Onni the Illuminant Posts: 194
| Hidden Account |
| Mare :: Pegasus :: 15.2hh :: 8 Buff: SWIFT |
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Lyhty :: Diamond Firetail Finch :: Sing
Boom Boom! |
She was being a good ally, flying north on wings that were no longer shaky in the air.
She was being a good ally, racing to the aid of the World's Edge in the night.
She was being a good ally, moving farther and farther from the reassuring fire of the pyre.
She was being a good ally, crossing the Heart of Helovia.
It is then she saw them. Unicorns, moving in a formation that spelled war in every graceful, purposeful movement. Her pale blue eyes widen, hovering in the air above them, shocked and uncertain, before she turns tail. Home, Onni? Lyhty says, worried upon her shoulder.
"Home," she says, sadly. If they would be able to call it that from this night on.
Unfortunately, the wind magic she had been blessed with since birth was not working properly still, and while she had thought the previous tailwind was fortuitous, it would now keep her from returning home in time to warn her beloved friends and family. Swallowing her doubt, her fear, Onni curves, wings pushing back against the wind, and she flew South. Back toward the red sands she knew better than any in this land. Back home.
If the members of the Basin thought they would be able to take the sands from under her hooves so easily, they would learn otherwise. Daughter of Kri the Resolute, Onni would succeed in keeping her home, her family safe. While the small, silver bay was missing, the shaman would do her best in the mare's absence.
After all, Kri would be very unhappy to return home to Psyche crowned Empress of her home.
The time slowed, the distance would not pass, and Onni was terrified that she would be too late, but battles raged along the the borders of the Throat herd in the Endless Night. Shadows danced eerily along the horizon, stretched by the massive fire which lit the entire land. Setting her wings downward, Onni begins to sail toward the red sands, ears alert and eyes scanning for any who were not paired, any who needed help.
A cloud of crimson raises as she lands, listening for the approach of an enemy.
Waiting.
[ Invasion defense post.
Standard challenge rules apply, Onni is in the Dragon's Throat border, a twenty or so paces from the unfinished wall. Magic restrictions as defined by the Endless Night SWP. ]
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| Hidden Account |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17hh :: 5 Buff: NOVICE |
| charks |
He waits for the weak to fall at his hooves, waits for them to cast themselves upon the soldier of Heaven and find themselves broken. Belial feels no fear as he marches into war, not the tug of anxiety or the sting of dismay. Why should he? The enemies are frightened angels, pitiful things in this realm of dark, heaven's rats on ragged wings. He gazes upon them with youthful contempt, his mouth a smear of disdain on the white-washed face, his eyes windows to nothing but a distant gleam of the whirling void. Heaven will fall to the hounds of hell tonight, ragged forms cast broken and bleeding upon the dark sand that they call their home. He will snap their wings and black their eyes, tear the fragile beating heart from between a cage of shattered lungs. His breath comes heavy, hard and fast; he wants to begin, to make the twisted corners of his mind into bleeding reality; he wants to bite, to break, to kill.
He sees the cherub descend from the skies, and the smirk transforms from smear to stain, a vibrant shock of bloodlust upon the whitewashed face. You will be my prey tonight, the feast I devour as our kingdom is born. She is a falling star of dirt and cream, crash-course bound for earth, his new found lover and friend and foe. As her form descends does the demon rise, staunch legs dragging languidly through the sand. Oh, but he is a devil behind the fruitless wall, using its shadow to defend his form; it is their defense that shall aid their downfall, and this blight of fate pleases the beast. He pulls from the bulwark on quickened steps, the thrill of this chase raising the beat of his heart, a surge of adrenaline in the void of his soul.
He runs.
The cherub wears a shroud of dust - ashes to ashes, dust to dust, soon your body will be crushed - a reddish haze that blurs her form, but he can see that she is small, an inelegant thing of stocky build and hollow wings, shrouded with shadow in the lacking light. She does not face him, but not away: her left side is in his line of sight, a thickset target equipped with gruesome wing. He wants to skewer that bulbous flank, to drive four horns between the lines of her ribs. He wants to watch the white of her side grow dark with blood.
Large head pulls tight against his chest, neck arching to account for the vast difference in their height, the four swords wielded as a knight's lance; he charges her on cloven hooves, his nostrils flaring and his bright eyes wild. He wants to catch the soft flesh beneath her wing, to slice away at tendon and muscle and render her useless, rob her of the right to call her self divine. Forward he draws, a massive form streamlined with silver and brown: he could crush her easily beneath the muscle of his foreleg, could stomp out the lights that live in her eyes. The thought is delightful. He wants to hear her crunch
He wants, he wants, he wants. He will. He braces for impact against her form, the mahogany behemoth and the chubby cherub, the son of a Seraph come to conquer the daughter of mongrels and usurpers. Body turns, arcs to the right, his neck thrown wide in a forceful thrust; he wants to drag his weapons through her, carving her form from shoulder to rump. Will she bleed in shades of black and blue, smelling as putrid as she appears? His tail lashes out behind, a whip sent flying to deter her yellowed teeth. Will she scream in the shock and cower before him, begging for mercy from a merciless god? He pulls away, swinging his rump away from her wings, backing abruptly to face his foe. He wants to see her face as she falls, the dismay in her eyes as she faces her better and knows she is doomed.
