gore

Incandescent pain flared along its arm, along every nervous ending already fried by too much contact. Teeth crushing through plate, driving wedges and splints of chitin into the newly-revealed and tender flesh; fluorescent blood sputtering from the seams, spray painting Khavur's own face in neon before the wound was opened wide enough. Mottled and scarred-over shoulder made way for the rows and rows of teeth, and the gasping shriek that ripped clear of Alpha's throat?

Unholy.

Unholy, terrible, and stifled only by its realization that it'd made any noise at all and subsequently twisting to try and muffle the sound in the meat of Khavur's neck—the one on the right, donning Oilstone and a snarl. With the valkhound's large-horned head still being attached to its shoulder, the orthoclase had a clear angle of the side uncovered by quills or plates. Nothing but pebbly hide to arrow for, to bury its slowly-fading, numbing agony in with its own teeth. The sideways push to crane its neck that far lagged, felt altogether too slow for as fast as the motion was in actuality.

Because, of course, two predators fighting in the wild manage to only for minutes at a time. Any more is inefficient, a waste of energy, a means to leave oneself completely vulnerable to any others passing by. It's the expenditure of surplus that lends the intimidation display its strength. Orthoclase-Alpha was running on no surplus.

ROUND 3/?

ATTEMPT: Bite Khavur's neck (and administer its own venom)
INJURIES: Torn-up shoulder plate, lacerations on shoulder, envenomated and weakening

@Khavur

Content Warning
This post contains potentially sensitive material:

gore

unsanitary

"ANIMAL!" Khavur roared with the left head in response, attempting to compete with the heretic's volume. "I SEE WHERE YOUR SPAWN GET IT FROM." Khavur was blessed with the lack of sensation in its body — although, the paralysis, the nausea, and the convulsions were certainly not unnoticed. That would be a problem for the right brain, which now could not respond to any feeling of pain even if it wanted to. It might be spitting up foam and all manner of gross viscera now, however. And bleeding quite a lot. All of this oral morbidity would only be clogged up, however, by the shoulder occupying the maw, which would be too stuck to release. They would all have to deal with this aftermath, and so, this would need to end soon indeed. Khavur still had its other blessing, the brain on the left, to work with.

The earsplitting scream — no doubt more painful than anything Khavur had felt physically, but the pain would soon fade — made a good distraction for what Khavur planned to do next. One killing claw attempted to push the head while Khavur's remaining appendages pushed against the chest of the orthoclase, and in other places of the body Khavur pushed against the wall for added support. Khavur would attempt to force the animal back. Perhaps with its current positioning, Khavur could unsteady it with the tail, send it to the ground... well, whatever worked to get the pathetic thing off.

Current Level: Brawler
Round: 3/?
Attempt: Push back to get Alpha off
Defense: Just physical passive ones like armored plates and quills.
Injuries: Temporarily winded, probably bruised on the chest, one killing arm dislocated, right neck & head paralyzed & convulsing <3

@Orthoclase-Alpha

In this moment, all inhibitions gone and instinct at its rawest, Alpha's throat whistled and sang: "YOU—" it roared, grappling for eyes, horns, anything to pull on as both their bodies were pushed up higher and higher—two behemoths rising to battle and primed to collapse when the foundations were knocked out from underneath both of them. "I'M PROVING YOU WRONG," and here claws grasped at the quills of Khavur's throat while the rest of the valkhound's body pushed forward and it pushed against it, "EVEN IF YOU MEAN NOTHING TO ME."

Each and every breath was scalding agony, flanks shuddering and seizing with a lagging frenzy. They shredded its gullet, made mincemeat of its vocal chords, and yet it continued to resist and buck beneath the weight that was pressing on it. Whatever intention Khavur'd come to it with, Alpha did not care. It'd made an enemy out of the orthoclase of the present—a perfect punching-bag for dishonest fury and the shoddy mask of rage it'd cobbled together for itself. "I AM NOT WEAK. I AM NOT LEAVING. I AM NOT GOING TO BE KILLED BY YOU," it howled into the sun's eyes. "YOU MEAN NOTHING TO ME. I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHO OR WHAT YOU ARE—"

The seesaw tipped—and, oh, there goes its center of gravity pitching backward. There goes its hind legs slipping, swept out by a tail. There goes the rush of air forced away by its bulk (however diminished it'd been by too many missed meals, too few rabbits) and there goes the whistling of air in its quills. There goes Orthoclase-Alpha, dropping to the floor like a sack of bricks.

