ready for the command, I hear the sound of Unheil booming above the screeches of my new family— It seems that hallucinations work. Then, the comforting sound of Liebling soothes my fears as I stagger backwards, hooves grazing the slick floor (gradually allowing their edges to sharpen without my realization). You saw Circuta yesterday— she is not being tortured. SNAP BACK, MEINE KLEINE! My composure rushes back— Unheil is right (for once). Hooves are already clattering, and I hear the scrape of my own against the crystal as I continue to reverse. She's rearing! Rearing! Schwere urges a second before my own eyes can take in the Hündin's full height. Taller, larger... heavier. I am scuttling backwards, and as she reaches that full height my haunches tighten beneath my propped weight. I am lunging forward to meet her. The haunting images of destruction shattered as I move, keeping a reminder of gravity to come at the forefront of my mind. It seems that the souls around me are silent for a moment, concentrating on the two souls that are in the room. A smaller one— Confutatis's companion perhaps (and the source of the wretched imagery— it's imagination I vow to stomp out of existence) and then her. I cannot see the pet (the only thing that probably likes her now), so I focus on the one before me instead. My frame is angled loosely towards her right, cranium dipped left and well clear of the suspended limbs she had set in defense, while I improve the momentum of my counter attack. My muscular neck is swinging back towards Confutatis, whom I have officially marked as a foe due to this attack. My horn is now brandished for her soft undercarriage, as I watch her with glinting eyes. It is right as I swing my head, though, that I feel her right limb crash against my hindquarters, knocking me ever so slightly to the side and nicking at the flesh on the top-line, sending a ripple of pain and rage across my frame, small drops of blood emerging and clinging to the cut. My hooves slide against the crystal, snagging for a moment as my forelimbs pull me back in line and I am lunging forward again. A second for the horn to slash the flesh on her barrel before I twist (with ease on the slick surface) to my left on the forehand and kick out with both hind limbs— aiming at the right side of her stomach. I could feel the souls begging to disorient her. But, no. Not yet. I wanted to shock her— der Sensenmann should rip every breath she takes... Unheil rumbled. Voices "Speech" Normal ---- [799/800 words] && [1/4] Hundin - bitch meine kleine - my darling Seele you better run to survive, before she makes you her latest slaughter