[ 680 words, post 1 of 4 ]
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Belial
Onni the Illuminant Posts: 194
| Hidden Account |
| Mare :: Pegasus :: 15.2hh :: 8 Buff: SWIFT |
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Lyhty :: Diamond Firetail Finch :: Sing
Boom Boom! |
Crimson sand clings to the legs which were still healing from burns, looking like blood on the sore flesh.
Crimson sand breathed in like rust into lungs aching from worry.
Crimson sand obscuring the view of beautifully clear, blue eyes.
Then, she heard rather than saw the shadow looming in the distance, his massive hooves resounding even in the sandy terrain. If not for the imposing size of this fellow, the desert landscape might have all but hidden his approach. Lyhty saw him first. Small, beady red eyes widening with little understanding. If not for the beating of war drums in the heart of his companion, his beloved friend, the small bird might not have understood the murderous grimace engraved on the face of the large demon in the night. Flashes of battle scenes, training, hooves clipping against her figure, the sound of teeth clattering with air.
The hidden side of the peaceful, modest shaman revealed at last with painstaking detail. The songbird finally understands who Voltaic is to Onni. One small tear rolls down her face as a flash of brilliant yellow and black runs through her mind, even as the small feathered bird yells a warning sign to the mare before leaping easily into the air on smaller wings, a birds-eye view. YOUR LEFT! he roars in their shared mind, Onni's head does not even turn to question her friend's warning. Instead, with practice skill, the small tobiano moves weight agilely unto her haunches, front end tossing itself toward the right, wounded forelegs screaming in protest as they meet with a soft plume of dirt that belied the force behind her body.
I will not hand it over, she thinks. Not after he died for our safety here.
The many daggers meant to spear the winged prey do not collide with a wing joint or shoulder, but instead Onni answers his challenge with a swift kick, aiming for the broad, heavily muscled left side of this unknown enemy's chest or the thick shoulder as he swings his head violently near her side. With any luck, the fast pivot will have allowed for his body within range of her thick hooves. Unfortunately, the stillness of the kick allows her rump to fall within the grasp of the long, awful claws, brandished from his skull with merciless force. The longest of the horns catches her left hip, slicing open a gash thick and purposeful, following through with the arch of her movement, the red flow of her blood painting over the bay figure. Pain washes over with shocking force. For a fleeting moment, the shaman wants to stop.
Above her, Onni is vaguely aware of the surprised shriek of Lyhty. Instead of halting, she swallows the lump which had grown in her throat, hind legs landing back upon the earth and she pushes forward, using speed which is an ally against such a bulky opponent, wings held out to catch the winds as she races, lifting herself up into the air with a forceful shove of from sturdy back legs, flapping to capture some small altitude with such a thin distance before take off. Then, her left wing tilts to the earth, stocky body entering a tight curve as she tosses herself back toward the area where her opponent was last felt, rather than seen, scouring the dark horizon for his figure.
In the chasms of a dual mind, a phrase is repeated fiercely: I will not surrender.
"For Voltaic," she growls under her breath, maneuvering herself about in the air to try and come toward the left side of the rust colored brute. Her front legs extend like violent knives that mimic those upon his brow, driving forward with increasing momentum as she tears the air with forceful beats. Wings slide in close to her figure should she draw near, not wanting them to be brutalized by searching swords in the dark, while still allowing for a graceful swooping motion. The aim of her posed front hooves? She aimed for the flank, slightly adjacent and below the hip joint, where she knew the body was not protected by strong ribs.
While Onni did not wish to kill any foe, this one would not be getting away lightly for trying to rob this precious home, the home of the Lord of Light, the final resting place of her beloved mentor. He would pay for the sins he committed against her heart.
Vibrant, kind, lovely, but, after all, she is still the daughter of the Resolute.
Would you believe it now?
[ WC: 772; 1/4; 0/2; Onni is using buffs SWIFT and BULK. ]
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| Hidden Account |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17hh :: 5 Buff: NOVICE |
| charks |
The son of angels snarls as wings fly past his head, the cherub having thrown her misshapen body away from his charge. His tail whips nothing but empty air; he snaps his teeth at the winged rat's hip in blinded fury, pulling the crown of thorns up and away, driven by the tang of blood which paints the air. Damaged angel, she lashes back, her hind legs acting as daggers of depravity. Too low to strike the shoulder or neck, a hoof skids off the beast's right breast, bruising tissue and brachial muscle. Pain blossoms in an auburn haze, too much to ignore and too little to recognize; demonchild shakes his head, ears pinned back and nostrils flared, and lets the gentle throb join the pounding of his blood, the rush of adrenaline that fuels his hate, the voices of hell which urge him on. An inhuman shriek rends the void between them, from what throat the demon knows not; the cherub turns tail and flees to the sky, relying on limbs bound to fail- horses were not meant to bear wings, and the demon knows this. He follows her with two-toned eyes, a darkened shape in a darkened sky who thinks herself safe in her haven of the heavens.
The demon's lips twist into a smile. Chubby cherub, you will never be safe from me.
She arcs in the sky and disappears; for a moment the beast brushes with panic. Like strangers on the street who have come too close for comfort, equine and emotion pause for a moment and stare one another in the eyes; and then terror drops his head and hurries on, frightened by what he has seen in the devil's gaze, and Belial spins to find the mare, his hooves tearing sand from stone, scraping upon the scoured battleground.
