The demonic presence continued to pace around him, circling like some hideous shadow, a vulture waiting for its prey to finally give in to the call of death. He moved to curl up tighter, tucking his back legs under him, hooves scraping the floor. His ankles dug into his ribcage, and he winced as a fresh, oozing trail of blood slipped down to the floor, burning a path down his destroyed chest.

A rattling breath, two, and he gathered what remained of his will, trying to rise, clumps of mane hanging limp and bloodied, tail swishing softly against the ground. Slowly, so slowly his joints cracked with every inch of movement, the gelding managed to rise, flags of burnt skin and swaths of fur fluttering to the floor, gathering at his hooves and floating in the puddle of blood like sick imitations of boats on the waterfront. He averted his gaze, bile sitting in his mouth like a close companion. All four limbs shook, his eyes blinked rapidly, holding back tears. The hardest part was over - just getting up had taken most of his remaining energy, and his vision wavered, blood leaving him rather than pumping to his brain.

Away. He had to get away.

Skittishly, he began to back up, steps hard and uneven on the ground - and with every step, a bit more of his blanket of shadow slipped away, until he was visible in all of his glory, half of the skin missing from his body, every bone visible, sickness and death clinging to him like a lover.

ROUND: 5 / 6
ATTEMPT: Get up to try and flee?
DEFENSE: None
INJURIES:
- Starvation [previous]
- Fever [previous]
- 3rd degree burns spanning neck, chest and front legs
- Extreme blood loss

Vicktor barely listened to the gelding's rattling breath; their hooves scraping against the floor below as they rose up. He was focused entirely on his own thoughts; his past and present self fighting over what was right. Which path would be beneficial to him in the end. Weather to kill or take pity on this horse that hid within the shadows; burning and bleeding. It wasn't until he caught glimpse of them outside the shadows did every sense flood back into him. Overloading his brain; halting all thought. He simply watched them; their frail and pitiful form. Burnt flesh hanging from brittle bones, sickness cradling him just waiting for death.

Skittishly they backed up a few more step and all the jaguar could do was slowly move out from the shadows. Creeping out from the void he revealed his entire form to the gelding. Bone white eyes trailing over each and every drop of blood that fell from them. His maw closed, posture calm yet riddled with anxiety beneath he continued. He drank in every ounce of detail that sorrowfully pooled from the horse's skin. Blood and char all as one.

s̙̲̯̥͉̰͖̓ͣ̇̍͊o̜̤͚r͈̩̯͗̈̌r̊̅̍̄̂ỷ̟̘͓͚̬̙͔

He knew what it felt; to be ravaged by flames. To be chased until your very lungs nearly collapsed. To not understand why this fate was deemed your own. To not run away from sheer anxiety and pain. Everything that Vicktor once was, was highly evident before him; in the body of this horse. Obsessive thoughts halted for just this moment. Seemingly lost in time as he stared at this gelding; this poor individual. What had he done...he was afraid, he was bitter and furious at both himself and this horse..yet...

Pity had won, there would be no death...

ROUND: 6/6
ATTEMPT: SHOCK HIM CAUSE TOO MANY EMOTIONS
DEFENSE: None
INJURIES: 2nd degree burns around mouth
1st degree burns down esophagus


"Speech"

"Thought"

Death stopped in its tracks, staring at him, fire giving way to fur as black as ichor, white eyes blank of expression. It made no move to greet him further, benevolent, gaping maw closing on jagged daggers. It just... watched. He shook, violently, enough to stumble to one side, vision swimming again, tail whipping the opposite way to try and balance his frame. One of his back legs crumpled, twisting the ankle sharply, and he winced, breathing out in harsh pants.

He couldn't get away.

But maybe it would stop hurting him, take him peacefully, if he just...

The gelding's thin, pale head, slowly dipped, until his chin touched the mangled meat of his chest, bloodying the fur. His ears flicked back, scars shining in the soft glow of his gemstone, the core of him crying out for him to stop, to live, to continue his mission - but his mind had conceded already. If this was his end, it would be a pitiable one, quickly forgotten. He could stop wandering.

