The snow obscures his vision to such an extent that he doesn't see the mass of black that approaches until it's almost on top of him - he squints his eyes and demands that his dragons lend him theirs, too, but even they struggle to see through the sheer volume of thick snowflakes. God dammit. That will be a disadvantage in any battle, although the brute knows it'll be just as much of a ball-ache to his opponent.

He revels in the difficulty, because warlords are not forged out of men who are afraid to test their limits. Warlords are spawned from the blood and steel of men who not only test their limits, but break them, conquer them, dominate them like a mare beneath their weight.

When the black blur is close enough to merge into solidness, Volterra's innards give a happy little lurch. This man, this potential foe - ah, he's so gloriously big! Taller, even, than the obsidian monolith himself, although the difference is so small it's hardly worth noticing. But this is simply splendid! The beast has never fought an opponent larger than himself before, save for the great demon made of bones and nightmare-born malice who he slaughtered on the beach; this will be a whole new challenge to him, and one that he is quite determined to face head-on and own. Of course, size doesn't matter (although that's easy for Volterra to say, a man blessed with size in every department), as it is the strength of one's body and mind that counts for far more than their height, but it presents an entirely different proposition compared to fighting someone smaller than himself.

He's about to reveal his boyish excitement to his erstwhile foe, but then the male speaks - and Volterra's volcanic temper erupts, eclipsing all else, like an ash cloud over the surface of the sun. Any misguided notion of exchanging niceties is suddenly crushed beneath a great, howling landslide of fury, and the behemoth's ears slam back into his mane like he's clicking the trigger of a gun. He loads the bullet; his muscles bulk to their full and colossal size, his sinews sing with the desire to strike, and his jaws twist into a wolf's snarl.

"Speak with your body, craven, not your words," he booms, his voice a raging storm, his eyes a burning tempest. Upon his back, Vérzés rears high, howling into the blizzard, but Volterra smothers his dragon's desire to attack as soon as he senses it in the red's mind. No, Vérzés. I will take this one alone. Reluctantly, the crimson war-dragon lunges up into the heavens to circle with Vadir, to watch their bonded at work.

It leaves Volterra alone and quaking with suppressed anger at this fool's insults; the snowflakes melt on his hot flesh as he sheds all his training in favour of following his instincts. And his instincts scream at him to just attack, to say a quick fuck you to the conditions and his opponent's size and just fight the only way he knows how. Primal, carnal, hard and fast and painful and bloody and magnificent.

So he does.

He notes how the snow clings to the feathers on his feet and tries to suck him back down as he lunges forwards; this may impact his ability to move later in the fight when he's tired and aching. But right now, he's fresh and fuelled by adrenaline and pure unadulterated rage, and he hardly feels the tug of the snow upon his thick limbs. His obscured vision isn't much of a problem at the moment, either, as his insulting opponent is now close enough for him to see through the storm of flakes.

He aims to approach the unicorn head-on, face to face, man to man - his chest thrusts out and he seeks to slam it hard into the other's own chest. Their strength is likely similar, so the beast is curious if he can barge his foe backwards as easily as he usually does, or whether the unicorn's size and weight will mean Volterra has to rethink his usual tactics. Simultaneously, his jaws reach out and attempt to plant a hard nip upon the right side of the unicorn's face, just below his eye, in the hope of making the tight flesh ache and bruise.

Perhaps these attacks are not too sensible - perhaps trying to flank his opponent would have been better and safer, to avoid that crown of horns and that great size. But Volterra does not understand caution on the battlefield, especially when he's angry - that will come with age and maturity. Right now, the beast only knows how to fight one way, so any alternative attacks do not even enter his mind.

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Teaching spar for @Abaddon !

I'll start the teaching notes after you post next :D Also sorry for the wait! I was super busy this week but my fight posts don't normally take this long :)

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