A moment later she enters his periphery; she is a copper bullet fired from a silver gun, a small figure growing rapidly in her forceful descent. She's sailing down upon his left. Too bulky to move quickly away, the Seraph's son feels no desire to flee from a foe so obviously inferior. Nay, another idea springs quickly to mind, one which suits the sizable stallion, swirling the bowels of his bloodlust. Strike the coward; bring her down; the voice of his mother whispers sweetly in his ear, and he grins his response on a white-washed face, shifting weight to tightly muscled hind legs, happy to relieve the bruised right fore. He will make her proud, her and Deimos and Cinnoru's name. He will take the pain and crush its source, will raise cloven hooves and bring them down upon his enemy's skull, will hear the crack of shattered bone and laugh. He will rend the abomination limb from limb, and when he has had his fill of her pain, he shall leave her on the steps of her fallen kingdom, and watch her weep.
Too stocky to budge when bound the earth, the rat is an easy target as she falls from the sky. As she flies downward he surges left, bunching muscles to into a pivoted leap, aiming his body towards the descending foe. A touch on the ground and then up again, the horns on his head spearing into the air, his large form angled against the fall of hers, mahogany back arched in hope to impact against her. He is hell coming to swallow her whole, the dreaded serpent on blackened legs, a champion of immortals who will knock the stout little cherub from her perch on cloud nine. His legs brace for impact, muscles ready to take the weight of her against him, mouth open in a gentle pant and a longing for blood.
It is an act not without consequence. Twinkle toes has hit her mark, and he winces as her hooves collide with his spine. He can feel the pain; it begins at the point where his rump curves upwards, radiating out from the small of his back and coursing down his dock, his flanks, a bright spot of bruise forming and growing and hurting more than he could ever have believed. He stumbles, right hind caving, and falls to all fours, a faint sting of torn skin and a steady throb of hurt behind his eyes. A snarl, a snort; with renewed force he throws his weight forward, kicking, blinded by his rage, great cloven hooves shoved into whatever part of the bitch he can reach. Winged rat, she is destined now to fall; her blood cannot save her, cannot save her home. His eyes are lit with an eerie fire, his horns gleam in the faint light of night; he will destroy all she holds dear piece by piece, just as soon as he has finished crushing her.
[ 800 words, post 2 of 4, defense 0 of 1. Belial hasn't noticed Lyhty ]
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Belial
Onni the Illuminant Posts: 194
| Hidden Account |
| Mare :: Pegasus :: 15.2hh :: 8 Buff: SWIFT |
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Lyhty :: Diamond Firetail Finch :: Sing
Boom Boom! |
A hasty snap of teeth catches the fleeing flank of the shaman, but it is just a mere addition to the brutal sting of her hip, tearing the skin perhaps a tad more, stinging with violent intensity for a moment more, before joining the constant ache. Confused, bewildered, Lyhty flaps around in the dark, his crimson eyes going from the painted mare to the horned monster upon the ground. He wishes for Onni to leave this place, to flee to her mother. Kri, he thinks to her, but he is silence by the overwhelming urge to conquer this obstacle in her mind.
He would not be heard, not now.
She curves, a beautiful angel in the sky, crimson droplets shaking loose from her pelt and colliding with the earth below, mixing into the sand. Lyhty's attention then turns to their foe, watching as he rears, sending the information to the pale-faced girl, worry lacing every image. He was uncertain of how to help his friend in this battle, never having seen her fight and enemy before. Thank you, Lyhty, the mare breaks her concentration to say, keep tabs on his position for me. Be my eyes where I cannot see.
Her assault does not slow, and the bird does not calm. Instead, the feeling of home boils in her veins and the need to protect it. Voltaic had given his life for this land, and she would meet his loyalty with her own, if need be.
The twisting of the brute's head is not missed by Lyhty, but she simply cannot avoid it. A surge of fear stabs her gut before the blades, almost like her thoughts of mortality were being recognized. She would die here, in the crimson sands of the Dragon's Throat, but not today. Unlike her mentor, though, Onni had been blessed by the wind of her mother and the transformation abilities of her father. The unicorn would meet with no resistance, as the entire back-end of the mare quickly dissolves into nothing but strands of clear beautiful air, swirling around his talons which would have cut straight through her, safeguarding her body as her front hooves cleanly batter his spine. Strange how the malfunction of the magic which normally transforms her whole self works out in this instance.
In the air, Lyhty swallows his growing paranoia. Maybe, just maybe, Onni knows what she is doing.
The tendrils of wind reform into her figure, but not before the cloven hooves can reach up and strike the lower portion of her left side, upon the last sections of ribs, barely within his reach from the daring swoop she had made. The pronged feet leave nasty swellings of blood, pooling under the skin along with rapid pain. Ah, but the shaman is smiling. That she can still feel pain after the beast had ripped into her side with his horns and came up empty - it is a good day.
Instead of landing, Onni wishes to avoid the stress upon her back end, knowing well that the stress of injuries can kill you faster than their actual damage. Her wings flair after a second, catching her still in the air, ascending partially to get a better view of her opponent, light blue eyes taking on a hard glint. And then, taking a larger risk than before, she dives again, front hooves aimed for the right side of the monster's skull, well aware that this maneuver would likely bring further injury upon her burned forelegs. The gains to be made from a successful launch of this attack were too great to ignore.
