The perfection was almost scary.

Minos stood at the gates of the cemetery, his pale yellow eyes searching frantically for any sign of life in the darkness. Every now and then a warm summer breeze would stir around the sleeping trees and send their leaves dancing in the night, sounding an awful lot like the whispers of pack members waiting in the shadows to pounce on the considerable threat at the entrance – or perhaps more fittingly, the murmurs and sighs of ghosts gone by, wondering who this stocky stranger at their gates might be. Either way, Minos was only concerned with one thing, and the business of spirits was not one of them. A plan had been forming in the back of his mind for some time now, nebulous and hazy for so long, and finally fitting into place with a satisfying click in recent days. Too long had he been roaming the city without a purpose, with a whole lot of ambition pointed towards nowhere in particular. Too long had he pictured the smirking, scarred face of his sibling on his now-crumbled throne, getting the upper hand before Minos even had a chance. Icarus had managed to better his brother even after all that had happened between them in the past, and it only took the final decision from Minos himself to do something about it. One way or another, it would end tonight.

His heart did powerful leaps in his chest as he placed a heavy paw past the rusty gates, and into the grassy murk of the cemetery. Tombstones stood like jagged teeth in the starlight, jutting out of the ground at random intervals. It was painfully obvious to Minos how easy it would be for an ambush to be laid, with any number of dogs after his blood waiting behind the stony barriers. It sent adrenaline coursing through his veins until his body felt powered on battery acid, and God did he love it. Too long he had spent in the dull indifference that washed over most strays in the city. It had been too long since he had felt the thrill of the fight that used to be a daily occurrence in the ring, and too long since he had last felt the pure unadulterated feeling of living. That was all about to change, and if he played his cards right, it would change the whole damn city.

He pushed on further into the cemetery, his senses positively buzzing with anticipation of attack, until he something up ahead caught his eye. It was an almost unbelievably old and dilapidated church, almost falling over with all those years pressing down on its back. The moon was not full tonight, and so Minos felt he was somehow missing out on some shred of splendour it might possess in the light. Not that it mattered – it was somewhere to make his stand, and that was all he needed. Picking up the pace and trotting forwards, it took all the willpower in his body not to lash out and howl for attention right now, and get whatever was about to happen over and done with. But through some feat of strength he didn’t even knew he had, he reined it back before he finally stood before the decrepit building. Warily, and not sure how much weight they would take, he climbed the first few steps towards its large oak doors. Before long he stopped, deciding there was not much point in stretching it out further, and sat down heavily on the final step. This was it, at long last.

Throwing his head towards the sky, he was about to announce his arrival before the final realisation that all he had planned could come from a former police-occupied territory hit him, and he had to bring his head back down to stifle his laughter in the cropped fur of his chest. The irony would become all too obvious for some in due time. Swallowing down his amusement and getting back into the correct mindset once again, he tossed his head back one final time and immediately released a howl loud enough to surprise even him; it rang through the silent cemetery with devastating strength, and every fleeting tone and note sang with his cruel intentions. It was primal, savage, and oh-so ingrained into every dog’s DNA. It was a call for conflict. A call for war. Holding the howl until it felt as if every possible breath had been exhausted, he finally stopped and came spinning back down to normality, getting instantly to his feet and searching the surrounding area with the highest possible intensity. Something amazing was going to happen soon – he could almost taste it.

Terms

• I don't know, maybe two fighting posts each? I'm not good at this. XP
  
• Is about a week okay for a time limit to post? It can be shorter/longer, I don't mind.
  
• Errr, probably no deaths or grievous bodily harm. XD
  
• If I win, he'll probably just ask everyone to leave or let those who want to stay, stay (although this seems unlikely as he's a bit of a douche). If you win, Minos will never approach the Iron Battalion again, and can very much be put on the wanted list if you like.

It came as quite a shock to hear someone approaching from behind, and a mixture of panic and fury flashed through his mind like an angry firework. He had been inside, all along, waiting behind Minos the whole time? The muscular dog had been a sitting duck, and blissfully unaware of it. This stranger had been laying in wait, potentially picking out Minos’ weaknesses and finding the perfect place to start his attack…

But no. It wasn’t his attack. As the all-consuming shock managed to fade away enough for Minos to get a moment of comparative clarity, he realised the dog approaching him was a female. This was what he had to contend with? All the images in his mind of an encounter of two, evenly matched brutes and the subsequent fight almost unrivalled in strength disappeared into smoke in a flash. Minos wasn’t entirely sure if he had actively confronted a girl before – all the opponents he had faced in the ring had merged into one greyish ball of anonymity long ago – and the prospect of doing so managed to allowed caution (or as close as Minos could manage it) to creep into the back of his mind. But the real reason behind why he was here, and the delicious prospect of what could happen if he succeeded, managed to overpower his tentative concerns. Snapping back into the correct mindset, he felt his body harden all over in preparation. All that was left to do now was release the tension, the only way he knew how.

