Shrike winced, slightly--the claws at her wings clutching into the earth below her--at the Warden's foul mouth. It wasn't that she was sensitive to such things, but rather, she found no grace in it. It was a tick downward in her estimation of Chaos, but it did align with what Ace had said thus far.

Was it true, then? Were Order representatives of crystalline perfection? Were Chaos merely animals, fighting over the Oiled dust they left in the wake of their destruction?

"I see," she spoke up, her words clipped. It was probably a bit of an interruption--the two seemed to be posturing against one another, and to interject might not be welcome. Shrike didn't care. "I was going to ask my new companion here if Order held what I seek. Power, both personal power and... well. I'd hate to join an army only to see it wiped out." Her wing-claws clicked at the dirt, tearing free from where she'd clutched it. Her beak clapped twice, softly, as if in thought, as her gaze moved from one to the other, from Hound to Drone. She was perched serpentine, neck arched, the wind ruffling white feathers and bristles.

"While your mannerisms hardly impress, Warden of Draco, I admit I am curious to see which 'side' holds true power." Her head cocked to one side, birdlike, as she looked between the two again. "And while I'm not out to see anyone killed, today, I don't suppose I would be worth fighting over..? I am no one, as yet. Untrained, and unproven, but if one of you can prove yourselves the stronger, I will swear to you my personal loyalty--to you and to your cause."

She meant it, if only because her loyalty was empty and cold. She would stick to her word, and obey, because it meant nothing emotionally to her. It was that easy to swear it and to give it away.

Mostly, though, Shrike was interested to see if she could play these two against one another: to start a microcosmic war here between Order and Chaos, with blood (or whatever these things shed) spilled on the grass of Pegasus.

@Ace

Order's power lay in the group more so than the rugged individual. Each additional member amplified its strength and reach. Not only created for this faction but also raised in a squad within its ranks, Ace knew allowing his prospective recruit to saunter off into Chaos' less-deserving arms was an unacceptable option when his forces depended upon this fact. Furthermore, letting an opportunity to trounce a drooling upstart slide would be a squandering of his skills. Muscles itched for a fight, and he wanted to give them a satisfying scratch. Shrike's proposition conveniently provided the perfect excuse to do so.

Ace barked laughter, steelier-edged than the previous bout. "Mother dear values my tongue too much to wag it for me. And her strings are loose and known unlike whatever scatterbrain jerks shit-spewers like this one around every which way. Your lot stumbles so much I bet you couldn't take a swing at me without tasting your own fist."

"Trust me," he assured Shrike. "Once you see fancy dancer here trip all over itself, you'll be jumping to follow our lead."

"You got that, you galloping grunt? Let's see if those claws of yours are for more than scratching your empty head. I'll make it real easy too; you get the first blow. Even better, I'll pick up your teeth for you once you knock 'em out."

Brimful of confidence, the sneer never left his face. Appendages which had spent most of this time idly resting on shoulders now rose and drew back into a battle ready position. No matter what move this Warden planned on making, he had every intention of turning it into a showcase of foolery. While he had no delusions of beating his opponent in the category of sheer strength, outmaneuvering until it ate dirt should be as natural as breathing.

@The Warden

The Warden snorted, its grin cracking ever-so-slightly wider. "True power? You'll want Chaos for that. I'll admit, Order has something going on with their whole "we are one" thing, but it fails in comparison to a single corrupted and the real power it brings." Feeling tension rising in the air from Shrike's proposition, and Ace's apparent mirror of its own itch, the Warden lifted its glaive from the ground and held it across its body, muscles tense.

"Insult me all you want little buggie," it snarled, gleefully. "I'm not so primitive to use claws. You'll be wishing I would after you've tasted Lightning's bite!" Its blood was running hot already, the promise of a fight scratching that corrupted itch always present in the back of its mind. It wasn't so wild in its own corruption that it sought fights without reason, but it couldn't help but be so easily egged into one.

Oh, how nice of him to give it a chance to swing first! A burst of chaotic delight ran like adrenaline through its system and it charged forward without a second thought. And, perhaps it should have given itself a second to think about its first attack so it didn't risk proving Ace right, but alas, it did not. And so the first attack it did was poorly set up, poorly timed, and completely missed the drone, the glaive instead embedding itself in the soft ground next to where Ace had been.

Fire burst in the valkhound's eyes and its grin faltered for a second. "Fuck," it hissed.

ROUND 1

100%

ATTEMPT: swing with Lightning...uh lol
DEFENSE: natural defenses
INJURIES: none

@Shrike

Shrike listened in what probably appeared to be demure attentiveness.

Beneath it, her blood was singing. How delightful this was! The two warriors, exchanging their insults while preparing more physical jabs--she hadn't seen anything this exciting in years.