At this point, cuts upon a limb already burned would not stop her.
The pain would just join the pounding of her heart, the excitement in her veins.
If he wanted her home, her beloved possessions, he would need to kill her first. Hopefully, she would be able to accomplish this before he will.
[ WC: 664; 2/4; 1/2; Onni is using buffs SWIFT and BULK. ]
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| Hidden Account |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17hh :: 5 Buff: NOVICE |
| charks |
He holds himself open to receive her blood, and tastes naught but air upon his tongue.
She is gone.
Curses catch in the demon's throat, bewildered fury at his prey's escape and furious disbelief at the pain in his haunch. He snarls a scream into the empty air, wincing even as he takes delight in the thud of his daggers upon her side. The pain in his spine shoots bitter needles down neurons and synapses, fires blossoms of rage from his muscles to his brain. He lands upon the ground, undignified and shuddering as massive hooves kick up clouds of dust; his sea foam mane and leonine tail are stained with the stuff, barely visible beneath the sunless sky; he can taste it in the back of his throat, smell it caked about his nostrils. Fuck the desert, the demonchild decides, and fuck the rats who call this hell their home.
Impatience is a virtue earned from a wretched sire. The demon's dam is a serpent in the grass, waiting without pain for the flicker of her prey; not so the mahogany brute. He pivots quickly as his bulk allows, but the cherub has already taken to the haven of her sky, her dark silhouette accompanied by some small, darting thing that the demon hasn't noticed until now. A deep, harsh snort escapes his nares, bright eyes narrowed with pain and rage. “Fool” he snarls to her fleeing form, reason lost and rage now lord, his voice a vessel of hate and despair. “You think the sky shall keep you safe, wretched cherub? You think yourself a servant of Heaven, bound to prevail in the Serpent's fall?” Tail lashes at the dark ground, whipping furiously to accent his words. The cloven fore rends troughs through the earth - her earth - tearing it, bleeding it, as he shall make her bleed. His voice projects over distant screams, echoes off the failed wall and bounces back to strike her down. “You fight the legion of Heaven and Hell; I have spat at the Devil and threatened God; I am the Seraph's son, kin of the Reaper, Cinnoru's heir; and you...”
He stops when she is moments from him, her body an imminent barrier to his mouth. She is falling perpendicular to him, another attempt to strike from above, a drone sent out of the falling helicopter in a desperate attempt at a nuclear strike. He flings himself towards her as she falls to his right, those wretched hooves poised to strike the demon's face- nay, not today shall she delight in the crunch of bone and rend of skull.
The demon roars and does not flee, but rears his body up to meet hers in a terrible display of power and mass. He can feel the protest of his aching spine, the clenching bruise upon his haunch; he screams his pain into her face, lashing hooves towards her body and feeling hers upon his breast, a smash of blood upon the left, mirroring and bloody to the mark laid minutes before. He flails as he can, tries to throw his right leg across her wither, to catch her forelimbs with his left, to entangle her within his longer limbs, his stronger grasp. He know he cannot sustain the rear for more than moments, too great is the strain where the rat struck him last, too blind is his rage and unplanned his attack. Like his namesake Belial will fall, but, if he can help it, not without taking the pegasus with him.
He descends, and as he falls his head throws forward, black daggers searching for the flesh of her neck. If not with limb than with horn he shall hold her, drag her down to the ground and watch her bleed. He hopes to skewer her, and this time to catch flesh upon his horns, puncture deep and expose brittle bone.
[ 652 words, post 3 of 4, defense 0 of 1. Sorry this took forever <3 ]
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Belial
Onni the Illuminant Posts: 194
| Hidden Account |
| Mare :: Pegasus :: 15.2hh :: 8 Buff: SWIFT |
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Lyhty :: Diamond Firetail Finch :: Sing
Boom Boom! |
He speaks words that the mare does not understand, aside from the name Cinnoru. Instantly, the name reminds her of the war waged between the sons of the Gods, the demons which had cast a mighty force upon the land, causing her home to crumble once. She remembers the flying boulder, coming toward the small frame of her body causing her to shift for the first time. The same boulder which separated a scared child from her mother, her father. The very same idiocy which ripped the land, her heart and life apart. This stallion, whoever he may be, claiming to be the heir of such a monster - he aims to wreck her home once more. The vehemence, the rage, the anger that crept unnaturally within her soul deepens, and the soft muzzle normally curled upward in a smile turns into a vile sneer. He would pay for this.
If this monster wishes for her home, let him come and claim it from her lifeless bones. There will be no other way.
Silently, her eyes narrow, hooves honing in on their target when suddenly, movement, retaliation. Onni's eyes see the flexing of the muscles into a rear, and she prepares herself for the impact. He will meet me head on, she thinks as his bellow claws through the air, his massive body raised in protest to her onslaught. What little warning she received will not safe her, but Onni is prepared to move decisively now. I am the daughter of the Resolute. I cannot retreat. I cannot bow. I cannot run. I must prevail.
The breast of the creature slams against her hooves, shaking her entire figure from feather to hoof, but Onni allows for her front end to come to this abrupt stop, hind end sliding forward with the inertia of her body's movement. Back legs curl to avoid slamming hooves against the ground below, wings flare out to catch her, buffering her sudden, raking stop. A cloven hoof slams onto her left shoulder with brutal force, missing her wing by pure chance, battering her slightly toward the right without the resistance of the ground to hold the shaman steady. She lets out a gush of air from her chest upon impact, the pain filling the void that it leaves. Her head is thrown up, back legs pumping outward, seeking the right barrel or underbelly of the stallion to shove herself away from him.