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Of failure, she was unafraid, but not because of acceptance of a misstep- rather, because of conviction in the impossibility of incompetence in her job. Her hopes were to be unachieved; her hooves did not crack down on the icicle crown of Seele’s head, nor did her knee land on fleshy chest. The Glassfox was bending around the harlot, precious cranium casually thrown out of the way- and almost immediately swung back, silver sword reaching out to cut at the tender flesh of the hellion’s stomach. Alas, Seele’s goal is doomed- Confutatis does not have the excellent balance to remain on two legs for so long; her hooves were coming down, her efforts having accumulated to nothing but a shallow scrape (if even that) on the seal bay’s topline. Confutatis moving downwards, the foe’s dagger scraped upwards along her right shoulder, where the bones of her rotted ancestors cling, and protect her from any harm (except for chafing.) It is not in the succubus’ nature to doubt her actions; why should she bother to throw herself into combat if she thought she was to lose? But in that moment, in the miserable outcome of dance and attack, she had been left her with poignant memories of a king medic defeating her in the wicked movements of combat. There would be no repeat of that. Not here, not today. Hooves clattered on the slick surface of diamond-like substance as she came to all fours, pitched forward slightly and awkwardly as she absorbed the impact in her frogs. It was with subtle delicacy and utmost swiftness that she arranged her posture to convey her attitude; the curve of her neck pronounces as she lifted her head tall- challenging, daring the Necromancer who slithers and slips on the floor to face her- the activity of her ears, the tension that has her quivering, feet groping for a grip. There were no seconds. It was simply her rapid pulse and accelerated breathing, the coil of muscle and sinew shifting beneath rippling ebony skin, the rasp of lungs inhaling and exhaling. This was all as she scrabbled, off-balance from her landing, trying to halt in her skating, mirroring the action of Seele with one exception: Seele recovered before her. There were curses and worries flaring in her thoughts, too rapid to rationalize, too wicked to put word to; a sequence of cruelty and savagery. She was feral; Lady Death, daughter of Oblivion, born from rape and lust; she was to be a fucking QUEEN, who was this mare to stop her? And then that crystal horn was cutting a clean, prim line along the lower right side of her barrel, where the muscle lay flat and thin. It did not gush blood suddenly; but Confutatis was fairly certain that upon movement, red would eventually trickle free. But there was no time to dwell on thoughts of injury, nor to take stock, because the Saddlebred was turning her prim ass away from Confutatis- and she was absolute in the belief the bitch was not about to run, which only left a kick to the face. Apollo had done the same to her; and she had no intention of allowing a repeat. Did she regret that storm-tossed day? Y e s. Maybe some thought the succubus ensnared in corrupted dreams of power would not have time for the more trivial emotions of woe and repentance. They would think wrong. Her downfalls and losses she lamented, because she had lost a chance, a hope, and she would have to fight again, another day, for the same ambition. Although it did not lessen her contempt of the Merciful, who she blamed for altogether too much. Acidic jaws gaped as she lunged forward towards those thrashing hind legs, reaching out towards face and chest and forelegs. Seele will not have the satisfaction of victory today, nor tomorrow, or even the day after. This she would refuse- she would not tilt her cranium to Seele as the better opponent, the worthy adversary, the dominator. It is for this reason, this refusal to bow her skull, that “forces” her into a position which could easily backfire (though it is a risk she is willing to take.) Poison lips seek hold of Seele’s left leg, anywhere from the fetlock joint to coronet band- would she achieve it? Would her yellowed teeth clutch and shake, yank and pull, force her to fall and crumble beneath the infectious behavior of her corrosive mouth? Would the Glassfox go lame, dislocate a leg trying to pull free of those clenching incisors? She did hope so. It would be a pleasant convenience if her future captive could not run away. And she did LOVE the thought of the traitor in glorious agony. 2/4 Word Count: 800

I could feel the pull of my skin- the fresh gash in my haunch. What had once been more of a rage inducing nick had torn itself open wider with the pounding of my hind limbs into the air. Glass hooves were aiming to hit a mark - any mark as long as it was upon the miscreant's right side - regardless of pain. Don't think. Don't feel. Just do. Don't second guess, meine kleine. Innerste purred, slowly infusing more strength into my soul that had been shaken by the images inserted into my mind not too long ago. No. I would never let them be tortured that way. I would never stand for it. As glass hooves sought flesh, a different feeling snagged onto my pastern on the left limb. Shooting, sickly pain is catapulted through my body, almost clouding my vision. Don't yank! Slowly! Schwere is booming, anxiety lacing his chords. He was right, after all, just as he spoke I stopped half-way through the knee-jerk reaction of forcing my limb back up against my barrel with pain screaming through my joints. I wait through the acid as gravity tries to start taking over again, muscles tensed from the excruciating pain that seems gruesomely to eat through my flesh, and with the cry of Now! from Innerste I rip that hind leg back up to my barrel. Blood and puss scrape against the flesh of my barrel, muscle showing (and thankfully no bone) along the back of my pastern. That hündin will pay! Schwere is growling now as Unheil starts his ricocheting laughter once more. I begin to slide back around, now relying heavily upon the balancing act centered around my frogs. My audits are pinned in pain and anger, though the only 'emotion' to line my face is that of hatred. Today - and for the rest of eternity - this mare was to be labeled a traitor and a bitch for those of the Asylum to do with as they pleased. Three limbs slide me back around to face the mare with the acidic saliva still dripping from her mouth. Our forms only seemed to be a foot or two away from calamity. The souls are screaming now - hissing in distaste of the injury that has me unable to put complete weight on my left hind. I'm bearing it, however, forcing back the grimace with each step in the turn that dares to place any weight on my hind limb. I finish that slick turn to my right with a hint of laughter in my eyes. The souls are at my command (as they always have been) and they are doing my bidding. A hoard of voices is grabbing at Con's life-source and with a decisive snort I can feel my souls as they attempt to rip her unfortunate ghoul from her cage. Gritting my teeth hard enough to taste the blood from my own tongue I push off as I had before - from my legs - despite the shooting pain it causes. Right eye. Scar. Pale. Blind? Schwere shouts and, again, I position my bodice so that I am moving toward her right side. I will impale her upon my horn - upon the crown that amused me not too long ago. My head is ducked down, aiming where the mare’s right leg connects to her chest. When I get close (hoping and pleading that my horn actually snags at her flesh) I toss it up, trying to tear at the muscle against her chest or nick an artery. You ruin my marionette's pastern she will ruin your heart - if you even possess one, hündin! Unheil is laughing. It seems he has found someone better to pick on for the time being, uniting with Schwere, Innerste, and Liebling towards one cause: to skewer this over-sized mare. The bigger you are - the harder you fall... Schwere was almost singing in joy - as if he was certain we would be victorious. However, I can feel my heart beating. I am, after all, asking to get my face bashed in should this mare attempt almost anything before I've officially speared her. There is a tinge of resignation - I know that if I die trying to kill this monster that Circuta will be able to take my place. I know my death (if it happens) won't be in vain. NO! Death! Murder! Pillaging! Torture! You will be victorious! a hoarse voice swirled into my mind just as I fully recognized the stinging pain of the air against my left pastern's open flesh. A new voice. One that made me... stop caring about this pain. Because... wasn't it my job to cause destruction? No? Well that didn't matter - I would cause destruction to the mare before me and I could fight about that later. Much later. [800/800] && [2/4] translations- hundin - bitch Seele you better run to survive, before she makes you her latest slaughter