A sickening crunch! resounded as it landed on its back, the plates lining its spine all cracking or outright shattering beneath its own weight. Its lungs seized with a gasping wheeze, a camera shutter's whine, and it coughed with a full-body spasm. Limbs threw themselves sidelong, dead weights forcing the rest of its body to loll to its left side. A forearm hauled the distance to fit underneath it, elbow buckling at the slightest strain to push it back up.

On the way down, it'd curled its claws, tightening whatever frantically-acquired handholds it had on Khavur's frame. The instinct to catch itself on its forearms (however futile it was) won out in the race to drag the valkhound down to the floor with it, forcing it to let go before it made impact; but, its hindmost legs still kicked out, swinging for legs.

ROUND 4/4?

ATTEMPT: Kick Khavur's legs out and drag it down with it
INJURIES: Torn-up shoulder plate, lacerations on shoulder, envenomated and weakening, shattered dorsal plates

@Khavur

Words. Words. Words of pure... something. Did they hurt? No time to think on them just yet, beyond the initial reactions. Something convulsed in Khavur beyond its right — it was the right head. I do not care what you think, of me or of yourself. Do you see yourself now? You look like an idiotic mutt. There could be something said here about the mighty fallen. Khavur had not intended to say anything more — which meant standing and bearing the brunt of every scream in silence — until the beast lay defeated at its feet. Except, towards the end, one word snapped Khavur's patience like a twig, and thus it interrupted with a long wail of "SILEEEEEEEEENCE!" intending to overshadow the last thing the pitiful orthoclase wanted to shout. Khavur was about to say more, but then Khavur plummeting, then momentarily winded with its full body weight slammed into the ground beside the orthoclase.

Khavur caught as much breath as it could and, compelled by some wicked force, tried to lug its way over to the orthoclase's head, so that it could prop its upper half up and loom as it continued its baleful rant. "I DO NOT WANT YOUR DEATH!" This raving mad outburst was punctuated with Khavur's attempt at a punch to the animal's face. If it did not connect, Khavur would simply plunge the tightly balled fist into the ground beside the orthoclase's head. Saliva sputtered from Khavur's wide open throat and jaw, a partner assault of a different kind. With one hand it would drag its convulsing right head and aim it over the orthoclase so that everything in that maw might fall onto it as well. It was as if to say, bathe in the substance of your mistakes, "overseer". After that, even the vociferous Reaver had little more air left to speak with.

There would be a struggle for parting words, however, because Khavur never seemed to run out of things to say: "You butterfly..." The words came in strangely softer heaves, raspy and reverent waves. "...I wish...you would...be free..." It was almost... loving, I would say, but then the venom in every note suggested just as much ire as there was affection. Like this, it would attempt to stay until it could finally get up and... and... and what? Continue? You were going to kill— Everyone thinks that. Everyone's a fool.

Current Level: Brawler
Round: 4/4?
Attempt: Literally just punch Alpha square in the face
Defense: Just physical passive ones like armored plates and quills.
Injuries: Probably bruised on the chest, one killing arm dislocated, right neck & head paralyzed & convulsing, losing ability to breathe well, exhausted

@Orthoclase-Alpha @V-Zoisite-One @Nidhogg (diceboy's orders i guess)

Zoey's steps slowed as she crossed the threshold into Draco. The sound of screaming, roaring, rending and slamming was not one of a simple spar or training session. Something like that still would have caused her quills to rattle, but this was different.

Because...

Mom?