Get out of the way, get out of the way, get out of the way, the mare thinks to herself like mutterings of someone gone insane.
Regardless of the outcome of her push, the longest horn of the beast meets with left side of her pale face, toward the center. The blade slices the skin in a perfectly straight line and breaking off the jaw, blood painting the white canvas crimson. Had the girl been more vain, the healer may have shrieked out in hostility for the brute ruining her perfect appearance. Instead, Onni is just thankful that he did not stab her in the throat. Fluttering her wings with desperate intentions, Onni remembers that she has never been the best at flying and feels a quiver of doubt in the chambers of her heart. Closing both sky eyes, the voice of the Samurai fills her mind. Reassuring, upbeat, proud, and honest. I can do this. She attempts to right herself once more, gain in altitude, anything that can keep her from falling to the ground with the that horned monster.
Luck smiles upon the winged girl, chocolate feathers catching upon the air and holding the painted body aloft. The shaman attempts to stay clear of the range of the monster's horn for a brief moment. A shaking breath is exhaled before the girl dives back toward his already injured spine, farther away from the head (Onni has had quite enough of that horn for one day) and closer toward the lumbar region, approaching from his right side, if he had not turned substantially. This battle must end, it must end quickly, or she could die.
[ WC: 692; 3/4; 1/2; Onni is using buffs SWIFT and BULK. ]
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| Hidden Account |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17hh :: 5 Buff: NOVICE |
| charks |
His breath escapes in a flurried rush, exploding into the hot space between them. The cherub's hooves caught him off guard; he can feel the contusions forming, a searing laceration low along the right of his barrel, a black blossom of hematoma where her left hind caught his belly- both dreadfully close to the family jewels. Were the demon in a state of logic and ideas, he would thank Cinnoru for protecting him from greater harm, ruptured intestine and faulty testes; as it is he thinks of nothing but her breaking bones, appreciates nothing but the scent of her blood in their warm atmosphere. He missed her throat by quite a ways, but the fleeting vision of the line of searing red that segregates the size of her stupid, fat face is a welcome reward for the demon's hard work.
She pushes up as he falls down, a wily bitch to use his body as a springboard for escape. He stumbles clumsily with the impact of his own weight, wincing as silver hooves hit red earth. The damage to his forequarters is beginning to show; with both sides of his chest bleeding or bruised, Belial's bulk becomes a burden. Surprised at a level of pain unrecognized until now, the stallion does not pause to contemplate his next attack; she is getting away, and he must pursue, pursue her up into the leering teeth of heaven itself. For the third time he throws his weight, crying his agony as he shoves himself up, up and right and high as he can. His body rises on the injured spine, the skin of his bleeding barrel tearing, horns seeking to rend her flesh, hooves thrashing at sinful air. I will crush you! - the mental scream accompanies his rear- and for a moment he is flying after her, his mind consumed with bloodlust, breath coming fast in curls of wrath. In his rise he snaps his teeth, aiming for everything and nothing, a blind and raging tortoise hunting for for fat seabirds.
The moment ends, and it is too late for him to realize his mistake. Too forceful, too fierce, he has tried too hard to grasp the sun; Icarus is ever destined to fall. The ground hits him before he expects it, breaks against him in a cloud of dust and sand. Backwards and to the right he has fallen, and his damaged side screams at the impact, throbbing as his weight thunders upon the space between ribs and spine.
He feels shame, and finds it unpleasant.
He had come here to fight for a cause- nay, not a cause. A soul. A single beacon of strength and control in the chaotic realm of mortal discord, a brilliant ray of power and perfection. Deimos had accepted his nephew on sight, taking the Seraph's spawn under his care. Never in the brief and brilliant years of his life had Belial been met with something so close to... love was not a word his family used. Zuriel and Stone, Ignatius the Firesword and Cinnoru himself- the names struck fear and awe in the demon's heart. They represented something mightier than himself, the ultimate goal, the aspiration of his youth and training of his age... but not love.
Deimos offered him regard, and in return Belial had given him body, mind, and soul. He was the Reaper's tool, Death's messenger; he had been brought as a soldier, and he could not fail. He would fell the lords of heaven for his kinsman, would march through hell and back and again on the stallion's whim, if only Deimos would continue to grace him with that stern regard.
This was his chance to prove his worth. Nothing could stop him; he could not let anything stop him.
From his vantage point upon the ground, demonchild spies the cherub's form. It is descending again, another dive from the onyx skies, the silhouette of wings upon a dim horizon. From the recesses of his mind a growl springs, rage rekindled and fire fanned. Fuck the bitch, and fuck shame, too; he came here to win. Bellows rage from his chest; the demon swings his legs around, body squirming, weight thrown left in an attempt to avoid the cherub as she descends. Cloven hooves claw at the ground, searching for purchase and finding it, shoving him up in a fluid motion- hopefully quickly enough to escape her mass, let her hit the ground in a meteoric descent of stupidity and fat. Left leg kicks out- maybe he'll beat her while she's down; and the demonchild snarls, arcing round the muscled neck to see what the bitch will throw at him next.