She pushed up, fluttering and slithering backward with a kick of her legs, getting out of the way of the combatants. Her attention toward Ace was doubtful, at first; she studied him, wondering what could possibly justify such arrogance. Such... certainty.

Then she looked toward the Warden; its bragging seemed just as confident, right up until it...

Bluffed? Had that been a bluff strike? Or just... a total miss?

Shrike looked up at it, nonplussed. The total lack of anything in her expression was typical, but now it was doubly empty. She genuinely had no idea what it had intended.

When Warden swore, it clicked. She jerked her head to Ace. "Wait-" she blurted, grace briefly gone, before blinking back at Warden. She didn't laugh at it. She managed, barely, not to. "Wait, you weren't... joking?"

She'd thought it to be smug exaggeration, a taunt, but--this...

It really had almost hit itself.

And Ace hadn't even moved yet.

@Ace

From the very moment Ace had been birthed from his chrysalis and enlisted as a soldier in this power struggle for control of the caves, none in the Hive could profess ignorance of the role he played in their victories. Of course credit for such complete knowledge naturally fell to the vast web of minds they all belonged to, but that would be underselling the insistence the Drone had on announcing the minute details of his involvement; any receptive comrades he bombarded with mental commentary and obsessive replays of what he called his greatest hits, an attempt at boosting faction morale as much as stroking an ego inflated to the point of nearly bursting. Always was he on the lookout for more golden moments to showcase to the rest of the network. This happened to be one of those perfect times, a pristine exhibition of Order's superiority, and likely all his ilk could hear thoughts raucously crowing over the sight before him.

Outwardly he was not much better at restraining his glee. Current landbound position too risky for a larger display, hysterical laughs weren't allowed to rack his body, yet clearly amused critique erupted forth from jaws. "Some Lightning there, hot-to-trot! At least Mir-rusty blade knew how to aim!"

Oh, how he wanted to scream to the ceiling about his impeccable judgment. If only the idiot's swing really had backfired and given him a front row seat to a self-inflicted jaw smashing. He would've been tempted to forget fighting right then just to preserve that sweet memory as soon as possible. Alas, the Chaos crony had fallen short, but no doubt further humiliation would be in store if he played his personal game right.

"Since we're being cute and having a weapon meet and greet, how's about I introduce you to my pal." Ace surged to his feet, launching instantly into a sprint that veered off to the Warden's side. As one, hind legs pushed off the ground. Wings previously tucked in now snapped open, a tip angled to face the ground, and he hurtled into a glide past its flank. His stinger, enveloped in white flame, curved inward for a chance at a grazing blow. "Darkpiercer's been dying to say hello!"

ROUND 1

100%

ATTEMPT: Fly-by stinger strike
DEFENSE: Armored underside and being a poison-covered pain in the ass
INJURIES: None... so far

@The Warden

Embaressement burned like a flame in the valkhounds chest. Of course, the first time it actually goes out of Draco to get some of its own glory, it has to mess it up right out the gate. The stinging remarks were only fuel to the fire, but The Warden was not a lose control kind of corrupted. If anything, it was an invigorating burn that pumped adrenaline through its veins, rolled up all the impatience and boredom and burned it in oil and black fire. A fight - an actual fight, not a spar or training or the messiness of war - had come to it at last.

So, yeah. It wasn't gonna mess up again.

Pulling the glaive out of the ground, it quickly stepped back, readjusting its grip for combat and taking some breaths. "Getting me just a little too excited," it snickered to Shrike, trying to smooth over the moment. Might as well acknowledge its own failures for the amusement of the peanut gallery.

But then it was fighting time and it had given up the first strike. But The Warden had been in this situation before, surrounded by Praetors. It didn't mind going on the defensive for a bit.

The glaive swung sharply as the stinger snapped in close. There was an ugly dull ringing sound and a flash of light from the enchanted weapon as the attack was swiftly parried, the stinger meeting nothing but glowing metal as it was knocked aside. "Darkpiecer?" it snorted eyeing the white flame as it swung the glaive back into a defensive position. "Might want to get your eyes checked, buggy. Or your head, its probably all roasted by now. From the mind control, you know."

ROUND 2

100%

ATTEMPT: block the attack
DEFENSE: natural defenses
INJURIES: none

@Shrike

For all the class and elegance she played at, Shrike's nature was cold and uninformed. She could imitate; but in reality, when The Warden muttered that self-deprecating humor to her, her internal reaction wasn't abhorrence or snobbery. It was ego, an ego that had her straightened and preening faintly before she was aware, painting her (if the Warden were, in that moment, so inclined to take note) as potentially easily manipulated.

And here came the whirlwind speed of battle, before she could properly respond and destroy that "demure" facade entirely. She backed up a little further, tilting her head in a quizzically birdlike fashion at the word "Darkpiercer."

