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// Interjection 3: The Challenger 
// Story: Blood Moon 
// by The_Darker_Fonts 
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Halven was sick of it all.  He glared at the cavern walls with disgust, the stringy moss that barely managed to grow on the rough stone.  He wanted to leave this place, to escape somewhere else, but there was nowhere to go.  The other coven had simply built themselves a whole castle, and were just accepted by the new ponies that had colonised this valley.  However, no such prospect was possible for him, considering that even the moonlight would begin to disintegrate him to nothing but ash.  So he was stuck here, surrounded with idiots obsessed only with death or power.  Well, most of them were.  
In the three years since the new coven had introduced themselves into the region they’d dominated for years, some of those in the coven had developed a sense of loyalty, though a majority still acted independent.  They all knew that he was their technical leader, but many often only obeyed out of fear of what may occur if they refused, and not out of true respect.  Despite hundreds of years more experience than them, they acted as if they were the more intelligent, even though they often proved otherwise in doing so.  It would humor him some if it hadn’t grown tiresome over the  years.
This all, of course, had led directly to today, and what was about to transpire in the quarters of their cave, in the Colosseum.  Deep in their cavernous home, past the safe and habitable parts of the deep cave, was a small corridor naturally carved out by water that led directly into a massive opening where the water dropped several spans to create a sheer wall surrounding a lake.  The flowing water had long since been redirected, but the lake remained, an island of course, rough stone in the center. The island was used as an amphitheater of sorts, a public area for fights and disputes to be settled, sometimes lethally.
The fool of a lycan, Galvry, had declared himself rightful ruler of the coven, and wished to not only best, but kill Halven in battle.  It was a threatening proposition, and one that Halven knew had been coming since the day he’d forced the lycan into their ranks.  Still, the lycan was indeed a formidable foe, with near impenetrable hide and a coat that warded off fires and hid its partly vampyrical skin from the sun.  Getting through it meant an opportunity to injure, but seeing as the lycan was naturally muscular, hitting anything vital was nigh on impossible.  That was why he needed to quite literally get under his skin to kill him.
Killing him, however, was not the main goal of the battle to take place in the Colosseum.  It was the message that killing him would send to any would-be challengers to his power, the show that he could best not only a younger, but less handicapped opponent.  Many within the coven supported Galvry, but none had dared to actually announce their allegiance publicly, lest Mantris or Omen overheard and beheaded them swiftly.  Their loyalty had never once wavered, nor would it, even if he were to fall in combat.  If anything, they would end up killing whoever were to defeat him, and it was that threat that made challenging him such a threatening ordeal for anypony who attempted it.
Already, he could tell that if he were to win, he would be coming out injured, but also unopposed, and if he were to lose, Omen would succeed him by eliminating Galvry while he was still weak, with Mantris backing him, and possibly becoming his mate for a more powerful union.  The act wasn’t uncommon, and even Omen and Halven had made a deal with Mantris that should one fall, they would be replaced by Mantris.  The three were an unstoppable force, and even with Mantris’ childish gallivanting ways, she was far more intelligent that any of the others, if not still a little less powerful than the lycans.
That was natural, of course, with werewolves being one of the weakest nocturnals, vampyres being the weakest due to their extreme limitations.  Werewolves couldn’t control their transformations, however, and it was often somepony’s task to ensure that if a transformation occurred within the cave, there was immediate access to meat to calm the raging beast.  Ironically, it was usually vampyres that took the deed, seeing as how they could transform into bats that were too small for the werewolves’ small eyes to focus on.  Oftentimes, the transformations took place out in the open, where the responsible werewolf had chosen to stay until they were overtaken by the moon.  From there, well, bloody feasting until the night was out. 
They were still able to transform on any day when the moon shone, even if only a sliver of it were to be seen, which made them much more useful than the werewolves that pony feared, the raging massacre in fur that would kill entire households in seconds.  It was  interesting to think that while many ponies feared them nocturnals, they had no belief that they were actually real, or at least, not until they saw that they were indeed real.  It was almost amusing that ponies had remembered something as old as nocturnals as stories they had created, when the truth was living only a cave away from their peaceful town.  Then again, ponies had always fallen victim to their own obliviousness.  