[ 800 words, post 4 of 4, defense 0 of 1.
As an aside, I made this kind of complicated for myself so I'm going to try and explain it. Belial reared up too high and fell backwards, then rolled onto his left side and stood up. I watched a bunch of youtube videos that verify that this action is very possible, and hilarious to watch. Whether Onni struck Belial depends on whether she adjusted his course; I'll respond to that attack more specifically in my defense ]
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Belial
Onni the Illuminant Posts: 194
| Hidden Account |
| Mare :: Pegasus :: 15.2hh :: 8 Buff: SWIFT |
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Lyhty :: Diamond Firetail Finch :: Sing
Boom Boom! |
Rough muscle and fur underneath brazen hooves, the Illuminant pushes away from this shadow monster, toward her safety, toward sanctity. If the pegasus mare accomplished nothing more upon this day, Belial would leave here with regret. Regret he could not pluck an angel from the sky. Absent her mentor, her mother, her Sun, the painted little beauty is proving the inner grit of her heart. No wound, no mere slice of flesh, can ruin the strength of her soul upon this day.
Damned be this shadow; the light of a strong heart will not be overcast so easily.
She pushes away from his grasp, a breath of relief surging from her gut, the tensing of her facial muscles screeching with pain. A cheek so pale it once mimicked clouds in the summer sky, now awash with a violent blush and mixed with the string of salty tears. Tears, not of a broken heart, not of a beaten body, but of joy. Onni is alive. What a miracle, it would seem.
Wings flutter, claw, tear at the air, and it is the movement of her very own demon which saves the delicate limbs from being speared through. The foolish stallion follows like a true shadow, but for all of the hatred the unicorn may have for Onni's kin, he attempts to try their trademark skill - flight.
For one, awful moment, Onni believes that he will ascend, spear her through. His horns slice upon the flesh of her receding forelegs, tearing the burned flesh, searing pain blinding her vision for the moment he begins to fall. Lack of sight is not what tells the shaman of his retreat, but the absence of his attack furthering. Overextending his body, the giant topples, and as the sky blue eyes open in the night, the mare notes how he plummets. She half expected the world to crumble beneath him, the ShadowKing recalled to Hell. Instead, he merely looks a foolish plaything for a few moments.
If only he had stayed upon the ground.
As she descends, his body begins to move, rising, tumultuously moving, and the painted girl's eyes narrow in concentration, Lyhty sounding a trill from the skies - don't do it! he pleads, wishing not to see her fall so close to the ground. The desperation of her companion forces her hand, and Onni begins to flair her wings, but not in time. Her body is moving quickly, her descent had been locked, and now she must think fast. Wings tilt, right wing tilting downward, body curving suddenly, wavering in the air, yet her path switches. Flight is parallel to the ground before she catches herself, allowing the streak of muddy brown and pristine white speckled with crimson to curve right in a loose spiral. The sudden stop aches her stressed wings, which have been carrying the beauty for most of this fight now. They save her from becoming a mess of blood, bone, and flesh upon the floor. Unfortunately, not even the shaman can avoid the quick lash of hooves which batter her right barrel near the midsection, causing breath to claw from her lungs, causing a flash of pain to tear into her brain, and certainly a fresh bruise to accompany her other injuries.
What victory can be won from violence?
What victory would that be?
Flight curving, Onni brings herself closer toward the earth, trying to straighten in the air, hooves catching haphazardly on the loose sand. The Illuminant skids, stumbles, tearing up crimson sands from the floor. Eyes flowing clear tears, the mare turns determined toward the opponent. Large, strong, rough, and crazed, likely. What made her any different? Hooves take to running, radiating the pain from her wounds through her once graceful movement, speeding forward, wings folded against her sides. Onni, what are you doing? the voice from above in her mind, but do not reach her. Then, another voice, one she had no heard in far too long - it comes like a slap across her face.
"Do not taint your kind heart with the desire to make another suffer; leave such matters in the hands of those which are already bloody."
You have a choice. Forgiveness or a tainted heart.
When the crossroad road comes, what will you do?
Legs clamor to a halt, body reeling backward as sand flies forward, wings shoving from her sides and swirling even more clouds of crimson for her to stop. Stop before she collides once more with this Shadow in the night. "I am sorry," the mare bellows in the night, hiding in the mists of crimson and nightfall. But, just who is she talking to?
Just who is listening?
[ WC: 792; 4/4; 1/2; Onni is using buffs SWIFT and BULK.
You can treat the sand-cloud as an attack? xD Otherwise, there really isn't one here. :| ]
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| Hidden Account |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17hh :: 5 Buff: NOVICE |
| charks |
The little cherub sees victory in survival, but for the demon, there can be no pride gained from an outcome short of triumph.
The stout bitch proves shockingly nimble, arcing away from his fallen form and avoiding the rough flail of legs and the sting of his tail. He rises to his feet and lashes back- cloven hooves catch her and his legs ache in response, the pain in his spine due to be triggered by any amount of contact. The herald of nightmares grins maniacally through his shock. Her feinting, her spinning, and now her descent- they mean nothing to him except her clear defeat. That she has come to his level means she is more a fool than he believed; the heavens were the only thing keeping this sky-rat safe from his wrath, and now that she is falling at last, he sees nothing in the way of her total annihilation.
