You do not fear me as I should be feared
That thunderous sound of flesh hitting flesh, of colossal bodies slamming together like boulders, the jarring impact forcing him to grit his teeth as the pain of his shorn barrel heightened to agony with the sheer force of their collision... it was... lacking. Gone was the thrill of it, even within his analytical mind there was nothing but the blur of movement and the whirlwind of ideas thought and then discarded before even half a heartbeat could pass. There was no surge of triumph as he shoved her back, back into that most treacherous ground. No feeling of bared-teeth satisfaction as her leg buckled beneath her and her weight unbalanced. Oh but how he faked it, his teeth flashing white against the blackness of his grin, those ghastly eyes rolling as he shoved his weight against her, feeling and hearing the snap of her jaws as she viciously bites back towards his neck.
Yet for all his visage of a man enjoying the clashing of blood and fury... Ammon felt nothing within. Gone was the earnest joy he had once felt, gone was the anticipation that quivered his flesh and made his knees tremble, gone was the man that had stood beside him and made such emotions grow like flowers beneath a bright sun. Gone was the source of his light, and gone was the thrill of battle. So when she lunged to him, her legs trying to hook under his, although he jerked his legs free before she could yank them out with a furious snort... his intent was gone from the battle, that black rage of vengeance burning in his breast dimming, until he was left feeling hollow, devoid once more of anything. He cared not even when teeth found purchase in the thick arch of his neck, ripping and bruising dark skin to draw a pained squeal from the black stag. He allowed himself to pull away with little more than a twist of his head to try lash those tines gracing his skull across whatever flesh of hers he could reach, even as she sprang back supple and swift. His eyes focused sharply on her, noting the tenderness to which she held her leg, how easy it would be to harry her until that limb became impossible to use, until she fell to the earth at his mercy. Had he truly wished for her pain, suffering and death... he held still the highest advantages, though he made no move to follow her and initiate further conflict.
He stood there, a blood-soiled stallion carved of onyx and gilded with gold, nostrils flared as his sides heaved with exertion, that refined head low with his intricate rack presented to her, waiting with bated breath for any further violence. When it did not come, he visibly settled, tense and coiled muscles easing, his breath slowing until it reached a more average pace. He recognized both her lameness and her skill, even if his recognition was unseen, his visage seemingly calming down from the anger that had driven him through the flurry of their battle. For a time he breathed, allowing his false emotions to cool before the black stag raised his head, those eyes focusing on the mare with emptiness, though the corners of his eyes wrinkled in the faintest sign of amusement. "Truce?" He had come to quench the black flame of anger within his breast, at least for a time, but now... he regretted it.
All he was left with was emptiness, pulsating wounds dripping his blood down his flesh, and the bitter memory of what he had once enjoyed now like ash upon his tongue.
You do not know the first note of the music that moves me
Summary: Ammon realizes he doesn't exactly enjoy this as much as he used to, but he fakes it p damn well for a time and avoids Seraphina's legs trying to knock him off balance, but her teeth do grab his neck, tearing and bruising the skin. He twists his head, trying to rake his antlers half-assedly across her as she pulls back, then p much chills the hell out bc the fight is done (i think?)
Attack Used: 2
Attack(s) Left: 0
Block Used: 1
Block(s) Left: 0
Item(s) Used: N/A
Response Deadline: 10/8
Tags: @