The gutteral screams were of a sound that she should have never laid witness to, akin to watching a Master shed tears of genuine sorrow. The agony of her mother, howling like a wounded beast... no, it was a wounded beast. Zoey saw that as she rose upward on to two sets of limbs, craning her head back to look with panic toward the sound.

Flashing colors, violent and angry and glowing neon cherry and lime in the putrid voidlight, a solar system going nuclear. It was an accident, an unmistakable cruel twist of fate that made no sense other than an accident. As though somehow, her sibling and her mother had simply ran into each other at mach speed by accident, ramming tooth and claw into each other accidentally, because it simply could not make sense to her--

It did not matter why, in that moment. Only that it was happening. A horrible scene that she could not tear her eyes away from.

And what will you do? The thought was barely more than a whimper.

Forelimbs hit the earth again, a belly full of quills rattling at full force like a serpent giving one last warning before it struck. Suddenly it was transformed into a train, a bullet, thundering talons surging in a reckless stampede.

What will you do when you reach them? The demand roared through her blood.

Something slipped away. The taste of acidic metal stung the scrambling insect's tongue, sharper and sharper with each breath as it barreled into the fray. There was a dizzying sensation, one of two hands pulling this way and that at the wheel. She would be the third car to join the pile-up.

No. A slam of the breaks, nails squealing as they were grinded down by the stone, momentum sliding the bullet forward even as its limbs locked and braced for impact. The Zoisite's front legs slid in the slime and ichor that splattered the earth around the fray, and it stumbled into place, body falling into the thrashing, struggling beasts that screamed and howled and bayed words that made the grub's inner ear pop with the pressure change. The pathetic softness of its weight hitting the writhing combatants was laughable, easy to ignore at best.

With no sense of grace or balance, hands flailed upward, talons climbing for purchase on the two larger forms: she was nothing more than a child, frantically trying to squeeze between two adults, two monsters who had always towered over her, unsuited to even be witness to the horrific scene.

Say something, say anything, only panic answered, frantic, stop stop stop you're hurting each other stop and no amount of desperation could form into the words that would end the senseless fighting. Help me.

A gargled sound came from the Zoisite's jaws, something between a snarl and a sob. Talons tried to hook around the forelimb of Khavur, heaving with what little mass it had to shove the two-headed behemoth back but found no purchase, its effort only throwing its palm into the mass of quills that lined the Khavur's throat... and another limb reached toward the Orthoclase's face, toward the open jaws, to try and push the jagged row of teeth away, or... stuff it full of violet carapace. It did not care if it was impaled or had its forearm snapped in half by the jaws of its own life-giver. The grub squirmed regardless, worming its way with its remaining limbs clawing to get between, trying to drive itself: a fragile wedge between two unyielding mountains.

And Zoey, she could not, could not, could not even begin to summon a single word. Reduced again, yet again, into nothing more than a worm in the face of conflict.

The sound of battle had attracted Nidhogg.

He had slinked forward as quickly as he could, skittering through the shadows along the walls, and the moment he'd spotted battle he had fallen still to watch. Wide eyes stared, and to anyone who spotted him it wasn't clear how long ago he'd arrived (it hadn't been long ago at all). The serpent Valkhound was attracted to chaos more than all else, but actually engaging was another story: he was, all else aside, a bit of a coward at times.

Or maybe it was common sense. Orthoclase-Alpha (and there was a name he hadn't seen in quite some time) and Khavur were outright brawling! Snarling insults, roaring, slamming each other down. The stink of blood and venom lent a tang to the air, and with trembling muscles, catlike, Nidhogg crept a few paces closer.

Two things happened at once, or seemed to: Khavur hit the ground, hard, and Zoisite rushed in to intervene. Weakness, or more precisely vulnerability, drew Nidhogg like flame draws a moth; still, his fear of the two massive clashing bodies might have held him at bay had Zoisite not rushed in.

That sparked jealousy. It wouldn't be fair--not at all!--for someone else to be allowed to jump in, but not him.

