Alpha allowed the bear hug, swinging one forearm to reciprocate. It was a painful stretch, trying to hook its elbow over the other's shoulder, but hopefully that wouldn't be a problem seconds from now. One limb was deliberately left on the ground.

It had bigger fish to fry: the teeth vying for its jaw, unperturbed by the quills in the way.

The set of hooked claws still on the ground swept up. It took a few bracing steps forwards, leaning heavily against the other-Orthoclase, and swung for a scrabbling leg. Already unsteady on four limbs, the removal of one—perhaps even two—would make a world's difference.

If it caught a leg, Alpha shifted back and yanked with a crushing grip and twist. A get down, if you will, since we're speaking in violence. Otherwise, it was time to find out how Svartis felt when it tried to leave its mark on him.

Funny how karma always circles back.

The other-Orthoclase's legs were knocked right out from under it, a grunted 'oof' sort of noise escaping it as its massive bulk crashed down to the ground.

Legs were near legs: a tangle of hook-clawed limbs, and as if in imitation, the mirror lashed out from the ground, attempting to catch one of the true Orthoclase's own limbs before it was balanced, to bring it down in the exact same manner.

@Orthoclase-Alpha

Alpha let off a bellowing roar as the other-Orthoclase collapsed. It pressed its advantage, twisting its lifted arm so that it could keep its weight on the beast in... sort of a half-pin. All the other would have to do to break free was move to one side, but oh well. The monstrous hybrid did step back as its copy tried the same maneuver.

It was a hard miss, and the Overseer didn't pass up the chance—too caught-up in the thrill of combat, in survival. That cold, dead heart of its was about to burst out of its ribs and blood roared in its ears. Rattling quills were simply a backdrop.

Lurching down, it sought out the nearest offending limb. Pearly whites snapped for it, intent on biting down with such a force that it would crush through carapace down to bone. The weak paralytic venom (Alpha had already forgotten about) being dispensed would be a bonus.

The bite was met with a swinging arm, all curled-up claws in a carapace-strengthened fist.

Had Alpha ever punched a creature before-? This one did, all its might behind it as it half-regained its feet. It was upright at the front, hind legs still scrabbling at the ground for purchase in an attempt to rise, but the thrust with which it threw this strike held all the weight and momentum of its forequarters, at least, behind it.

It aimed for the oncoming teeth, for the venom-infused jaws. Perhaps it would break one--or both--if not avoided.

@Orthoclase-Alpha

Teeth clicked shut around air. Alpha's eyes blew wide at the retaliation; its copy was lurching back to its feet and hastening to attack. Hair trigger flight instinct had it shifting and leaning to the side while it tried to calculate what the Hell it should do next. Claws scrabbled dangerously close to a break in the ground, and it thought—

—no time to do that. If its jaw was broken, that could be its end. Claws were nearly useless against its own hide without an excess of force, size, or sharpness (see: Vargas.)

It foolishly tried to go against the other-Orthoclase's motion and feint past the swinging arm; if it'd succeeded, it would've tried to plant its teeth in the crook of the thing's elbow. Instead, the fist met dead-on and smashed through to the bone of its nostrils. A furious and pained roar escaped it as it tried to back away.

Putrid green immediately sputtered from it's muzzle and ran down where some teeth were now completely missing. The blood filled its mouth and it spat it out, salivating.

Put on the defensive, Alpha flared its mane fully and rattled every quill on its body. Toxic-green eyes burned where they sat in their sockets, glassy with pain. Every breath whistled through its broken muzzle. Flanks heaved.

The monster pushed its advantage, nothing but savagery in those toxic eyes, nothing but ferocity in the pointed teeth. It came fully to its feet as Orthoclase-Alpha stumbled, and as its opponent was recovering, it was launching itself for the real thing.

It was no measured attack, this one: it was a flurry of blows, the weight of the stranger (but was it a stranger, really?) plowing in to simply deal damage. The two front pairs of limbs were formed into fists, brought awkwardly down and forward to rain these blows; the other four legs drove the creature forward, its massive weight shoving like a train.

It was not an elegant maneuver, but it could, potentially, be a damaging one.

@Orthoclase-Alpha

this post contains mild description of a traumatic episode

At the first hit of fist-on-hide, a terrible memory surged to the forefront of its mind: it, still growing through its last few molts; Vargas standing over it as it cowered; impacts shattering layer after layer of armor; the conviction that it was going to die then and there surging strong. Back then, it hadn't fought back except to survive. In the present, it had been fighting, now, to survive against this cruel joke.