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Ivories fasten down vivaciously on her opponent’s charcoal pastern- victory, she thinks to herself, but it is not so much a thought as a feeling in her oiled chest and the pounding in her conceited head. Maybe it is an infinitely puny achievement compared to her future desires, but nonetheless her triumph, a tiny step towards the greatness that she demanded of life; yet even as the brief moment comes, buoying her spirits (I am talented; see, I have snatched her from behind, certainly she did not expect that) it literally slips free from her grasp. The toxic slime of the wolf’s maw butters from the ergot to the coronet, and despite her increasing desperate clutching, the Saddlebred pulls free. Seele’s glass hoof, on its way to independence, clouts her around the sensitive flesh of her muzzle; the charcoal mare’s head jerks skyward, eyelids shuttering close as she winces at the unexpected pain. Ashen keratin dig at the floor, hunting for reassuring friction, and it takes too long for her to halt, to sink her weight back on her charcoal haunches, precious time trickling through her figurative fingertips. The harlot is dismayed; how she had hoped to see the bay’s fortress walls crumble beneath the onslaught of Confutatis the Great, the Feral, the Daughter of Demons, but she is denied the satisfaction of a quick ending to the art of bruises and serrations. No, she reminds herself- I am a fucker, a bitch, a wolf, I will not waste such petty emotions as trivial sadness on this slut- her jaw stands rigid, muscles playing out hard against her obsidian skin, molars clenched tight, ears locked to her neck in her silent fury. She skitters towards the unicorn, slithering over crystalline flooring, lupine in the aggression of the amber eye and the narrowness of her nostrils, aquiline in the proud curl of her crest; and then her horrid soul, shriveled and withered by acts of horror and evil, is ripped from bone and sinew.     If she could scream, she would have; shout in rage and, for all that she would deny it, fear of the unknown. She had thought herself the only mare capable of magic as powerful as hers, as malignant and vile, but she thought WRONG. Confutatis is returned to her body, with a jerk and shuddering side-step; disoriented, body numb with pain, senses dulled, the world is a whirlwind of shadows and nonsensical shapes dancing on her eyelids. Caught at a loss and dumb-founded (since when had this stupid bitch gotten magic?), Seele is able to cut cleanly through the succubus’ defenses, charging forwards wielding crystal horn as an untrained farmer does scythe; it is only by sheer luck, as the Skullface would put it down to, that the translucent crown catches her at the point of shoulder and peels open the uppermost layer of skin for another six inches, before Confutatis swings her hindquarters away from the mare, preventing a continuation. After this pivot around her forelegs, she halts, lifting her injured pillar off the ground to relieve the insistent ache in her shoulder. Blood begins to well free of the skin- but the sinner does not repent, does not mourn taking on an enemy with such nefarious magic. Even with her mind clouded, she has a compatriot in her crimes, a Yako who watches for main part seemingly unnoticed, whose oceanic mind laps against her mountains. The sea is crimson, bruised undercurrents of violent violet, enveloping the turmoil of the spiny crags; and it does nothing to rid of the succubus of her wildness, but it coaxes her, enrages her, and unleashes from her magic. Sorcery burns and boils over, seething waves of sadistic intent, swarming and crawling from her skin- DEATH AND DECAY TO ENEMIES OF THE CROWN. She does not direct it, but lets it wreak its havoc, allows it to scream silently, unbridled, towards the mare, towards her own Yako, where it blooms like a disease on his fur before he cowers away from her necromancer’s touch. Yet she DOES NOT CARE, she wants Seele to repent, to scream, to find her skin sloughing from bone, to die before the day is done. The bitch would not allow a peasant to defeat her, not allow HER victim to get the better of her; she would eat Seele alive, feast on her bleeding heart and flay her before she died, wait until she screamed for mercy and only then give it. The scholars would omit her name- Confutatis, the reaper, the devourer of hearts, the queen of skulls- from their books in fear of her, they would not whisper her titles, because she was DEATH, she was DARKNESS, she was DECAY, and YOU RUN AWAY FROM DEMONS. 799/800 words 3/4 + 0/1 *Modified as word count was off