So Nidhogg abruptly shot from the darkness, scampering in slithering bounds for Khavur. He had no real plan. No intent to kill or even to inflict harm. He just wanted to be part of this roiling, thrashing, yelling mess; and to that end he screeched as he came in: a wordless "AHHHHHH!" before jaws snapped down for one of Khavur's hind legs.

The mess was a mess, and chaotic, and his jaws clicked shut (loudly) on thin air; he hissed and coiled back, looking for another place to strike.

The loud shrieks and roars of the two monsters clashing wasn't exactly a subtle affair, ringing through the tunnel and into the voidlight of Draco, waking the slumbering beast of Ruby-Beta, hidden in the makeshift den it had built for itself. Triangular head lifted, nostrils instinctively twitching, catching scents on the air for a clue of who was making that racket. It wanted to keep sleeping, wanted to use its massive paws to cover its head and try to ignore it, but curiosity pulled it to its feet and towards the entrance of the cave, to peek its head just out into the tunnel.

Gleaming, acidic eyes widened at the sight of Khavur and who else but its hatchmate going at each other, barreling into the other and tearing at each others' throats, spilling blood across the stone floor, painting the tunnel in a disturbing amount of green and red. And...oh, the Zoisite was there as well, and Nidhogg - ha! Beta hadn't seen the creature causing issues for a while - generally, there was just. So much happening. Beta was tempted to join the fun, out of plain fucking boredom and lack of really anything going on, especially in its own little life, but honestly, that was just more work that it didn't sign up for. Maybe the right thing to do would to be try to pull them apart, try and quell their anger before they tore each other to pieces but, honestly? Beta didn't really feel like it. It's not like anybody was really telling it to do something. And, besides, it wasn't a fighter. It wasn't as large as either of them, or as brutally strong. If it went rushing in there, sticking its big nose in other peoples' business, it would just wind up getting hurt, probably.

Besides, it was much more amusing to watch on the sidelines instead of putting in the effort to do anything about it. What did it owe to either of them, anyways? Smirking to itself, they settled themselves into peering around the corner and watching the whole occurrence in the safety of the shadows, barely visible from its viewing corner. It remembered days where it had followed Alpha's shadow with jealousy, wishing that it had the same respect from Vargas, the same status. It snorted softly to itself. Well, it didn't have status or respect, but at least it hadn't turned out like that.

anxiety

They were worms and foul beasts squirming in the dirt. Fingers forming hooks that clawed at earth and stone, joints straining so hard to pull their sheer masses in whatever direction that Alpha swore it could hear them pop—much more than it could feel them with the stinging, burning numbness flooding its body. That sensation crawled out from its shoulder, a sickness spreading its insidious roots beneath the crust. Plaguing the mantle, interrupting the delicate balance between motion and motionlessness. It was its own battle to throw itself onto its stomach; another fight not to immediately spill what little swam in its maelstrom of a stomach then and there. Khavur's wailing, somehow muted beneath the roaring of blood in its ears, sat in an unpleasant backdrop.

What's that common phrase? Actions speak louder than words? Khavur looming over it, standing tall even crouched—it must be deafening, standing so close with an arm wheeled backward and spittle and blood pitter-pattering against Alpha's own hide. Its own arm, with a spasming jerk of sheer will, careened upward. Momentum had the shell of its forearm meeting the incoming strike's own with a shuddering impact. Talons curled as they met, and the orthoclase made to rake them down whatever piece of meat was closest: perhaps Khavur's forearm, perhaps its upper chest, perhaps, once again, its neck. Its fist meeting the ground made its teeth rattle and it spat out the amaranthine arm that'd become engulfed in its gnashing jagged teeth and slavering jaws. (Wait—)

Something had changed in the monstrous hybrid's demeanor with that cry for silence, though.

Unintentional compliance for one; the only noise Orthoclase-Alpha dared to make was that of its own breath whistling in and out of its lungs where it was lying prone, halfway onto its belly and halfway to collapsing back onto its left side. Its strike hadn't been as forceful for the last, and not just due to the venom coursing through its veins—there was a desperate, wide-eyed look in its gaze, eyelids fluttering with every seize of flanks and apprehensive rattle of quills. Limbs twitched backward in ginger attempts to get up, to crawl backward, to get any sort of space.

