[closed/complete] Characters: War [redhorse] & Cù Sìth [barrowhound] Date/Time: May 27th Location: The Arena Rating: PG-13 Warnings: Violence. Summary: The hound versus the red horseman.
The once-hound was loving this. The excitement, the noise, the sense of urgency to see someone hunted down in the arena and ripped apart. He knew where they stood was a place that had been covered in blood by those before them and that was motivation. That was a reason to feel alive.
In his armour, as pathetic as it was, with a heavy sword and shield in hand, he stomped around on the sands and howled the very best he could without his magnificent ability. Appearing mad didn't matter and the crowd seemed to be eating up any antics he provided. He had their favour, their love. If he won this, he could have freedom if he craved it enough.
And that didn't seem like an impossibility. He saw his opponent, remembering her from earlier in the year. A girl with a salty tongue and an attitude that could either cleanly cut through you or leave a jagged, bruised wound when she drew back, intending on it just being the start of your pain.
He liked her, regardless of her feelings for him or anyone else. He wanted to see her be destructive here and wanted to kill her at the same time. Someone had to go and he wasn't going to think in any way that suggested he might lose. That would help nothing. So Cù Sìth grinned up toward where the dominus and domina where, waiting for the signal to begin the battle.
War, for all her excitement about fighting, was annoyed by Cù Sìth's dramatic antics. She couldn't help but roll her eyes and watch to stab the other in the throat. It was not that she didn't understand it; War felt the same pull of blood, not for a hunt, but for conflict. Pure and simple (yet always so complex). This was not a feeling of losing or winning to War, but death and life.
This wasn't a great battlefield that she looked over, but a one-on-one scuffle. She liked those, they helped to get out that uncomfortably pent-up energy. As for her feelings for her opponent? War had none, she had, however, always wanted to punch Cù Sìth. Now seemed a good time as any to get that out.
Her armour was not much better than his own, and as soon as the sign was given to start, War charged ahead. While she no longer had her abilities, War always knew how to fight. It was something she was born with. Besides, she wanted to put on a good show (not for just anyone) but her siblings. And the rage the fueled her down had more to do with Gawain's death than she'd like to admit.
If had had her abilities, this would have gotten messy much faster and the fight probably wouldn't have been as long. And a part of the hound was disappointed but a fight was a fight and he would milk it for what it was. Besides, she was still a Horsemen. That was enough for him to give it his all.
Steel against steel rang throughout the arena for the people's pleasure. The shrieks and screams of undiluted joy came when blood first showed though when Cù Sìth looked back on that moment he couldn't figure out whose it had been. It happened without warning and he hadn't stopped to figure it out, didn't care much either. By the end, they would both be ruined, sore and one of them would be dead.
He was working on it being her, with heavy, hard strikes, even using his shield to push back at her. He thrust out his sword less, preferring tactful arcs of his sword aiming to slice her open rather than stab her through. It took energy and he wasn't all-powerful.
It was a pleasure to know that he was giving it his all, and War did not hold back either. As a horseman her pride wouldn't allow it, but it felt right too, to return the enthusiasm he shared. Even if they were for different reasons. While he had a shield, she had none, instead two swords worked more in her favor, despite the cuts along her sides and legs and arms. Those stung like a bitch.
War swung her swords from below, mindful of the difference in height, trying to run the blade upwards, slashing through his gut and chest and ending on his throat. If only she could get close enough.
Maybe it was stupid, maybe she forgot she was mortal or maybe it was just natural for War to do what she did next. Maybe the drive of War (the real one, beneath the surface, not just battle but the perception of sacrifice in war. Not just to win, but simply to fight). To give it all into something great.
And this was great. Lose/Win didn't matter. What did was the taste of blood, hers or his. Both. War just gets lost in it's conflict, it can focus (generals have their battle plans) or it becomes frenzied (like pawns facing others head on).
The sun did not help with the issue of sweat. It was hot and Cù Sìth knew that everything stank, including himself. He'd never minded being dirty but sand clung to wherever he had fallen, getting into his gashed and cuts, even in his mouth at some point. It was an aggravating way to be for what felt like ages.
And then it came out of the blue, the opening as well as his strike. It broke from his normal pattern of slashing and attempting to bring her down with heavy blow. Maybe that contributed to why it worked but, any which way, this was the moment. With a loud howl, partly for himself and partly for the people, he buried his sword into her belly, twisting it as it went through her, tearing apart whatever organs, tissue and muscle he pierced.
It was his. This battle was his.
That's what he thought.
Maybe War's opening had more to do with wanting to be in that position, because despite the pain ripping her body apart, she latched onto his hand, which held the blade now sticking into her stomach. Asya grinned, mouth full of blood, almost as if to say 'you didn't think it would be that easy, now, did you fucker?'.
She dug her nails into his skin, an iron grip that would only he shaken off in death, and with a cry, War brought down her sword. In this form, in this moment and without her abilities she didn't have the strength to stab him through. However that did not stop War from hacking away at his sword arm.
Like a butcher with a knife, bits of skin and muscle and blood. She was going to die in battle, but he? He was never going to be in one again. For someone like War, that was the worst kind of punishment in a way. Besides, she couldn't help but feel that excitement as she took her last few breaths and hacked away at him. Frenzied, perfect-
-she looked up at the stands, searching for her siblings. War couldn't find them, she wouldn't have apologized anyway, she just (very humanely) wanted to see them before it went dark.
Apparently, Khaos was not going to grant her that.