It is so numbing. Diamonds and crystals glow with elegant, gently shifting colours that dull as my yellow orbs focus on the hulking monstrosity's form. There is the ever present thudding of my pastern - throbbing with each pulse of blood reaching the slick, puss-covered, exposed flesh and tissue. Whatever is the source of this numbing, and this creation of my own world to escape into, it is welcome. I watch as she heads toward me. Panic is evident, swirling in the mare's eyes as her soul is ripped from her ghastly host of a vessel. Unheil's laugh clouds my cranium as I lurch forward, the taste of blood is enough to snap the majority of my senses into line again and off the thundering heart in my hooves. However, the inner part of her leg is no longer where I am aiming - the Hündin staggered to her left with the return of her sickening soul, and Schwere can only scream profanities at my mindlessness. Alas, my spearing had not been in vain. BLOOD! a harsh voice bellows - a tone I had only heard but a few seconds earlier. Precarious placement of hooves has my frame still shooting forward and my sword digging into hot flesh, ripping it a good six inches before the mare has enough sensibility to attempt to move away from my attack. In my head, I laugh at her. Victory! Now - kill, devour, DESTROY! A new voice is slowly pulling my body, refocusing me. My eyes are locked on my surroundings as I twirl back to face the mare and stop my frame from crashing into the impending wall of sharp crystals. I rock my weight across my right hind leg as I press up against the wall, and shove myself back into the metaphorical ring. She will die today. Then I won't have to deal with her idiocy again. Pain, Searing pain. That is all I can feel. The numbing embrace of adrenaline has vanished from the corroding, torn flesh of my left hind leg. My pelt! Suddenly, it is bubbling and puss begins to spread across it - the stench of rot filling my nostrils. CONCENTRATE! Innerste screams and my head jerks up, limbs hauling me backwards a few steps, almost prepared to pull my own soul to deaden the new pain - for a few moments at least. That voice. It's more than a voice though, isn't it? It almost seems to control me and push me into darkness. I am almost unfeeling, and it is as if this voice is used to the feeling of flesh slowly rotting. What could it possibly have gone through to allow me this release? The dead vocals seem to guide the coherent portion of my mind into a different place - my physical body still ever present in reality. Crystal, glowing walls turning into barriers of trees. The slick floor flooded with mud that doesn't cling to my glass, and then Confutatis. It's as if I'm separated - delusions of a schizophrenic can be one of the strongest poisons. And, as I give into the power of this voice of my own creation the searing of my flesh seems to fade into a dull hum with each determined movement. Tense muscles are relaxing, and though they are weaker, my dream world isn't necessarily even registering the fact that they are decaying. Give. Her. Death. MAKE HER PAY! the voice screeches and I am locking my sights on her injured shoulder, wanting to rip it even more. I want to feel the blood coat me, spray me. I want to paint myself in her life substance. And then, I will kick her skull in - maul the marking and break the bones beneath it. Am I Seele anymore? Or am I this creation of hallucinations and paranoid tendencies? If you don't kill her, she will kill YOU! The voice reminds me, and with a snort of pain I take in her right side, perpendicular to my frame since I slid a little (startled by the fact that I was dying from the Hündin's new magic). Twenty different images flash across my brain as I catapult forward again - my forelimbs bearing enough weight to ease the injured limb behind. Head lowered until the last second when I snap it back up, hoping to tear a hole from the lower end of her right side to the middle of her barrel. And, I continue to move allowing the movement to try and shove her off balance with my right shoulder - head now ducking carefully to the left. The pain that is still surging through me is a dull thought in the back of my head - for in my world I can feel only the heat of the sun and the promise of a new day. Voices "Speech" [3/4] && [800/800] translations- Hundin - bitch Seele you better run to survive, before she makes you her latest slaughter

