Anger boiled just beneath the surface, crackling below her skin. The expanse of their battlefield, a backwater village somewhere beyond Dryll, was quite large. Littered with bodies. Fire. Destruction.
"I won't retreat" She shouts, over the turmoil of battle, the crash of cannons, the screams of outmaneuvered troops.
The fact that Grizzlor had even suggested such a thing was appalling. They were Horde, soldiers, warriors. They did not flee like cowards, and they certainly did not turn tail and run. No, quite frankly, Catra was insulted.
"That's an order, Force Captain Catra!" The General bellowed back, as he disengaged from a rebel troop, hardly holding his own against the blunt jabs of their scepter, annoyance sharp like barbed wire.
Catra sniffed with disdain, sidestepped one of the rebel operatives, barely managed to avoid a sword to the side.
They were losing. Grizzlor was willing to accept that.
Not when he had to report back to Hordak, tell him he had failed.
He always had been weak, squirrely. Grizzlor struggled to make tough decisions, to sacrifice. Catra did not.
They would not flee, like dogs, to lick their wounds. That meant admitting defeat. Admitting that the rebellion had outsmarted, out planned, outmanned them. Catra would not admit any such thing.
She kicks the rebel's legs from under them. Smiles in satisfaction, just barely dodges a well aimed blast of water from the princess with the pearl runestone.
They only had two tanks left. All but two of their squadrons had been captured, or killed.
Her legs are pounding against the cold dirt, heart crashing in her chest, as she rolls to avoid laser fire. Ducking, dodging, weaving, advancing further beyond enemy lines. The squadron to her left had just fallen, like twigs in a hailstorm, and those to her right hardly held their ground.
She hardly notices.
Her goal was clear. Mismatched eyes center on the glow of gilded gold, and her strides quicken. Claws tearing at the hard packed earth of that barren battlefield. Pushing her ever closer toward her, her enemy.
She ra.
Adora may have bested her before, but Catra would make certain she didn't again.
Catra would not lose to her again. Would not be second best.
Claws extended, ripping into smooth, glowing skin.