Ready, Set, Fire!

The hellhound believed in no God. He had no need for such a thing in his life. Why would one need a God when you could be one yourself? Hannibal liked to think he was the greatest thing since sliced bread and made his own luck. He worked to get what he wanted, but only minimally so. Though, he was aware many thought there was some clan of Gods up in the sky smiling down upon them. That was their own choice and why should he care unless they preach to him?

In the short moments in which the pale Wolfess closed the distance between their two large bodies Hannibal ensured he was ready. His head was tucked downward, ears flat, eyes narrowed, lips curled, legs bent and balanced, tail aligned, hackles raised, toes splayed, breathing steady, and he was completely and utterly focused. Suddenly the babe crashed into his sturdy form, she being only slightly taller then himself called for a rather even match. Her right shoulder slammed into the left portion of his chest near his shoulder, which he could already feel pinging with pain. That would be a bit of a bruise later. Though, he did not dwell for she almost instantly went for a bite at his left side of neck. It landed, in theory, she managed to scrap her front teeth against skin but there was no wound. Which came with the nature of the spar.

Hannibal was now ready for his own assault as she was focused on his left. The phantom would attempt to press the center his chest into her own, applying enough pressure to potentially push her back and inch or two if allowed. Or slip in the mud, he would take anything. This would hopefully distract her as he quickly lifted his muddy front right paw in attempt to swipe at her front left ankle. It would be a quick whack if he was not stopped first, hopefully to cause her footing to falter or even cause a bit of bruising by the hit.