It was why they were having their war, wasn’t it?  The fact that the Princesses, moon bless them, had never thought that anypony would attempt to disturb the peaceful dictatorship they’d established in Canterlot, and slowly spread throughout the world peacefully.  Now thousands were dead, with more dying every day to Sombra’s vicious attacks and Celestia’s hard defenses. It was becoming clearer that Sombra was winning, even as he retreated from the lands he conquered.  He left nothing and nopony wherever he went, either forcing them to his nation in the north, or massacring them without a second thought.  Truly an admirable conqueror, but certainly one that needed to be stopped lest he ended up killing more than could be replaced.
Halven’s eyes widened in surprise as he suddenly became aware of his surroundings.  He was merely one chamber away from the narrow entrance into the battle room, several members of the coven standing and watching him intently.  He scanned their faces with a questioning eye, challenging them to find a reason to be watching him.  One of them, a vampyre he recognized as Wyvern, walked up to him with a small smile, reaching out a hoof. When Halven took it, the mare shook it lightly, whispering softly, “You'll win, no doubt.”
Turning his head slightly to look her in the eye, he asked, “And how do you know, pray tell?”
“Well, you’ve never lost a challenge before, and a lycan is just a walking, testosterone fueled werewolf,” she confidently berated the race.  
“Careful, there are lycans among us, and some happen to be my friend,” Halven warned.  “Besides, I’ve never participated in a challenge before.”
“Which is why you haven’t lost one yet,” Galvry suddenly interrupted as he entered the chamber.  He sounded less confident, but moreso factual when he spoke, walking a fine line between insult and emotional dialogue.  At least he was intelligent enough to recognize etiquette over anger.  However, despite the calming weight of his tone, there was still a threatening undercurrent to his words, which Halven immediately picked up.  
He turned to the silvery lycan with an apathetic eye, asking, “Are you sure you wish to go through with this.  Forgiveness is indeed hard, but if you backed away now, I would be forced to forgive you for having a keen mind.”
“I wish for no such thing,” the lycan replied levelly, returning the stare, though his eyebrows were clenched much harder.  “What I want is freedom for both myself, and for whoever wishes to be free of your tyranny over these nocturnals.”
“Replacing my… tyrannical reign with your foolish one,” Halven questioned with a pointed look to the mare who still stood beside him, causing her to step away.  
He turned away, approaching the narrow passage into the battle room, when Galvry called back, “It’s better to be a fool with a good heart than an intellect without one.”
With a small smile, Halven replied softly, “Fools die young.”
Those words seemed to silence the lycan, and Halven stepped through the passage confidently, knowing that at the very least, he had defeated his enemy with his words.  He tended to allow himself to go a bit too far with his words, often offending whoever was speaking to him.  The downside to being the smartest pony in the room was that everyone else embarrassed him, and often he attempted to correct them, sometimes more firmly than necessary.  His correctness was certainly one reason why some of the coven truly despised him, more than that of the simpler dislike of being controlled.  It was satisfying to see his sarcasm come to use more than that of simply mocking a pony, and actually giving him a psychological edge.
The walk through the passage was already over by the time that Halven had thought this, feeling quite silly for having once again become lost in his thoughts, even as brief as they’d been.  Another downside to being one of the most intelligent ponies to exist, the waste of time that he lost to delving into his thoughts and pulling them apart and rewinding the fibers of his mind into a strong, understandable rope.  Now there he went again, losing himself.  Witha sigh, he stepped out into the battle room, on the small ledge that overlooked the lake and island in the center, the stage for which their battle would be set.
There was already a fair gathering of about ten coven members, all perched on different precarious ledges surrounding the lake and island, Mantris and Omen sitting in the only real seats in the Colosseum, which had specifically been made for Omen and himself.  It was an intentional show of power, that should Halven indeed die on this island, they would step in to retake control of the coven and secure it in the name of Halven.  With a smile towards them, which was returned with a nod from Omen and a surprisingly mature bow from Mantris, Halven drifted himself into dark mist, allowing himself to speed towards the island.
He wasn’t quite sure what the action should be called, considering that it wasn’t flying, as mist didn’t fly, but it wasn’t floating as the action wasn’t an act of suspension either, but motion.  Either way, it was a very effective way of getting around in large spaces, as he was unimpeded by anything that could be in his path.  There was also a freedom to travel without a direct body, one that couldn’t quite be explained, much like the concept of not having one’s body, but still living.  He always found it amusing that the others acted as if he were non-existent when he was misted, but he could hear and think, even if he couldn’t talk.  
