Archibald felt his hooves strike against AILITH’s right fore-elbow, hearing the breath rip from her lungs once more. Perfect. Gathering his hind legs back underneath him, the tank moved forwards and circled wide out to the right, turning back to face AILITH perpendicularly. The muscles that were bruised from her strikes at him pulled uncomfortably against his will, but the pain would pass in time. These injuries were nothing for the Dauntless to fret over. They were mere dwarves compared to the giant scars that ripped across his body from Dei’s fire—now those had been catastrophic wounds. The warlord’s mind flashed with memories of distant battles, watching as AILITH moved like a mixture between Smoke the Wildrose and Locket. “I am a warlord, princess, this is what I do.” Archibald spat at her, voice dripping with venom. All of the malice that Mandrake drove into his heart and all of the power he had built on his own bursting forth onto the battlefield. Archibald cared little for this mare’s words—she was soft and sad and broken, and the Dauntless had made her so. In this moment, he was victorious. He was raised to be a machine of war, a murderer, a guillotine. The draft had grown to be a powerful one; the truth of his power was unquestionable at this point. Mandrake did not raise him to feel things, like compassion, but only raised him to wield power and glory. He was becoming what he was bred and raised to be. Archibald was Mandrake’s perfect soldier.

In a moment, AILITH moved and another came barreling towards them. Snorting, Archibald focused on AILITH’s movements. Her jaws opened wide and she came, aiming a bite for his left side. As quickly as he could, the Dauntless shifted his weight back and bent his hind legs, making it easier to strike out furiously at her own shifting forelegs, attempting to strike anywhere on either leg. His feathers danced wildly as his hooves struck, his thick legs propelling them with enough strength to break bones. He knew he could break bones, for he had done it so easily in the past. He had struck down Roanne the Sentinel, a stallion equipped with much thicker legs than AILITH, and he had crushed the skull of Svetlana the Stormchaser. His hooves were powerful weapons of mass destruction. As she neared her neck flew out, her teeth meeting his thick own neck. Unlike her other bites, this one was relentless and powerful. Hair and skin ripped from his body, and he sucked in a breath as pain filled his eyes. Rapidly, the Dauntless struck, his neck arching towards AILITH to propel his open jaws for her left side, not exactly knowing where his bite would land because of her forward momentum. Archibald then repeated himself, focusing his weight on his front end to lift his hind end and buck out at the passing AILITH, hoping to strike her with his powerful hooves once more. His target was just as vague as his bite, and he would be pleased if they made purchase no matter the area. He did not need a bull’s-eye for these attacks to be successful.

The sand arrowheads went unnoticed by the Dauntless as he landed all of his hooves on the grass, for his attention was drawn up to THAROS, the grullo that had barreled towards them, as he flailed wildly. The grullo stallion’s hooves, which Archibald had predicted were aimed at his long gone positioning, struck nothing but air. The Dauntless could have laughed deeply at the grullo’s idiocy, but instead he flashed and image of the flailing brute to Loretta. Eyes flicking to Loretta, the malamute leapt forward. Her jaws opened and she snarled viciously, sending her magic spiraling towards the grullo stallion like she had done to AILITH. The invisible tendrils reached and grasped, fingers twisting to rip the stallion back in time. She hoped to pull him into infancy, just as she had AILITH at the begging of the battle, and Die during Jackal’s challenge to Archibald. AILITH and Dei had both fallen confused, like newborns underneath her power. Loretta sent images of what she could see to Archibald—Kri and Apollo—the stallion’s other targets. Snorting, Archibald flicked his ears slick back and turned his head to search out AILITH once more. His neck throbbed, a warm sting that tried to pull his attention away from battle. No. Archibald was a warlord, a machine, and he did not fuss over flesh wounds. He knew the wound was bleeding, but it was not rapidly gushing. In fact, the blood was not even pooling out of him. Blood was thick, and it painted his dark hair even darker around the wound itself, but it did not trickle down just yet.

Archibald’s muscles were tight, body ready to react. As he focused on AILITH, anticipating her coming attacks, or lack thereof, the sun raised high above them. The ground beneath his hooves was dry, the dew sucked into oblivion. The Foothills terrain was a good battlefield, though only in the dry months. The last time he had battled on this soil it was a mud trap. Smirking, Archibald slammed his left forehoof into the hard ground underneath him, sending powerful tremors radiating out in all directions, hoping to know those on the ground off balance, particularly THAROS and AILITH

[WC: 900 | Buffs: Endure and Swift | Magic: 2/2 | Companion: 2/2 | Attacking: AILITH and THAROS | Summary: Archibald moves to circle and face Ailith perpendicularity after he kicked her elbows. When she advances him, he kicks at her front legs with his own front legs. In her passing, she bites his neck. He then strikes out with his own bite, but does not know where it would land because of her movements. He presses his hips into her and kicks out his back legs, again with vague aim because of her movements. Loretta uses her magic against Tharos to turn him mentally into an infant. Archibald uses his tremor magic to shake the earth and throw anyone he can off balance.]