With a din to rival the thunder itself, the red dragon releases a scream of savage pleasure as his ice-rink causes the unicorn to slip and fight for balance. He wheels away with the lazy swing of a wing, silhouetted sharply against the lightning as he ascends towards his golden sister.

Volterra's attack is slightly less successful, as his left foreleg just clips Grimalkin's backside but fails to cripple him beneath the force of the blow. His limbs return to the ground, squelching down into deep, muddy sand that clings to the thick feathers of his legs. As Vérzés had only aimed his frost breath for directly in front of Grimalkin, there is no ice beneath Volterra's own hooves as he lands from his attack, only soft, gluttonous mire that sucks him in like the sweet caress of a woman. Again he has to fight to keep his footing, spreading his legs wide and praying. It is almost like he's facing two opponents, because as well as the antlered goliath hellbent on pounding him into submission, he also has the adverse ground conditions to contend with as well.

And he fucking loves it. He can't think of a better way to test himself, to improve, to take one step closer to the warlord he dreams of becoming. It's fights like this that will define him, that will harden and strengthen him, that will sculpt him into his own twisted vision of perfection. As his dragons circle above him like deadly gemstones, as the rain slicks his coat and the lightning illuminates every rugged line of his musculature, he feels so god damned alive that he thinks he could scale mountains, soar above the clouds, defeat a bear. In the absence of a bear, this hulking antlered beast will have to suffice.

His euphoria is only slightly dampened when he sees, out of the corner of his eye, Grimalkin lift ominiously forwards, colossal hind legs unfurling like broken promises. Ah, the beast scolds himself. Maybe the middle of a battle is not the best time to reminisce on how fucking awesome life is.

With what little time he has to act, Volterra hurls his weight to his left. His feet beg for purchase on the slimy ground, find only the bare minimum of what they're looking for, but it's enough to get him out of the way of the main brunt of Grimalkin's attack. The unicorn's left hindhoof collides with the right side of Volterra's chest, embedding a hoof-shaped bruise that sears through flesh but stops just shy of tenderizing the muscle. The pain is a startling reminder of the battle he's in, and he grins beneath his bony mask.

He continues forwards, aiming to run parallel with the unicorn, his right side to Grimalkin's left side with them both facing in the same direction. The wet sand sucks away some of his momentum, leading the brute to reconsider any barging attacks; these conditions steal away impetus, destroy his notions of barbaric slamming. This is a battle made for finesse, for brains rather than brawn, things that the young titan does not excel at. Again, he revels in the fact he is testing himself, pushing his own boundaries.

With a feral grunt, he throws his front half's weight to the left again and thrusts all his energy into his hindlegs. They sprawl out to his right in a vicious cow-kick, aiming for midway along the palomino unicorn's left ribcage. The beast throws a fair amount of energy into this attack, to try and cause considerable damage - he does restrain himself slightly, though, and his attempt is not designed to shatter ribs or irreversibly maim the antlered giant. It's the first time he's used his hindhooves to strike with since he gained the horseshoes that adorn them, although said horseshoes are currenly invisible beneath the mess of mud that clings to the beast's feathered feet. He can feel the weight and power they add to his limbs, and Grimalkin is something of a crash test dummy to see how well they work.

In the corner of his mind, he feels his dragons both struggling against the howling wind. Neither move to aid him during this attack - not just because the elements are keeping them occupied, but also because they are both keen to see how Volterra fights without their assistance. As the beast is always keen to stress, his companions and his magic should always be added extras in any battle, not things he relies on to win. This is why he tests his body, his strength, his mind, to ensure he can rise to greatness as a seperate entity from his companions.

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@Grimalkin !

2/3 - 783 words