The Seraph's son has suffered some damage, and his forelegs burn while his barrel bleeds. He cannot swing his body to face her before he hears her contact the earth. It is not for want of trying; the behemoth is simply too great a force, and perhaps (though he would never tell) too battered. Black legs push beneath him, lumbering and muscled and still shaky from his recent bout of intimacy with the ground. The impairment dealt by the chubby cherub had been none too great: much bruising, some blood, and a pain in his back that would leave his steps tender for some time to come. Yet his inexperience showed in the way he carried it, his youth apparent in his foolish disregard for the protection of prior injury, for tactical responses to the physical problem, and the cost of the beast's abandon was beginning to show.
Demonchild is tired, and does not even know it.
The last fight he fought was a battle of wills, a magical dance between himself and a dragon. Now, bereft of magic as a comfortable escape, Belial has fought with the recklessness of a child, and only through luck has he remained standing thus long.
Mahogany body pivots in time to see her hooves slice the earth, the stubborn princess charging him on stocky legs. What is she doing, the fallen queen, the angel cast down and trampled, brought to play with devils and bound without hope to lose? Two colors of eye grow dim, hidden behind his narrowing lids; is she truly such a fool, to think she can take him upon his own dark earth, conquer him on the turf of sin which has born his weight for three years past? The nephew of the Reaper will not be destroyed as such – unicorns were meant to own the earth, and it was time this bitch realized this truth of the world. Belial snarls a wispy breath into the nighttime air, and waits for the impact of her body against his, form held solid and shoulders still turning to meet her head on.
It never comes.
The cloud of sand buffets his face, stinging his eyes and drawing a bellow of surprise out of abyssal lungs. He staggers back as she draws to a halt, her fat little body finally useful in its ability to stop her with such abrupt ease; Demonchild growls in the back of his throat, then coughs up sand and snarls. What is she playing at, the feinting coward? Has she learned her lesson, is she ready to make a hasty retreat? Too late, he thinks; she is a fly caught in his web, a tasty morsel he will enjoy devouring piece by piece. He braces to lunge.
I am sorry.
“What?” Gruff snarl is genuinely bemused, bright eyes wide and searching her face through the darkness and dust and the sting of sand. The apology, he can only assume, is meant for him- but for what purpose he does not know. Does the bitch apologize for the pain she has caused? It is trivial, well-won in the annals of war. Does she seek to apologize for the pain she will call? Nonsense, he thinks- this is clearly a surrender, an acknowledgment of lesser being and an play at mercy from the demon's hooves.
Belial grins, understanding at last. “And so you have learned- I am your better. Fear not, Cherub, you shall not die today. Flee, flee, fly into the night and tell the tale of Belial the DemonSpawn, He Who is the Reaper's Kin; bear your scars that the world may know the superiority of our race, that unicorns shall rise in Cinnoru's name and the kingdom of Heaven shall crumble and fall.”
The beast turns, setting trail for home, knowing that an angel has fallen - and he brought her down.
[ 800 words, defense 1 of 1. Great fight Boom <3 ]
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Belial
| Administrator |
| Stallion :: Equine :: :: |
| Official |
B e l i a l | O n n i
- - - - -
By my verdict BELIAL is the winner.
BELIAL -- post 1 (attack only)
[Realism]
+ 1| Attack: charging her left side, horns stabbing
+ 1| Attack: tail flick distraction
[Prose]
- 1| Easy Read: some typos and dropped pronouns
+ 1| Emotion
+ 1| Flow
ONNI -- post 1
[Realism]
- 1| Defense: no mention of the tail slap
+ 1| Attack: kicking his left side
+ 1| Defense: gash to her left hip
- 1| Injury: that she ran and leapt into the air with a forceful kick from her back legs, which you described in detail, without any mention of pain or struggle due to the injury seemed unrealistic, especially considering how you described the pain when it first occurred.
+ 1| Attack: diving with front hooves to flank
[Prose]
- 1| Easy Read: some typos and I had to read that last attack paragraph especially a few times
+ 1| Emotion
+ 1| Flow
BELIAL -- post 2
[Realism]
+ 1| Defense: kick causes right breast bruising
- 1| Attack: biting at her hip - Onni had already since moved past this timeline in her last post, so this makes things very confusing. Also seems unlikely he could reach her with teeth if his long horn point was already gouging that same region at that moment and she was already moving away.
+ 1| Attack: leaping up to stab her with horns
+ 1| Defense: kick to his right hip/spine area causes large bruising, pain
+ 1| Attack: wild kicking
- 1| Injury: after just describing how much it hurt being hit in the spine area, which although only a bruise would still definitely be incredibly painful, you have him running around and kicking immediately, at an opponent likely above him no less, requiring a lot of extension. It did not seem realistic that this would be his actions directly following a large injuty, especially not without any mention of the pain while doing it or how the injury hindered his actions from their otherwise full extent.
[Prose]
- 2| Easy read: some typos, dropped pronouns and I had to re-read the attack a few time to comprehend everything happening.
+ 1| Emotion
+ 1| Flow
ONNI -- post 2
[Realism]
- 1| Defense: taking bite to hip - this was such minor damage anyway and in such a weird backwards timeline, in a position that he really could not have been able to reach her, that there wasn’t a good reason to take this damage.
+ 2| Defense: turning back end into air to avoid horn - this totally took me by surprise and I thought was creative, although I do not think you used the ‘broken magic’ properly, but I will address that under the bonus section and simply judge this attack.