“Does it matter?” He replied as calmly as he could manage, his voice trembling slightly with anticipation more than fear as she passed him on the steps. A coldness shivered through his body as they nearly made contact, that even in the balmy summer night felt like it would be at home in the coldest of winters. Part of him braced for a sudden attack, the rush of pain and adrenaline that he hadn’t felt in what felt like years. But it didn’t come. Instead, the bitch was standing still with her body slightly lowered, with the slight tremor in her limbs that he recognised in his own. What was she doing? Minos wasn’t used to this organised sort of fighting – the kind that resulted from following the unwritten rules in the city that governed most of the strays living there – and instead he was much more accustomed to the merciless, all-or-nothing chaos that he had been born and bred into. It could be a lot worse, of course, and he quickly made mind to take advantage of the situation while it still presented itself.

With surprising stealth and speed considering his bulky build, Minos propelled himself off the step and straight for the female. He had decided long ago to waste no time with his attacks, and his eager paws stretched out yearningly for her shoulders and neck; his gaping jaws were headed directly towards the face (which, he noticed in a flash, was surprisingly already riddled with scars). The world seemed to somehow turn in slow motion as he almost flew towards his target, but the unusual sensation was lost on him, consumed by the desire to shred, tear, destroy. It was what he had been built to do, generations of fine-tuning honing down the most vicious impulses and deadliest traits. The excitement of doing something he had been doing all his life and turned into almost an art crackled through him like electricity, and it was frankly a small miracle in itself that he didn’t near blackout when some kind of contact was made. Unsure (or at least not caring to know) what position he was in, he simply clamped down as hard as he could and ripped his head brutally from one side to the other, doing as much damage as he could in the small moments he knew were probably all he had.

It felt good to be home.

It felt sickeningly good to pin her down on the floor like that, and whilst he had missed his original mark in the form of her face, he would make do with what he managed. Blood was starting to flow like wine, and the intoxicating smell of it almost had a narcotic affect on the dog. The writhing body beneath him and feel of his own teeth gripping into the flesh of another was nearly hypnotic. He wasn’t a complete psychopath – if anything, he could pride himself on that – and whilst his consuming passion for fighting may have seemed unusual to others, it came as naturally to him as breathing. At no point was he completely sure if the blood he tasted was his own or belonged to the female beneath him, but at no point did it matter. His pale yellow eyes blurred hazily in and out of focus as he continued to rip his jaws this way and that, doing as much damage as he could muster whilst he still had a grip, and so intense was his distraction it wasn’t until a good few seconds had passed that he felt the pressure on his leg. No, more than pressure – much more.

Snapping himself out of the trance-like state he had worked himself into, a quick glance at his left foreleg revealed the bitch had clamped herself down, and firmly. He could feel her teeth under his skin, ripping deep into the muscle and sinew and doing unknowable damage deep within. A snarl burst furiously from his throat and for the briefest of moments released his hold on her ribcage, and even after snapping desperately back for such a fine grip again, he was fully aware he had lost the advantage his earlier position had gained. Now it was back down to basics, the truest form of fighting he had been reared on. No tricks, no stunts, just grabbing on to what you could and breaking.

The growls rattling out of his mouth continued to come thick and fast as he felt her weight shift beneath him, and with a surprising feat of strength she regained some sort of level footing. Minos’ leg, however, had remained firmly clamped in her jaws, and a sickening crack, sharper and cleaner than the snapping of dry wood, pierced the air loudly over the other general sounds of disturbance the fight had wrought over the cemetery. For a moment the world seemed to stand exactly still. Every leaf in every tree, every star in the sky, the dogs themselves; it was all suspended in time, hanging in the air, until reality came crashing back down like a giant wave. Intense, hot pain shot up Minos’ leg with frightening ferocity, and for the first time in a long time he realised that he could be in trouble. He remembered – all to well, sometimes – the fates of those in the ring who had earned a broken or dislocated leg. It was a death sentence, nothing more, nothing less. A weak spot devastatingly obvious to even an inexperienced fighter. Panic, under the guise of adrenaline, consumed his body for a full moment until he heaved backwards out of instinct, feeling his leg come free and stand back down on solid ground at last. The smallest mercy had allowed some hope to remain, and he discovered with the tiniest sigh of relief that some feeling remained in his tattered limb. Whatever had happened, it wasn’t completely broken. No matter how much pain it would cause him (and judging by what he had to go by so far, this was a lot), it was something he could fight through, at least until this ordeal was over. If there was a God, it had allowed Minos the smallest amount of pity today.

Gritting his teeth and bracing for one last shot, the cream coloured dog gathered all the strength he had left for another go. His sides rose and fell with mounting intensity as a desperate roar bellowed forth for the final time, and once again he launched himself forwards, this time headed right back towards the wound he had managed to tear open previously. Only now, at the last minute, his aim changed and he headed straight for her legs, a maddening ferocity burning in his eyes. If he could get her back down on the floor again, this time from a better angle, he may gain the upper hand. And with the end tantalisingly close, that was all he needed.