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Desperation never wore well on anyone, and the actions born of such passions were faulty and poor. How many times would she fall before she realized the truth in her own thoughts? Halfway between memories and magic, she attempted to lift her damaged forelegs, blood crusting the white fur as it struggled to coagulate with movement. Skin stretched and oozed over her sides, the stench of burning hair poisoning her nostrils and clouding her judgment, and she landed, feeling pain shudder throughout her form. Stars exploded across her vision, a night sky fading over her mind, and she fought the need to suck in air that expanded her damaged sides. Muscles and will gave way as she tumbled downward, trying to catch herself and stretching as her haunches, mostly undamaged, tucked to carry her weight. Rocks scattered around her hocks, chipping and the tender, split hooves and catching around her skin, leaving pinpricks of blood like a hundred needles sucking life from her very bones. A heavy breath plunged from her lungs as she shook, fibers and sinews of her lithe form trembling under the straight, groaning beneath the untried weight of armor and agony.
Shitty luck, new equipment and overwhelming memories all compounded into a droning failure, the universe howling in laughter at her pain. Battles which mattered were misery, losing by disastrous proportions while others were clean sweeps of victory. However, in all her life, this would be the most pathetic of defeats. In fact, this battle did not speak well for those she had conquered, and her expression soured as she wondered how to scrape herself up from the pit she had fallen into, by tooth and nail if she must. Little else could be done this late in the game and this damaged, and she tried to focus, throwing herself into the battle again after mere seconds of reprieve.
Steeling her mind against the pain, Ophelia shoved her bones forward, her horn whistling at empty air with the swing of her skull. Bloodlines wept and the gods turned their faces upon another miss, all attempts at wrestling her position from his mind seemingly falling away. Time moved too quickly and their spar accelerated beyond her capabilities of metal reach, leaving all of his thoughts and memories intact and buried in secrecy. All she had wanted was to erase her position, and whether or not the power was successful was a mystery. He seemed to still miraculously predict her actions, dodging every clever advance and leaving her drowning in the aftermath of self-injury. Explanations were lost in confusion, and she settled on the fact that she had never fought anyone so evenly matched. From their height to their build, she and Deimos were meticulously crafted and similarly constructed. Advantages she was used to possessing over others were now in his grasp as well, and despite every coordinated effort, she came up short, hurting.
Exhausted limbs carried her swiftly still, increasing the distance between them after her attack missed to regroup and rethink her plummeting tactics. Barely feet away, she felt a familiar tingle, a raising of the hairs on the back of her neck and whisper from the reaper on the other side. Death. Finality. Closure. Despite the afternoon sun, a shadow cast on her soul, blotting out all light. Lethargy, sweet lethargy hummed up her legs, drawing her into the abyss as her soul, siphoned like a kiss, billowed into eternity. Ophelia closed her eyes, embracing death with open arms, knowing that in her time, the Sun God would walk her from this life to the next, but she owed him a fight. When she transcended this world, truly beaten, her steps would echo in Valhalla as a warrior, welcomed in to the great halls as a queen.
But like all warriors, she would not go willingly. Ophelia opened her eyes, bright with clarity only the end can bring as Tinek, shrieking in fear, swept from the skies and howled in anger. Open jaws released a torrent of frost and shock, the very air charged and dragging the ends of her crimson and white hair upward along the field. Brief seconds of cold, and she tore her body from her grave, gathering strength in her haunches for a final push. No magic. No tricks. Chicanery tossed to the wind. Ophelia shoved through the white frost, feeling cold, numbing flakes settle into her burns, and she dipped her horn once more, aiming to flay his stony physique from left shoulder along his left side. This would be her final attack – her last chance at redemption. Damage control would follow, and she was determined to show that this was not the disastrous apex of her skills.
[[(788 words in word) (3/3)
- Ophelia takes damage to herself by the rocks slicing up her legs and hooves as she skids to a stop
- Tinek swoops down to separate them/possibly injure with his frost and shock breath
- She lunches at him and tries to use her horn to slice him from left shoulder and along his left side ]]
OPHELIA
Faith shattered and decays as frosted blood flows in my veins
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[JUDGED] Reap elsewhere [Deimos Birdsong Battle]