Credits

The wolf can taste victory- and it reeks of decay, unseemly blights to fester and flower on polished mahogany skin; and she smiles, she leers, bares her teeth in a snarl of joyous cruelty. Does the pretty girl like the ruin she deals to her virgin coat? Does she now begin to realize her idiocy, the peril to be found in facing a GOD, a lady of death and shadow? The Queen of Skulls watches the mare deteriorate before her eyes, and she would sing of her joy in her raven's croak- but she is elated too soon, for the Saddlebred, who seemed equal parts astonished and abashed by this show of sorcery charges on, through veils of corruption and gangrene. Ears flick forwards; bestial eyes widen in what must be, presumably, shock; and she does find, to her contempt, she is admiring of the fool's bravery. Yet for all the respect she may withhold for the clown-faced sorcerer, it made no difference. Today, the traitorous bitch would find herself befallen, throat to be clutched between the poisonous jaws of a monster, and she had best begin praying for the mercy that would not be given. Charcoal lips peel back into gruesome grimace, ears pinning once again to sinuous neck; and her mongrel croons to her in the back of her chaotic mind, a keening trill of encouragement as he watches on, not interfering as the quean, the harlot black and heartless stands ready and light, graceful on her keratins. Hooves clatter and rattle, the empty sounds of impending bruises and batterings; but it does not matter to HER, not to a queen, not to a MONSTER. Feral, wild, unnerving, she awaits, weaving cranium back and forth to keep the mare in line with her good eye; and then the Necromancer is almost upon her still-standing body. Do not fear- even as a statue, she is alive, nerves writhing beneath her ashen pelt- she rears, nostrils flared, jaws working to shout and blaspheme, but no words come forth (for she must be quiet, must be silent for fear of interlopers.) It is a small rear, more half than not, simply to bring herself ever higher than the smaller woman, and as she does so, the succubus twists towards Seele, hooves reaching up to scrape and bruise at the mare's upper forelegs or even the flesh of her shoulders. As she moves, the mare's crystal horn, originally reaching towards her barrel, should find itself scraping along the point of her hip. Confutatis winces as this does happen; teeth grit, foam bubbles from her lips, biting down on the squeal which arises from her chest. The wolf will not allow a coyote of low-level intelligence to get better of her. Dropping down onto the crystalline floor, she cowkicks towards the Clownface, not seeking a particular aim, simply desiring to land a blow on that tender dark flesh, or better yet, a joint of the foreleg; even as she attempts, the supple Saddlebred knocks into her hindquarters with a shoulder. This, in itself, is not altogether a blow she considers particularly devastating- a bruise, surely, no worse, but as she stumbles, her hooves find no grip on the glassy floor. Her feet skid beneath her, and to the demon-daughter's vulgar horror, there, not so far away at all is her damn companion, sitting like the lazy fucker he is, nibbling mildly at the sheathe of his claws- The mare jerks away from her companion, the feral animal she has wedded to her heart, narrowly bringing a hoof over his head, hind legs sinking beneath her; and she heaves herself back upwards on her forehand immediately after. There is a wrench, a pop, and she clamps down on a squeal of pain as her right foreleg buckles. Too fucking bad, she tells herself, find your feet before you have a horn through your throat. It would not do to crumble now when the crown is close and the taste of the Necromancer's ichor is on her lips; it would not do to wither and fade when she was winning. She stands and waits one last time for the bitch to advance, for surely she would- and the Clownface would only find herself breaking against the walls of the wolf's castle, unable to cut through the defenses. Confutatis patiently stays, watching for the foe to charge. 731/800 words 4/4 + 0/1