It shouldn't have come here.

If it could help it, it would walk out of here.

Alpha braced itself against another blow, bassy growl stuttering with every impact. Once it was steady on all six legs, it leaned backwards. Every muscle in its haunches coiled tightly like a spring. It lunged forward and, with a twist of claws, struck out at the other-Orthoclase's throat.

It almost hoped to see a line of toxic green running down amid those quills.

Content Warning
This post contains potentially sensitive material:

blood/minor gore

The impact jarred through both identical beasts, the target staggering back.

It emitted its own deep and resonant growl--a perfect imitation of the Orthoclase's own--but the sound seemed to jar and gurgle, as if damaged somehow. And it was--the doppelganger was--the beast turning to blink four eyes at Orthoclase-Alpha past a stream of splattering toxic blood.

It stumbled. Forward--as if to attack--and then back, as if in hesitation. There was the wet sound of liquid splashing across the rock and then it leapt, unsteady now.

Perhaps... dying.

The leap was clumsy, a simple charge as it used to open this fight, and if it impacted, it would serve only to disbalance the Orthoclase--at best, to knock it over.

2/3

@Orthoclase-Alpha

Its—Alpha's? The other's?—the other's blood sputtered out with every intent heartbeat, every booming noise; and, it gave the Overseer pause, jarred it loose again from the haze of war. There it was, facing down its own reflection in the flesh. It'd tried to talk to it, however aggressively, and then they clashed. The orthoclase was all too familiar with peering between the proverbial blades where they crossed, seeing itself as the enemy. Violence met violence. It was all recursive.

Yet, it could not bury that part of it. Every part of its existence nurtured that. Bloodshed and all-in-the-name-of-Chaos force-fed it, put it in a cage with the smallest of windows to peer out of. (Hadn't it put itself in this cage... ?)

Toxic eyes stared into those equally as hazy as its own, but it knew: this beast had been dealt an ill blow. If it was as real as it felt, it'd suffer and struggle. Did it have a stone to lull it into a chrysalis... ? Something to keep it alive and humming? Alpha thought, no, it was too reminiscent of those loathsome, feral monsters swarming Orion's ceiling: stupidly violent, unwilling to listen except to violence... but it lived nonetheless.

There'd been blood coursing through those veins. The same blood it had. Coppery, acidic tang. Classical radioactivity dribbling as the most essential part of life. Facing itself in the broken mirror, the orthoclase would not subject it to the minutes—hours?—of agony it would take to bleed out as it tried—and failed—to continue to attack.

The orthoclase could not have realized how figuratively and symbolically powerful its next action could be.

It crouched low before the other-Orthoclase could stumble toward it, and lifted its claws to receive the impact. Alpha rode the momentum, turning to its side and attempting to force its copy into one of the breaks in the ground. Hopefully, the fall was a merciful one: one that killed it on impact.

An impact of bodies. A crunch of carapace, and then the brief scuffle of claws at the edge of the rock. The four toxic eyes shifted to Orthoclase-Alpha for that instant of frozen time, but did not widen: there was no surprise, only blank savagery, the intent to maim, to kill-

-and then it was gone, dropped over the crater's edge as if it had never been. Only silence--still, dark--remained. -Ah; broken by a quiet thud a moment later, far below.

And then the crevasses began to close up. Light returned to the cave, if dim; the grinding of stone as the room reshaped itself played backdrop to the scuffle of talons as Emuh swept back in, landing a few yards away. "GOOD," it declared. That was the extent of any praise. "NOW HOLD STILL." No further warning was given: there was a surge of power, one that would stagger the Orthoclase, one that gave and take and gave again. It was drained--magically drained, physically weakened, as if rendered faintly clumsier, unsteady. As if its knowledge, its experience, had been reshaped somehow.

As if it would have to be relearned.

"YOU WILL RECOVER. AND YOU WILL LEARN. NOW GET OUT," the owl-beast added--and a wall of stone rose, and began to shunt Orthoclase-Alpha for the exit.

____________

Orthoclase-Alpha has Transcended. It is now a Transcendent Brawler, and may work its way back up to Transcendent Champion. Upon attaining this rank, its player may post in Update Me to choose a Specialization (viewable in the Magic section of the Guidebook).

It has also learned the Technique:

Precision Strike

Transcendent Intensity Offensive. Mastery of physical combat allows a brief surge of magicka to empower a physical strike, greatly increasing damage done or allowing the Gembound to leap or throw an object incredible distances in order to harm a more distant foe.

@Orthoclase-Alpha