+ 1| Defense: taking some of the kick to her lower left side
+ 1| Attack: dives at his head
[Prose]
0| Easy read: typos
+ 2| Emotion
+ 1| Flow
BELIAL -- post 3
[Realism]
+ 1| Attack: rears to kick
+ 1| Defense: struck on left side
+ 1| Injury: unable to hold the rear from injury on spine/hip
0| Attack: trying to grab her and yank her down - Although I can appreciate that you have limited options against a diving pegasus, and that Belial is acting out of rage more than reason, trying to grab something in the dark, moving very quickly, would not only just make him fall but hurtle him, probably strain his legs if he did get them around her, and just overall seems like walking in front of a moving car. However as I said I can understand your predicament and think it is an interesting attack in the least.
+ 1| Attack: trying to stab her neck
[Prose]
+ 1| Easy read
+ 2| Emotion
+ 1| Flow
ONNI -- post 3
[Realism]
+ 1| Defense: struck in left shoulder
- 2| Defense: no response to his attempt to grab her? You describe running into him basically, but it seems as if Onni is just half hovering in the air, since you say she kicks out with her hind feet towards him and that they avoid touching the ground, but that her front end has stopped and her wings are trying to hold the wind. None of this description includes him trying to drag her down, nor does it make sense that she would just be lingering in the air. They both should have gone tumbling into the ground if she did collide, she was going too fast to be able to recover, not to mention she still fulfilled the damage of her diving attack, and pegasus are really not capable of hovering or such repetitive diving so close to the ground - because of their weight and body shape, the best way to think about them is like an Albatross, needing a long wingspan for ample lift and lots of height/running room to get aloft. So just overall none of that seemed realistic or clear.
+ 1| Defense: face slice
- 1| Attack: kicking back legs at him - the attack would good but the situation would never be plausible
0|| Attack: diving at his spine again - again the situation does not seem plausible, she is constantly able to swoop in low enough to hit him and then get back into the air, while she herself is injured, where does she have that stamina and physical capability? Not to mention it gives your opponent so little to work with to keep doing the exact same thing, out of their reach, continuously.
[Prose]
+ 1| Easy read
+ 1| Emotion
+ 1| Flow
BELIAL -- post 4
[Realism]
- 1| Defense: kicked by her - seeing as she did collide right with him, he should have been knocked down and probably sent sliding, rendering her back leg kicking thing mostly useless, since she did not say he was able to hold onto her.
- 1| Attack: rears up after her with horns - given the situation and all the pain you had just described, I don’t see how he has the strength in that moment to rise fast enough to deal this attack.
+ 1| Injury: falls over from the fast and unsteady rear - I’m so glad you did this, very realistic!
+ 1| Defense: dodges her dive - now that he’s had a moment to breathe and had his emotional moment of inspiration, getting up and moving seems much more plausible in this instance
+ 1| Attack: kicks out
[Prose]
+ 1| Easy read
+ 2| Emotion
+ 1| Flow
ONNI -- post 4
[Realism]
+ 1| Defense: cut on legs
+ 1| Defense: takes the kick
+ 1| Attack: Onni uses sand-attack!
[Prose]
+ 1| Easy read
+ 2| Emotion
+ 1| Flow
BELIAL -- post 5 (defense only)
[Realism]
+ 1| Defense: sand-attack does not affect Belial!
BELIAL
[Bonus]
+ 1| Breed
+ 1| Surroundings
[Injuries]
None
[Creativity]
+ 1| I liked you utilizing their wall for hiding in the first post.
Comments: You had really beautiful writing that was a great joy to read, and although I can see that Belial is not normally an expressive character, you did manage a lot of emotion through him even still. At times the dropped pronouns did take away from your writing as far as correct grammar and clarity, and in a few instances you did not specify exact sides of where an attack or defense was occurring, but overall everything was easy to understand. You have a good mind for the mechanics of a fight, but I would like to see you hindered by your injuries more often and have more mention of the surroundings and differences in their breeds and builds. Great fight though, you’re very good at using your horns as an effective unicorn.
ONNI
[Bonus]
+ 1| Breed
+ 2| Surroundings
+ 1| Health
- 1| Magic: the broken magic plot was meant to have magic break/backfire/go out of control/cause harm etc. which did not happen with your magic defense. Instead your magic was used entirely to your advantage, allowing you not only a complete dodge of a powerful attack but a continued advancement of your own powerful attack.
[Injuries]
None
[Creativity]
None
Comments: You have a great way of really beginning your posts with something lovely and emotional, and then ending them with something inspiring that gets to all the feelings, with well written fighting in-between. You even have the mind to remember surroundings more often than most fighters, though I would have liked to see more effects from her injuries throughout the whole fight and more comparisons between their different breeds and builds. Although you usually have a very strong grasp on fight mechanics, I think that in this particular one you were either rushed or stretching the limits too much with all the physical abilities of a pegasus (which you even said yourself was not the best flier) and the effects of an impact from a quickly diving horse. At times your writing also seemed smooth then not, seeming quickly posted, because I have read other fights by you that are gorgeous. I think perhaps this was just a time crunch case. Overall though it’s clear you're an experienced and very capable fighter!
TOTAL
BELIAL - 72
ONNI - 69
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Image Credit: dirkjankraan @ Flickr
Belial has been awarded +1VP
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