Magic sent the sprite of a mare reeling, falling, and flailing from the sky. Archibald’s loyal bitch vibrated with her excitement, jowls nearly dripping with saliva, yearning to taste Ghost’s blood on her tongue. Loretta snarled as she rushed forward suddenly. Ghost’s hind end skirted towards her and Loretta moved towards the mare’s wing. Muscles coiled beneath her thick fur as she bunched up, preparing herself. Launching herself into the air, the bitch opened her jaws wide. Hungrily her trap-like muzzle sought for the back of Ghost’s right wing. Loretta wanted to rip into the feathers, remove them, and leave the mare grounded for the rest of this battle—no matter how long the duration would be. Loretta was a predator, truly, raised to be a woman of battle and war. Once she was locked in on her target, there was nothing to hold her back. The last time she had been involved in a battle like this she caught a dragon between her teeth and brought it to its demise. Perhaps it was good that the little wolf pup that Ghost bonded to had run away. Loretta had already displayed her dominance to the young cur, but in battle Loretta gave no compassion. No ounce of her twitched or paused with hesitation, and not even the demanding call of her bondmate could stop her when she was in her mindset of destruction.

Archibald, on the other side of the dark hybrid, kept his charge. The spikes along his neck sliced into the mare. The satisfaction of knowing his attack swelled in his chest, but it was dull. There was no shudder than ran down his spine and electrified his muscles like when he felt the impact of an attack. His armor was a weapon of destruction and protection, but now as he used it as a weapon the pleasure of knowing he inflicted damage on another, brought them to their knees, was not the same as when he brought them crashing down with his teeth and hooves. A sickening, loud scratching sound rang out suddenly around them. Snorting with mild confusion, Archibald’s mind whirled and he slowed his charge some, also not to hit Romani. It took only a second for the Dauntless to realize that the sound was of Ghost’s horn slicing across the cold steel of his armor. A glorified, yet tight, smirk lit his lips, hidden beneath the maw of his wolfhelm.

With his charge slowed by his momentary lapse, the King knew he needed to attack. His hind end was open to her assaults, and he would not let her capitalize. He thrust his weight forward, head tucked and neck arched as quickly his steel-clad hooves kicked towards where he hoped the Czarina still to be. The sudden movement of his colossal hooves threw grass and dirt into the air, but that was of no concern to him. He aimed his hooves in an attempt to slam against Ghost’s chest or the point of her left shoulder. Archibald wondered how the crack of her sternum would feel beneath his hooves. Surely, the missing satisfaction of his armor’s attack would be fulfilled in feeling the impact against her body vibrate up his legs—should he hit her. It was a simple, one-barreled kick that the King gave, and as his hind hooves sought the purchase of the earth once more, Archibald craned his neck and twisted his body to turn to the right, hoping to end up spinning around to face Ghost head on.

He did not expect the mare to send her own magical attack, but a single drop of her blood splattered against a split in the neck pieces of his armor. It stung intensely, and Archibald quickly tucked his nose into his armor to find the other amulet he had hidden. It was different than the last amulet he had shattered on the ground, but if it had any of the same effect, Archibald would take it as success. Quickly, Archibald threw this amulet up. It left his lips and as trickles of blood touched it, the amulet shattered. Unlike absorbing the magic like the previous amulet, it sent the downpour of blood for the dark Czarina. Amazed, Archibald reveled in the assault. The king moved his massive head, eyes canning across the battlefield that had nearly died to him as he focused on his battle with Ghost. There was a lack of warriors, and a majority of his army stood with no purpose. Archibald grunted beneath his helmet. All along, Midas had been harboring a herd full of cowards. It was no surprise to Archibald, but it was disappointing. While he and his bonded felt the clash of battle, the intensity, his army felt so little.






[WC: 794/800, according to Microsoft Word

PC: 2/3

Archibald used his Spark Amulet to absorb Ghost's blood-rain magic.

Armor Reference]