† † Sopravvivenza dell'più adatto. Indeed, it had and would come down to survival of the fittest. This Kleptonio, should he even be worth a name such as said, believed he was fit to be Dark Lord. And above the great Macabre? A smirk crossed his scarred plush, stained ivory enamels visible under his lips as the harsh moonlight shined upon his silhouette. A rough, strangled chuckle sounded out into the night at the thought, his only sign of his arrival. No one was more fit for the throne than himself, and this was known by many throughout the kingdom.

† † Lanterns of the darkest light shined upon the barren cliffs, over the ocean that thundered so ominously below, upon the crimson stained dirt littered scarcely with long-decayed carcasses. Ashen lungs inhaled and returned the precious oxygen, which bore the unusual and uninviting stench of decayed flesh and the metallic hint of blood. Tonight, Macabre's orbs danced in a wild flame, thought his posture remained calm and relaxed. How very long it had been since he had felt the warmth of blood trickling heavy upon his tongue, and tonight, tonight promised just this. Like flesh turning to stone beneath a lover's touch, he was excited, to say the least.

† † Flints of creme moved the Lord away from the cliffs, ceasing movement within the imaginary battle dome. The night was silent, oh so very silent, but dark cheers filled his mind as he looked to the future, where he would once again stand alongside his Queen, wearing the blood of his opponent. Lids parted upon those wild flames as haunches bunched, raising him to balance in the wind. Silken tresses whipped mercilessly upon his hide as a bone-rattling call fell forth into the night, beckoning Kleptonio forth from the comfort of the shadows. Daggers connected with the Earth again, where they remained planted. Now began his silent vigil, and a night where horror would reign.

† † His wait was not long. There was only one domain that could act host to such a demon as the one that was spit from the midnight shadows, and that was Hell itself. His pelt mixed and blended with the night, his outline barely distinguished against the inky backdrop. He towered a great altitude above the Dark Lord, while his muscular bod was ample, a size that was nearly unnatural to the equine world. Chains of greasy ebony lingered lifelessly upon his hide and decorated plate-sized hooves as bushy tassels. And his eyes! Should fantasies and petty magic exist upon the earth, those orbs of midnight would catch flame.

† † But Lord Macabre was not hindered or fazed by the beast's fiery appearance. Kleptonio was wearing but a mere façade as he stood before Macabre, menacing and ominous as a serpent rampant upon his prey. Macabre himself was of rare build, sizable stilts and breast and haunches housing their own share of untold power and strength. ashen hide held a proud and worthy sheen fit for a king, and lengthy cords whipped at the ambiance, flashing brilliantly under the crisp orange moon. Posture was calm yet alert, for he was at ease before his demonic opponent, and though his own pool were dancing with rage and excitement, a film of wisdom and cunning was wrapped around their exterior.

† †These said pools swept across the beast's exterior, calculations of strength and wit racing through the Lord's mind. He would be a more than worthy opponent, this Kleptonio, though this battle would go down in history along with the sound of his heavy form falling crippled upon the cold dirt. Their gazes met and locked, and it seemed as if the world would crumble beneath their hooves as the ambiance began to absorb their combined rage and anticipation. No words were shared between the two, no gestures of acknowledgment, no "may the best one win"s, only a steady gaze.

† † Suddenly and without the smallest ounce of notice, Macabre made his first move. It was but the simplest of attacks, used to surprise almost as much as it was used to temporarily cripple and opposition. Fore daggers were pressed deep into the lithosphere, anchoring his ashen form to the earth. Hind limbs turned to bludgers as they pushed away from the crust, simultaneously turning his haunches in the direction of his challenger. Flints of creme transformed to knives as they soared across the aura, aiming to plant themselves within the fibers of Kleptonio's massive ebony breast. So blinded by pure adrenaline was macabre that he was unsure of whether or not he connected with his target. However, no chances to look back would be taken; the moment that he felt himself return to the topography, he pushed off again, bounding far to the side, just barely within reach of his burly opponent. Quickly an with unnatural agility, the Lord whipped around to face his challenger, every muscle within his bod quivering and tense as he prepared for the demon's counterattack.
Don't keep me waiting...

ATTACKS x u n o
DODGES x n o n e
WORDS x 5 1 2
STATUS x c o m p l e t e