I can feel it. My strength is slowly beginning to deteriorate. My muscles are rotting, my skin is bubbling, and my hooves are sliding around on the crystalline floor that my mind has so swiftly turned into mud. It is difficult for my tiny frame to find its footing, glass hooves just barely clinging against the ground as I allow my yellow gaze to lock upon the target. The closer I get the more my own world flourishes (doing all it can to distract me from the pain of bubbling, rotting flesh). Death! Murder! Stake the traitor! comes that ever ominous voice, slicing through my world just long enough for me to catch that the hündin is raising her heavier body and turning it towards me. Limbs slide at my realization of this and a thin stream of German-laced profanities about the mud (that is only in my mind) spill from my maw. I attempt to place weight my left pastern (it almost falling out from under me) to have my left forelimb drag me ever forward before I can completely lose my footing. Her hooves (aimed at my forelimbs - no, wait, my shoulder from my weight dragging me down another inch in her line of fire) just manage to clip against my flesh, causing a small line of skin to tear. However, it doesn't bother me. It is minuscule compared to the deterioration that has taken place. The horn that I had planned on turning towards her chest only slides down her hip (upon my realization that she is turning towards me), scratching at the flesh and daring to draw only a little blood. HURT HER! the voice screeches in its hoarse tone. It is with the momentum from my previous speed that I allow my shoulder to slam into her hindquarters as her hind limbs attempt to cow-kick out at me (yet only have the grace to meet the hole under my neck and not flesh). It is in this moment that my dream world shatters its veil against the pain. It's searing and I am doubling back in shock as her magic begins to fade. Not all of my pelt had decayed (no that wouldn't do - I mean, I still had to look somewhat appealing should Innerste have any desire to truly assist me) but there had been enough that each movement resulted in pain - regardless of what it was. Victory! Victory! the ominous voice is rejoicing. I see her bodice struggling to find the footing. But it is not just her - no it is also her companion which grovels at her feet. I take this time to gather myself, to relish the pain and figure out how to escape from her grasp. The souls! Use the souls! Liebling pleads. Is she afraid I might die if I can't kill this creature before me? Perhaps she is right, and I can feel the souls circling around again, intent upon their prey. I'm weak (I can admit the truth) but if I could get this one last blow and break her then maybe I'd be able to make it free. With the last remnants of my mental strength, I call upon the souls to rip the hündin's from her ghastly bodice. Her power cannot fight these angered souls. So, as soon as I feel them snag onto the fighting soul I rocket forward (just a tad slower than before) with hard lines of pain clear upon my face. As the soul is yanked from its host, I lower my crown and set my aim. Bring her DEATH! that deep, broken voice is commanding, and I am all so willing to give it to her as the last shreds of my imagined world fall. My sword aimed intently where her left leg meets her chest - coming at her from a slight angle on her right. I want to see BLOOD! I want to be SHOWERED in HERS! he is raging. The pain that had hindered me earlier is steadying me now. It reminds me of my purpose. You see, the imbecile of a girl doesn't understand. She doesn't have the weight of her ancestors resting on her shoulders and speaking in her head. But I do, and it is there strength that keeps me from ever having to feel. If I failed, though, Circuta would know that I was missing. She would find me, and she would bring the help necessary to crush this monster at its own game. This hündin might have surprised me once - but we would surprise her the next time, and she would fall. But we will be VICTORIOUS! the harsh voice rang out, Even if it is by ruining her from the inside out. And that - that was something I could definitely stand behind. Voices "Speech" [800/800] && [4/4] I believe it's just Wanda's closing defense and it's done? please be the end Translation- same as always XD hundin - bitch Seele you better run to survive, before she makes you her latest slaughter