Its gaze caught on Zoisite's, and its heart seized on impact. A skipped heartbeat—one- one-two,—and then a tattoo thrummed into its ribs. It was too soon to see them again. Too soon too soon too soon too soon too soon. The orthoclase tore its gaze away, choking down the ragged noise that threatened to escape it as it became aware of the taste of acidic blood on its tongue and the broken glass scrape of chitinous chunks in its throat.

ROUND 5/5 (i hope)

ATTEMPT: Knock Khavur's arm aside and rake its claws down Khavur's front/forearm
INJURIES: Torn-up shoulder plate, lacerations on shoulder, envenomated and weakening, shattered dorsal plates

@Khavur

It all ended when the cavalry came. At least, that's when it ended for Khavur. Mortal enough, deific enough (unlike the worm beneath it) to be capable of leaving its stupor and notice the choking, writhing wormspawn dashing out to meet them. Time, in that moment, had never felt so concrete, so immovable. Khavur still had strength to try to push it all away, everything away, just to leave this recurring moment for the last time — ah, but the blood loss was catching up to its other brain, and the worm below— the worm below!

Khavur attempted to react fast in the midst of the shouting, the multitude of figures drawing to close to its lashing form. Instinct was helpful in the attempt to guide Khavur's arm from an offensive stance to a defensive one, where the outer side might catch the orthoclase's claws before they hit the Reaver, or the zoisite for that matter. It failed to move fast enough, instead facing the claws down its chest without enthusiasm. Losing blood was nothing compared to pain. Blood was a currency Khavur paid to teach lessons, and this lesson was worth every drop spent.

"ENOUGH!" Khavur practically shrieked, now at its wit's end — not just to the worm but also to the audience, the interloper, the chittering skeleton crowd. Khavur would not back away first, but its stature would shift, almost automatically, to vaguely encompass the Zoisite — like a dragon with its precious gem. "HURT IT AND... you truly will... die..." Khavur's breath and energy evaporated faster and faster as the black dots drew further and further across its vision. Adrenaline would work to keep it upright and reactive if need be, but for now, Khavur would have to enforce reason and invite withdrawal. No doubt that venom would likely put the orthoclase in a worse position in a few moments. Hopefully this would all persuade the fool to accept this outcome and learn to live with the consequences.

Current Level: Brawler
Round: 5/5
Attempt: Twist arm to avoid getting knocked back so it can take the brunt of the damage
Defense: Arm?
Injuries: Probably bruised on the chest, one killing arm dislocated, right neck & head paralyzed & convulsing, losing ability to breathe well, exhausted, soooo much bleeding <3

@V-Zoisite-One

I'd of blown the scoundrel up
Watch his head and heart hiccup
Erupt in tinsel and blue cinders
turn August into winter

This had happened before, hadn't it?

It thought of cracked chitin and oozing ichor and madly snapping mandibles. It thought of destructive rage- a forest fire, a volcano, chaos incarnate. It thought thought of uselessness, of brick and bone crumbling at it's feet.

Never again.

It didn't see Khavur's stance as protective, it only saw a viper about to strike. To finish what it'd started cycles ago. It didn't matter that it had happened cycles ago, this was a scar ripped open to bleed fresh. This was deja vu, a mirrored echo of that nightmare. It all furious instinct, all bared teeth and pounding heart. It ran. It charged into the fray. Into Khavur. And it didn't care about any that may lie in it's way- those lurking, leering shadows. Let them be crushed under it's feet if they aren't swift enough.

It felt something connect. It's mass crashing wrecklessly into Khavur, quills pricking into it's oil as it curled, back to the beast, glaring at Alpha, mouth parted in a snarl to reveal it's gorey glow. "STAY AWAY!" It roared, and there it was no question it was talking to EVERYONE. Both combatants, every single silent gawker and spectator. "YOU WILL NOT HURT IT AGAIN!"

@V-Zoisite-One @Khavur