Istas vs Mittens [Auki & KillaKittyofDoom]

[Auki]

He panted. Hard.

What had always come so naturally to him required all his attention, the earth thrown off balance in one whip of cruel fate. He felt mocked; there was no other way to describe it. Even a beast, battered and bruised, could slap him away like a pest. Was his speed and agility only sub-par? It had always been his trump card until now. Perhaps it was true; he was not ready to fight real monsters after all.

When he realised he would be ruling the sky alone this battle, the adrenaline started to abate, granting him the chance to catch his breath. He glided, circling a particular updraft that allowed him to remain a constant height without much thought. Still more thought than he would have needed a few moments ago, he couldn’t help but note. Vision was a funny thing it seemed and not one that Istas was learned in. Aside from half the world plunged into darkness, it did not seem to have made much difference. At least, that’s what he thought until he tried to land upon the rocky cliff face. His beak bore a scratch from the attempt and his talons a few extra bruises. Now he was in the air, depth seemed obvious. The lion was on the ground in the distance; any idiot could see that. His fore-paw however…

Waving it in front his face, he struggled to tell how far it was from touching him. It was a slight hindrance but significant enough to have an effect. He moved it closer and found himself touching his beak half an inch sooner than he’d expected. Inside his head, something alike to nervous laughter sounded. It couldn’t be permanent. He wouldn’t allow it.

This was a test, nothing more. If life wanted to unnerve him, they would need more than an overgrown feline and a few well-placed war scars.

“Burn in hell,” he screeched, “You can’t have me!” He felt dizzy, his thigh throbbed, but the rush of battle was returning. With a golden one-eyed blink, it occurred to him that his opponent hadn’t been sitting idle through his revelations. The ground seemed to have disappeared in white. He ducked down a few metres. The air felt damp, humid. The griffin began to feel heavier as the steaming water vapour clung to his feathers.

His landing was silent, he was sure of it. The steam seemed to muffle any sound he might have otherwise caused. He couldn’t see anything – His fear spiked momentarily and his muscles turned weak but he managed to regain control. He folded his wings in tightly at his side and trod forward, keeping near to the cliff wall as he squinted through the mist, trying to catch the whispers of a shadow.

[Fulgrim]

Mittens paced and padded in the fog, the griffin had surely landed by now. The lion kept his ears pricked and ready for the slightest indication of his foe's movement, the scratch of talons on rock, the skittering of kicked stones but there was nothing, for all he knew Mittens was alone in the fog.

Mittens could feel the moisture clinging to his fur, weighing him down as the dank cold of his fog set in. Mittens lapped some water up from the remains of the lake, drawing some renewed vigor from the crystal clear waters.

Mittens began to calculate, so far Istas had not been able to resist a challenge and the little bird was skittish too. Mittens reasoned if he could not raise the griffins ire into revealing himself he could break his mind. Mittens began to pace, not silently but with dull thuds as his paws slammed down on the ground. The lion circled the arena and stalked the area within, he gave low rumbling growls every now and then as he hunted. Mittens beat his wings into his side and carved gashes into rock, sharpening his obsidian claws while leaving tokens of his legendary but rapidly diminishing strength for the griffin to see.

"Little bird, little bird, lost in the fog. Will you fly away to the nest? Or come face your death at the hands of your better? I'll find you little bird, I will find you and I will break your bones." Mittens mocked the griffin but the bravado was a ploy, his back still bled and his broken wing was heavy and leaden. Mittens knew the fight had to end soon or he would succumb to the blackness at the back of his mind.

"Come out now and I promise I wont cook you before I feast." Mittens rage at his pain punctuated his threat with a plume of flame, orange and red, a beacon in the fog and a challenge to Istas.

[Auki]

His body was not designed to walk along the ground. He could run with ease, and fly with a magnificence that outmatched any avian creature. Walking, however… pacing with such a slow demeanour… his talons caught in the dirt needlessly and his wrists bent at angles he barely noticed when sprinting full speed. It was awkward for the griffin and he felt no more assured with his feet against the dirt than he had soaring blindly through the sky. His sense of balance was long destroyed, with a leg gouged and an eye tattered to mark its ruin.