Stop hurting.

His other legs crumpled under his weight, and his stomach hit the floor with enough force to jab at his insides. He shivered.

And waited.

ROUND: 6 / 6
ATTEMPT: Submit.
DEFENSE: None
INJURIES:
- Starvation [previous]
- Fever [previous]
- 3rd degree burns spanning neck, chest and front legs
- Extreme blood loss

[Origin Cave]

Character: Eosphoros Age: +5 (5 Cycle) Magic Level: +1 (Fledgling) ROUND 1 Attempt: +3 Penalties: -# ROUND 2 Attempt: +2 Penalties: -# ROUND 3 Attempt: +17 Penalties: -# ROUND 4 Attempt: +8 Penalties: -# ROUND 5 Attempt: +16 Penalties: -# ROUND 6 Attempt: +7 Penalties: -# Total: 59

Character: Vicktor Age: +6 (6 Cycle) Magic Level: +5 (Master) ROUND 1 Attempt: +16 Penalties: -# ROUND 2 Attempt: +13 Penalties: -# ROUND 3 Attempt: +19 Penalties: -# ROUND 4 Attempt: +4 Penalties: -# ROUND 5 Attempt: +2 Penalties: -# ROUND 6 Attempt: +3 Penalties: -# Total: 68

WINNER: Vicktor

Staring into the clouded eyes of this gelding they only acted as a mirror. Showing the jaguar in all his glory; large intimidating and wrong. Vicktor's hard line across his maw pulled downward; pity was the only thing to be found. He searched himself while watching the gelding. Still his two thoughts fought; even when it was clear pity had won. To see it shake before him so violently that it caused them to stumble; to twist their own legs and breathe out struggling with harsh pants.

He would have spoken; except the horse crumbled under his own weight again. Smacking the stone floor beneath them, waiting with a shiver; accepting what came their way. Vicktor frowned, his eyes dancing across their shining scars upon their ears. The soft pulsing light that was nestled upon their chest. He approached; claws overgrown and silently tapping the stone with each step. He couldn't sheathe them away in this age, he had tried. Vicktor was actuated by unworthy desires, as if sparing this horse would do it any good. But deep down he believed it so.

Bringing his form close to the horse he laid beside them. Staring into their eyes; lifting his paws to bring their head farther down and by extension their neck. He was gentle with his claws; or as gentle as one could be on such tender flesh. Eyes dancing over the burnt and pain swollen flesh he simply licked them. Across their jaw line where the fur was still plentiful; cleaning the blood from gray. A deep rumble played in his throat; a purr of forgiveness and a simple 'sorry' wrapped as one. He had dealt with burns on his own hide; far too many times to count. Licking the seared flesh had always helped; coating his own wounds in thick saliva. Perhaps it would be the same with them. It was definitely the least he could do.

As time progress and while his tongue gliding across the horse's inflamed flesh; he decided. They would simply be his, pity ran heavy in his thoughts to come to this conclusion. Or was it the overwhelming emotion and process of possession that was highly evident in him. It wasn't out of love, no not how he saw Clover as his. But rather something else, fueled by unworthy desires to do what was right in his own special way. To aid this horse that reminded him so much of himself as a cub. Except, the exact reason why didn't precisely matter to him. What was his, was his; no if, ands or buts. This horse would be no different.


"Speech"

"Thought"

He couldn't hear it, no, but he could feel the demon approaching, smell its fetid breath even over his own wounds. Hot air skittered across his cheeks, his ears, and he flinched back, eyes shut tight against the sight of Death itself. It seemed almost gentle now, as if it had accepted his wish for an easier death, slowly moving to his side. He waited for teeth to rip into his jugular, claws to disembowel him, set him free, but he felt it lay down next to him.

He froze.