He rebased himself on the island, approximately in the center of it, where the light from the oil lanterns along the wall barely reached.  Lycans had night vision to survive and hunt, but ompyres had night vision to thrive.  He could see more sharply in the complete darkness than any other member of the coven, the main reason for his power to begin with.  Alongside intelligence, the ability to see and assess was what had made him able to create the largest coven he had ever known to exist, larger than his old coven, the one he was born into.  Because he could see everything, he was able to be more fluid with his response than most would expect, especially for a nearly four hundred year old.   
There was a loud crunch as Galvry suddenly landed in front of Halven, his body transformed into that of his lycan self, great and muscular.  Since he was in his lycan form, his voice was slurred and gravelly as he called to the small crowd, “Today, my friends, a tyrant falls.”  The declaration of the duel, which presented the goal for the challenger.  “For decades, he has controlled, used, and abused us as if we were merely inferior beings.”  The cause, which was the reason there was even a duel.  “By the time the sun rises, my friends, this ompyre will have been slain, and we will all be freed from his spell of dictatorship.”  And finally, the promise, what was to come should the challenger win.  
Galvry had obviously studied traditional dueling for this event, making himself look as official as possible, and noble in his cause.  He probably was, but that would never be enough to beat out the sheer strength and power that Halven had.  It was the combination of this nobleness and his own belief in his strength that had caused the lycan to challenge the ompyre, and this battle was certainly going to be a close one.  They both knew that, and it wouldn’t surprise him every other nocturnal in the Colosseum knew as well.  It was why they were acting as if they were the right side, and not challenger and challenged.  
“I have only ever served the purpose of the coven,” Halven declared firmly.  “There hasn’t been an action I’ve taken that was for myself or those I favor, because I favor the whole of my coven over my own self.  Know this, that if I were to fall, it would mark the beginning of a new era, an era of confusion, fear, and gluttony like none which has ever occurred.  Chaos will dictate you, fear will make your choices.  The security of the coven will be more than compromised; it will die completely.  However, individual choice, not driven off of fear, will live with me today, and by the time the moon sets, the only change will be one less coven member.”
Halven allowed the smallest portion of his anger and derision come out in his voice, the last words spoken with gravelly conviction.  For a moment, Galvry’s eyes flashed concern, but then they became as dead and cold as they had before, emotion eliminated once again.  Still, that brief flash of emotion made Halven smile, and he turned his head up to where Mantris and Omen sat.  He raised his hoof and declared, “I am ready.”
After a second of pause, Galvry stepped up beside him, a low growl in his throat as he also claimed, “I am ready.”
Omen, who was the silently appointed officiator, nodded, then called back, “Take a side of the island, and prepare yourselves for the duel in whatever means necessary.”
The instruction, of course, was for if either pony wasn’t transformed into whatever form they wished to take during the duel, but seeing as both of them were ready, it wouldn’t take long.  Halven stood firmly where he was, turning to  the center of the island, forcing Galvry to walk to the other side.  More of his lycan was showing as his claws began to extend and his teeth became almost longer, his eyes becoming simple black voids as they narrowed.  He stopped and turned, half obscured by one of the stalagmites on the island, growling viciously, his teeth exposed.  
Halven responded by misting himself, intentionally letting his face disappear last.  The act didn’t seem to have any effect on the lycan, but as soon as he too had taken a fighting stance, Omen shouted, “Commence the duel!”
The lycan immediately launched himself onto one of the thicker stalagmites, swiping into the mist that currently made Halven up.  It scattered the cloud slightly, which only inconvenienced the ompyre momentarily as he recollected himself and formed his head, diving at the lycan’s back with his mouth open.  The lycan dodged away, which caused him to lose his footing and have to jump off of the stone.  Halven struck at him again, this time going for his ear.  When Galvry dodged yet another strike, he unintentionally placed his head near the stone, and Halven immediately attacked.
Forming his hooves, he shoved his opponent’s head against the rock with a loud thud, biting into the thick tuft of his neck and striking some skin, but failing to draw blood, he misted himself completely once again.  The act just in time, as the lycan turned his head and snapped his mouth closed on the mist of his face.  Halven was able to draw himself out through space between his teeth, forming a hoof and smashing it against the lycans still exposed teeth as he retreated.  