Credits

There is an emptiness where her hooves lash; and should she not grow sorrowful, for her considerable lacking of ability for domination? Alas, she does not; she blossoms out of rage and fury, passion and anger; she grows with it, becoming taller and larger with every stride, louder with every grunt as she comes to grapple with Seele the Necromancer. She foams, mouth full of poison and acid, and she is rabid and feral with her furor- how dare this runt get better than her? Again, and again, the wolf was downtrodden, subjugated to failure and the ache of loss, the tyrant doomed to never be quite good enough, no matter her attempts. She swells, she trumpets, and yet her efforts fall short of the line she should seek. Damn them- damn them all. Yet her determination is near-unrivaled; every inadequacy she met with steely resolution, tenacious and dedicated to her crown, her future, and even if she had to work for it- well, she would fucking work for it, and they would rue the day when her inability to arise victorious would play out in her favour, when she learned from her mistakes in battle. Every drop of blood she lost she would repay a thousand times over; she would shred wings from shoulders, horns from heads, and close her foaming mouth over eyes, pluck and caress the delicate faces with her acid lips to watch gelatinous orbs melt and slither over BURNING cheeks. Knees jerk beneath her form as she wrenches her leg ever-farther, and she lets out a bark of agony, the first and last sound to pull free from the cage of her lips. Confutatis, Queen-killer, Monster of Men, flounders and slithers on the diamond floor, struggling to find footing, avoiding her companion desperately, pillars quivering as she draws herself up. She does feel ill; a sickness writhing in her stomach, choking at her throat, crawling up to her nostrils; for a moment she finds herself longing for an end, but the wolf will NOT allow a doe-eyed clown to come off better than her. Again and again she curses the Seele and her magic, the shoddy footing and the light that glares in her eyes and burns in her retinas, throwing off aim and movement. As she slides, she wrenches the same right knee again as she jerks to face Seele; teeth grit together as tendons scrape unpleasantly, and she lets out a rasping snort. The woman charges; and the same sickening sensation of earlier occurs. Her soul, rending from body, peeled away; disorientation and confusion, colors behind her eyes and needles in her skull, scraping and grinding against her brain; her mongrel shrieks out in warning, calls out to his companion as they are bonded and no matter of organic body will get in the way of their cherished companionship. Yet she is thrown, wild, unable to anticipate movements, even as her soul surges back to wicked bodice. At the last movement she pulls away, her foe's diamond horn glittering in the dismal lighting; and the Skullface snarls, unhinged, as it pierces through knotted sinew and muscle, pain not unlike what she's felt before. Due to her movement, the horn misses the heart- but the organ breaks anyway. Failure, again; is she close to death? There is blood on her lips, aye, and foam dribbling down her chin; but it is little compared to the gored mess of her shoulder, the pain that seizes her with every stride she takes, seeking respite from the Clown and her nefarious ways. She is finished, done, fucking done with this war; let Seele bow her head, or Confutatis leave unhindered. It hurts, it hurts and hurts and hurts. Here she is, bruised and broken, failure and loss, blemish on the names of her forefathers; and there stands her enemy, righteous and proud, scarlet and obsidian. But one day; one day she would mount Seele as if she were a stallion and put her in her proper place. She would fuck her right over until she dropped DEAD. 680/800 words 4/4 + 1/1

CONFUTATIS
Realism [+3]
You’re talented at fighting with a good eye for realistic timing and responses, although I would like to see more emphasis on surroundings and breed differences throughout the fight. You would mention the floor briefly, and did at one point in your fourth post talk about how it cause you to slip some which was great! You did mention Confutatis’ height over Seele in your first post, but you never really utilized it again or their differences in strength and speed. I would like to see more focus on injuries from you because at times you would barely even describe what Seele’s attack had done to you, much less how it affected you, and you never really brought up injuries from previous posts into your next ones, injuries that should have affected you. I think you used your magic and companion very well, but would like more clarity on what exactly is occurring. I really liked your usage of taking damage with it coming from unexpected places like almost stepping on your own companion and taking an additional cut from Seele’s horn because of a way you moved to defend yourself.