Fear and an odd sort of peace flooded his veins, made his breath shallow, only flinching at the feel of sharp claws tapping at his pelt, pushing his head down, his destroyed neck out. This was it, then. It wasn't an honorable death. Something in him, some faint remembrance of his childhood, told him he should ask for a fair fight, a demise that would not be pitied, but it was fleeting and small. Right now he just wanted to rest, to sink into the deep dark and never return, to flee from the aching, fiery pain that bit into his front.

A strange touch, something rasping and cold, and he choked out a confused, pained sound, felt the rumble of it shake his teeth. Death was making the ground shake, making the wounds hurt more and then dullen. He relaxed. He was slipping away at last, then, being freed piece by piece from the pain.

But something touched his cheek, and when he opened to look, he saw his family standing inches from the sword-lined maw of the creature. They were screaming, his mother was hopping forward to peck at his eyes, to get him to move, to do something, anything. Black wings and white. The white dug sharp claws into his front hoof, etched lines into the front of it.

His family.

He had to find his family.

The gelding turned his eye enough to stare in the face of Death - and he opened his mouth to scream, and scream, and scream, uncaring of whether it hurt that which brought the end, uncaring of whether it cracked open his already broken throat. Someone, anyone, even another monster - he needed someone to help him. Someone to fight away an immortal.

Until then, he made every noise he could remember, half-formed words, singsonging rhymes and muffled yelps of pain.

Why didn't he ever listen to his father? Possibly because he thought he was just a lord. A lord was not a king nor was he a god. A lord was insignificant in the brand scheme of things for only now did he have power. In the future he would be the one to rule the army and Hasira would be... well... around but not in power. It was promised to him before birth. He'd heard the whispers in the crystal womb, he knew how this was supposed to go. So, he felt rather invincible when doing everything he had to do. He had been injured in a fight, yes, but that meant nothing. Gods could be hurt, he just had to be more careful. However, he knew that he would not be killed because the carnivores were too weak to actually do anything to him. They couldn't cause any true harm to a deer like him. He knew that for a fact. They'd tried to kill his father and still had failed. The young fawn rounded a bend but skittered backwards when he saw what was up ahead. A fight was taking place between one of his own and a villainous carnivore. The creature was torturing a horse, ripping flesh from bones and carving its beautiful form into something terrible. Kingsfoil felt real fear roil through his body. He'd seen the scars on his father and always tried to avoid getting such awful things on himself. Yet, here was this creature out in front of him ready to rend and tear. But didn't he just say that carnivores could never truly win because they were weak? He was a deer, the most superior of the herbivores and this was a horse who came in close second. Wasn't it his job to protect? To a degree... yes... The war hadn't started and they needed willing soldiers. There wouldn't be any if they couldn't be salvaged. Besides, he was always in the market for minions. Especially big ones that could work as guards. Sure he was weak now but couldn't he be turned into something better? Especially after he saw the damage that the carnivores could do. Carnivores were cowards, if he just charged out and asserted his dominance he could win. It was just like with the fox. He just had to get the upperhoof here and everything would be alright. He didn't have the rhinos though... Was that safe? He faltered. He heard the creature scream. It didn't matter. He was a god. He was powerful. The carnivore was not. That was all that matter. With the level of his fear and the power of his thoughts his magick reacted, pushing darkness through his veins which manifested by turning his eyes pitch black. Roiling smoke like his mother's own perverse darkness exited his eyes as he felt energy course through him. He was ready. He ran out, head lowered as he charged straight at the black creature in a headbutt. He threw his entire weight at the being with the force of not only his own body but with his body imbued with the extra energy from the liquid in the air. He didn't think, only believed that since he was born from a god that this would protect him and help him vanquish the evil monster. "Talking" @Eosophoros @Vicktor OOC

All appeared to be going well. The horse seemingly drifting into relaxation more and more by the second. Allowing him to coat as much of their flame bitten flesh as one could in such amount of time. Though the gelding turned just enough to stare into the jaguar's face. Vicktor raised a brow slightly; mouth open and tongue out. The horse looked as if it was about to speak! Excellent! Vicktor would just explain how he had a momentary lapse of judgement!...which seemed to be common with him in all honesty; but he disregarded that fickle thought.