He walked, alert as ever, even with his hearing dulled and his sight half-shadowed by the incessant darkness that it was only used to in his sleep. He could hear something thudding through the mist but he recognised the sound of footfalls and knew better than to charge in thoughtlessly. With each thump of the lion’s paw striking the dirt, he felt his heart clench in anticipation. They would meet whether Istas searched him out or not.

"Little bird, little bird, lost in the fog. Will you fly away to the nest? Or come face you death at the hands of your better? I'll find you little bird, I will find you and I will break your bones."

The griffin flinched, his blood turning cold in terror. The world felt like it was spinning around him but there was no real way to tell. Up, down, left and right, his amber eyes were met with the same steamy white of the mist’s caress.

"Come out now and I promise I won’t cook you before I feast."

There was a light from behind, an orange glow that illuminated the eerie scene. Istas’ courage was not baited but, instead, shied away. With trembling muscles, he backed away from the very place he knew the beast to be, not letting his eyes leave the spot that the thudding steps originated from. He would… he would…

Nothing came to mind; not a soul of a plan.

He would have given anything to be anywhere but there.

Suddenly, his hind legs were taken from beneath him, plunged into the iciness of the central pool. He yelped unwillingly as his rear submerged into the depths of the water, clawing at the bank with his talons in an attempt to drag himself from its grasp.

[Fulgrim]

Mittens padded through the fog, his head throbbed while his legs felt leaden and weak. His stomach complained with hunger as his flayed back continued to burn and pulse with a greater pain than any the beast had ever imagined. The fight needed to end before the great lion collapsed from the wounds his foe had inflicted and the ravenous hunger that had begun to consume his thoughts. Even now his once sleek and purposeful strut was replaced with a limping stagger as he hunted his prey in the misty shroud.

Mittens tried in vein to beat his wings to shoo away the shroud of mist but to no avail, his broken wing would no longer move from tight at his side, sticky with the blood from his back. Mittens mind began to whir and formulate a plan but nothing came into focus, all he could feel was the pounding in his head and the pulse of wet blood flowing from his back, thought and logic had given way to primal instinct and rage.

The firebolt he had attempted to draw his quarry out with had pushed him ever closer to the point of exhaustion, the fire in his belly replaced with a cold hunger. Istas had been shrewd enough to avoid his taunts and stay hidden, Mittens could feel him in every shadow, just waiting for an opening to fly in and pick him off. Mittens for the first time felt the growing shadow of fear begin to envelope his heart, he quickly shook himself free, Nemians know no fear and to admit otherwise was shameful to the great beast.

Mittens focus was broken as he heard a distant splash, he spun on his heels as the noise continued. The fool had gone for a swim, Mittens mouth moistened and his muscles tightened at the prospect of salvation. The great lion quickly began to run the shore of the diminished lake, his muscles filled with temporarily renewed vigor. He was loud as he ran, his whole weight pounding to on the sandy floor but he cared not, if he took enough time to conceal his approach he would collapse from his wounds. Better the griffin face a lion charging proudly into battle than stumble across the corpse of a cat who had died stalking in the fog.

In the distance saw a shambling form in the shadow, his vision was too blurred to be sure if it was the griffin from this distance but none the less the fires of hope shone bright in the wounded lion's eyes. As he neared the shadow in the fog mittens leapt with all the strength he could muster, ready to tackle Istas and rip out his throat from above.

[Auki]

With the speed of a hare, the lion attacked, catching Istas off-guard. Jaws clamped down on his beak; the sound of cracking filled the air. He recoiled but he could not avoid the pain that exploded across his face.

His cries were agonised, pleading, as he thrashed, desperately trying to throw the beast from its catch. The water could not come quickly enough. Its liquid arms embraced his tortured form, holding him close and cocooning him in a soothing chill. Icy tendrils stung at his wounds, but did so in a piquant fashion, numbing the pain that had ravaged him for so long. He did not move. His eyes remained shut because, for that second, he wished to forget the monster that shared the battlefield with him.