Galvry made a soft noise of pain as a couple small teeth fragments fell from his mouth.  Without looking towards the damage, he struck out wildly at the mist, expertly guiding a portion of it away with his paw.  Unable to reform, without his full physical potential, he was forced to try and draw himself back together.  The lycan swiped at him again, but this time he was able to move out of the way, recollecting himself and reforming completely to regain his strength and mentality.  This put him at a disadvantage that was immediately picked up by Galvry, who lunged his entire body at Halven, landing his broad shoulder into the ompyre’s stomach.
Grunting as he was launched backwards, he managed to spin and catch himself on the ground, but immediately found himself ducking under a lethal strike.  However, being so low to the ground allowed him another option of escape, and he instantly dove under the large beast’s stomach, biting into one of his ankles and tearing.  There was less skin and fur here, and the flesh tore away, along with several stringy muscles.  Galvry roared in pain as the blood began to flow, but by the time that he attempted to crush Halven under his weight, the ompyre had already misted and shot away.  
The great beast caught sight of the mist, and in a blind rage attempted to swat it.  Seeing this, the sloppy strike coming his way, Halven reformed his head, dodging to the side before catching the paw in his mouth.  He bit down as hard as he could, feeling bone, and then jerked his head away, tearing flesh and taking two pads with the bite.  The coppery, thick taste of blood filled his mouth as he spit the flesh out, misting his face once again and retreating.  The lycan howled in agony, inspecting the injured paw and noting with panicked eyes the missing pads, and Halven realized he had practically taken half of his paw off.
Using the distraction of the pain, he reformed and lept at the lycan from the side. It saw what was happening too late, and Halven managed to latch himself to the neck, tearing out a large chunk of fur as Galvry thrashed beneath him.  Halven was only a third of the size of the full grown lycan, but that became his advantage here, as the lycan couldn’t reach him.  He tore out another patch of thick hair, exposing the grayish flesh beneath, and was preparing to bite down into it, when suddenly he was crushed from the front and back. 
The air left his lungs and he felt his ribs crack as he was crushed in between the lycan’s back and another stalagmite.  The lycan pulled back to attempt to slam him into the rock formation again, but Halven managed to mist away from the brutal strike, causing the lycan to slam itself backwards.  The rock cracked and several pieces fell off, leaving a much smaller and sharper stalagmite from before.  Reforming himself on the edge of the island, Halven attempted to catch his breath as Galvry collapsed slightly, out of breath from his own attack.  
Before there was peace for too long, Halven misted again, zipping past the lycan’s face, forming his face and taking off the lycan’s left ear completely with his sharp fangs.  The lycan didn’t even flinch, swinging around and landing a heavy paw strike to Halven’s still formed face, causing him to lose control and crash into the rocky ground.  He was barely able to mist his head when he hit, causing his cloud to spread out across the ground like fog.  The lycan stepped directly into it, stomping around to spread it more, unaware that Halven had already concentrated himself enough.
Halven suddenly appeared between the legs of the lycan, which surprised it enough for Halven to land a crippling one hoof, then the other.  Blood began to leak from Galvry’s jaw, and before he could retaliate, Halven had slammed his hoof right on the half of his front right paw that remained.  The lycan reared back as it howled in agony, holding its damaged paw up as it dripped blood.  This left his other paw exposed, the one that Halven had only mildly damaged.  Rolling over, he kicked it in the exposed muscle, which made the lycan raise his other paw up, standing on his hindlegs.  
The moment that he was on his hind paws like this, Halven launched himself into the lycan, shoving it with his entire weight.  With a tangled noise, it fell backwards, landing right on the jagged stalagmite it had made with its reckless attack, the gray-yellow rock piercing the thick hide of the beast, impaling it through its back.  The  sharp point stabbed completely through the lycan’s body, the bloody tip showing itself through the nocturnal it’d just pacified.  
Galvry gasped painfully, as he attempted to raise his head enough to see the rock that was killing him.  Halven coldly stared at the bloody, impaled form of his enemy, taking a moment to watch the pain before casually stepping onto its chest.  Galvry practically shrieked as the stalagmite finished its journey through him, his back pressed against the ground now and the stalagmite easily visible from his lying position.  For a moment, the two opponents’ eyes met, Galvry’s filled with fear and pain, and Halven’s devoid completely of any emotion.  Then, coming to terms with his defeat, Galvry laid his head back, his eyes becoming cloudy as the life drained from them
Halven had won.