Except Vicktor's enthusiasm was cut short by a shrill scream. He rose up, taking two steps back as the volume was rather uncalled for...He waited; just a few moments, but they kept screaming! AH, how much Vicktor wanted to shut them up right then and there! Didn't they know he meant no harm!? He was helping! Sure he was the one who caused those wounds in the first place but COME ON. GIVE A CAT A CHANCE!

But, the gelding did not. They only continued their mass panic; screaming every last ounce of breath from their lungs. Brows furrowed Vicktor was just about ready to scream back; mocking in tone. Maybe then his horse would go silent just long enough for him to explain. Except plans didn't go as hastily written. Out the corner of his eye something white came into view...it was running...quite fast...and at him!?

What or whoever it was it bashed into his side; forcing him to take a few steps back and collect himself. Bone white eyes met with that of a...deer!? White as snow and so small...it reminded him of Clover...but upon closer inspection they were...a stag?...though they did not bear the antlers of one...only small, pathetic nubs...

With pity and mercy still coating his veins he kept calm and spoke to the child.

"Hey you little shit! The fuck you doing!?"


"Speech"

"Thought"

His throat hurt. He was dimly aware that this was the very least of his injuries, but it was the only one he could feel, solid and grounding. Even as his vision began to fail him, catastrophic blood loss making him even weaker, he could still do this - could scream for help, because this was it. The gelding couldn't do any more. The spaces between his pointed bones could hold two of the demon's paws, his skin paper-thin, the burns still bubbling slowly, the low pop of blistered fat muted.

He needed a miracle.

White flickered in the corner of his golden vision, and he twitched, thinking it the return of white wings - but the white grew closer, white and gold and black, smoking eyes, a golden crown shining on its brow - the angel's brow. An avenging angel, angry, furious, small but fearless, charging right at the demon. It barreled straight into Death's side, black smoke to red fire, hooves to daggers.

He watched, eyes widening, slowly relaxing to slump on the ground, chin resting on the overheated stone. He wanted to thank the being, show some sort of gratitude - but all he could do was inch a hoof forward, eyes falling half-closed, and bloody the floor more and more, moment by moment.

Wings - the angel didn't have them, but then it did, his sister lending her own, the two melding together into a picture of elegant destruction matched against the demon's own ruthless fury. The gelding twitched, soundless ears flicking wildly, wishing he could hear his savior's voice, its words, if it had spoken anything.

If it knew his name.

But he watched, and waited, and tried to hold on to consciousness, the golden gemstone at his core slowly darkening to solid black.

His head connected and he actually managed to push the thing a little ways back but he also ended up bouncing back from the force, barely managing to stay on his hooves. The carnivore was so huge! He wanted to run but he also wanted to fight. How awesome would it be if he could go back and tell all his friends that he fought a huge carnivore and won? His father would be proud and everyone would be forced to acknowledge that he, Kingsfoil, was a true leader. Even better than his dad because had his dad ever beat a huge leopard at his age? He thought not. The black monster spoke to him, saying unkind and coarse words that only the low-class spake. Eyes still colored black with the darkness pouring out that fawn barked back, "I'm defending my brethren from you, monster! Begone or I'll unleash the wrath of a god upon you!" He didn't exactly know what the wrath of a god was but he would certainly try to do it today! Did he even have godly powers yet? He would have liked to give the horse some sort of reassurance but he had to focus. He had to just do something. Keep this thing from attacking because despite the feeling in his gut that he was invincible and that any fights with carnivores would always end with him winning... There was still a bit of doubt. The stag's head dropped again as he scuffed a hoof on the rocky earth and again, he charged straight at the leopard. Trying to push him back or make him lose heart or something. "Talking" @Eosophoros @Vicktor OOC