Did he name his tail..? she thought, visibly cringing just a little. ...and call it his 'pal?' Her pale eyes went to his stinger, wondering at this. The Warden's block was competent enough, and she found herself watching, rapt.

Were she a more mature, wise sort of creature, she might have rolled her eyes, wandered off and left the two alone (and it might've been amusing for her to see how long it took them to realize she was gone). But having others fight over her was ego-boosting in and of itself. She would undoubtedly fit in alongside either boastful braggart. Even now she called out a little tease of her own: "Are you two sure you don't already know each other..? You sound like best friends."

@Ace

The very suggestion of close association with the spike-covered clown before him could've brought tears to his eyes for how hilarious it sounded. Though the lack of flesh yielding to his stinger was a disappointment, humor soared alongside his sinuous form, and he twisted to stare down at the Warden, fangs bared in mockery. "Hey, maybe I did ask Mother to cook my brain for a bit." None too offended, Ace leaned into the insinuation. "Probably saved me the pain of remembering that ugly mug in such high detail. If your Oily friends aren't using the sight of you as a method of torture, they really should consider it!"

He had to give it to Chaos: they really loved their dual purpose heavy hitters, brutish offense turned into a solid means of defense as well. Finding chinks in armor meant also avoiding being impaled by it as well, and so any further plan of attack needed to be swift and precise. While his flight path rounded his opponent's backside, wings thrust forward and cast him farther aloft. The distance momentary, it afforded him a split second to scan for vulnerable points before swooping in again.

"Oh, I've got it! That's why you're called the Warden. Your only talent's your crapcake of a face, so the powers that be figured your best option was scaring everyone away with it."

A forelimb lashed out, its hooked end targeting a space amongst the spikes lining the Warden's spine.

"Not bad! Shame that's all you having going for you though."

ROUND 2

100%

ATTEMPT: Slash with hooked arm
DEFENSE: Armored underside and being a poison-covered pain in the ass
INJURIES: Nope, give it a sec

@The Warden

Ace's words had, most likely, the opposite intended effect on the Warden, who merely laughed at the insinuation that their faces should be used as torture. "Not a bad idea, buggie! May our enemies scream in terror at the sight of our Master's visage!" Oh, yeah, the Warden knew that the strange face-shape of Vargas's lineage was not only alien to most gembound, but not particularly appealing to some - it'd seen enough horrified reactions at the gates of Draco to know. But it didn't need to look pretty to do its job, nor did it want to look anything but terrifying.

Another glance sent Shrike's way, another chuckle. "Trust me, if we'd met before, that thing would be dead or hiding." It didn't elaborate, but didn't specify that it would have been the one to do the killing or chasing off. Because if they'd met under any other circumstance, where the Warden hadn't foolishly entered the fray alone, there probably wouldn't have been an exchange of words - it would have called for reinforcements to ensure the Drone was destroyed. Or sent said reinforcements after the fight. Hell, it might do so today, no matter the outcome.

It made to to stay light on its feet as the Drone circled around it overhead, waiting, waiting. If it didn't attack with the stinger again...

There! Right as it flew in, the Warden twirled, feeling a sharp pain as a scythe-like arm carved a wound between its back-spikes, but at the same time, swung the glaive, aiming for the base of the wing. It wouldn't be a deep blow if it hit, but it didn't need it to be - as long as there was pain in the joint or muscle, flying would be more difficult.

It grinned and guffawed. "Exactly! They see my face and turn the opposite way! That's what happens when you're not a cockroach with a weird hairdo! Who the hell would be frightened of that?"

ROUND 3

91%

ATTEMPT: bruise the wing joint
DEFENSE: natural defenses
INJURIES: slash on the back

@Shrike

Oh, this was... fun.

Shrike had never been a fighter, but her blood was up, and her eyes bright, as she listened to the witty back-and-forth banter of the two combatants. They traded blows and blocks, and she felt a sort of elation.

They both could fight. At least, so it seemed. They were both confident. They each had a sense of humor, even arrogance with it, and ego. But it was fun.

They were... having fun.

Maybe it was a bad thing--a horrible, tragic misunderstanding--to try and derive joy from a perpetual war. Or maybe it was the ultimate healthy viewpoint: the world was fucked; may as well enjoy it! Either way, Shrike was almost overjoyed.

It was almost like... whichever side won, she would still win. No, she hadn't ever been a fighter: but she could see herself learning, see herself trading blows and banter right alongside... well, either one of them.

She was almost excited enough to yell out encouragement. The problem was, she didn't know whose side to take--who to encourage. Yelling "rip the face off" would just come across as generically bloodthirsty--so for now, she held her tongue, watching with a beak that had parted in fascination.

@Ace