Emotion [+1.5]
I could see you attempting to provide emotion, but for the most part it felt like you were telling me what she was feeling, rather than showing me or having me feel it alongside her. You utilize a lot of different font styles that bring attention to certain words or phrases, but I never felt drawn into Confutatis or her plight, which I would have expected in this fight considering her opponent. When she attacks, what is she hoping for, why did she choose that attack? If it hits or if it misses, how does that affect her and her next calculations? If she is struck, what goes on in her mind, does it anger her, motivate her? etc. I want to feel what she feels, not just read something tossed in at the end.


Prose [+3.5]
You have a very elegant writing style that was a pleasure to read, just be cautious that you do not make it too frilly that it detracts from the actual meat of the words.


Readability [+2]
For the most part you were clear, but at times your writing would convolute the meaning or the purpose to your writing. Especially in a fight I’d like if you were more direct and clear with your actions. I found I think 1 typo, otherwise great job with grammar and structure.



Finally tally: 7.5+10 = 17.5 HP


SEELE


Realism [+2]
You do an excellent job with your injury descriptions and are very good at remembering to bring them up again in posts later one, bravo! Be careful though that you do not over-exaggerate the injury, such as the cut on Seele’s haunch from Confutatis’ hooves started to get a bit too bloody and hindering in your second post for the little amount of damage the wound really was. On the other hand I would have liked to see more emphasis on the rotting Seele endured in her third post and more hindrance from the acid wound she sustained in her second post. You should not have taken any damage in your fourth post because Confutatis had a critical miss and did damage to herself - be mindful of the dice results! In regards to attacking and defending, I think at times you assume there is too much time to react, such as Confutatis’ first attacks were very consecutive but you replied to them in your first post like you had a lot of room to respond. You should also consider the power of momentum and the strength of just body weight, for instance in your second post you say Confutatis’ was able to bite onto your hind leg as you were bucking, but the force of your buck would have hugely beat Confutatis’ bite, so that was damage that should not have been taken in that manner. I enjoyed your constant reference to the surroundings, particularly the floor, but I would have liked to see it actually effect you more - you did mention a few things in your first post such as the floor sharpening your hooves, which is not plausible, and the slick surface making it easier to turn on, which would actually do the opposite; without any good traction she would have a hard time pushing off to accomplish a turn. Watch reining horses and how important it is for them that they have good, deep dirt to grip in to do their sharp turns. I think your magical attacks were done really strategically.


Emotion [+1]
I would have liked to see a lot more emotion from Seele. Your second post was the best, but all of them needed less action and more explanation for Seele’s motives, her thoughts, her feelings. I felt like you tossed a few things in last moment and it left me very detached from her. I feel especially in this fight, especially after that opening illusion magic, that Seele would be feeling a lot of interesting things that we could explore together. What does Seele feel when her attack lands or misses? What are her reasons for performing her attack or defense? etc.


Prose [+2.5]
It took me a while to grow accustomed to the voices, but overall you have nice prose and flow. I would caution you against focusing too much on the voices/spirits though, and especially against making them seem too all knowing. At times you’d push the limit a bit with God moding and for the most part I found the voices being used too often and slightly distracting, I would have much preferred to see more of Seele, or some explanation of how the voices are Seele.


Readability [+1.5]
Overall you were clear with your descriptions and easy to understand, but at times I would grow confused due to the voices or some of your actual actions themselves wouldn’t make sense. I’d advise you to slow down and read through your work carefully, even aloud. I saw some typos for pus as “puss” also.



Finally tally: 17.5+7= 24.5 HP