The feast begins.

The damned is granted the pleasure of swallowing meat, stripped clean from her body. He pauses at the taste— suddenly trembling with unrestrained fury. "YOU! IMPOSTOR!" It rips from his bloodied maw, accusatory and undeniably terrifying. His gut quivered, knowing well this was not her sweet flesh— the savory ambrosia he had indulged in for weeks past. This was sour, this was bitter and bland. He knew this was not her, that this was some foul accomplice who allowed her escape. 

Fool! 

He had been a blasphemous idiot, passing off the smell of someone foreign as a desperate man in need of a quick fuck. He spits the blood from his mouth, towards the coward who dares use the harlot as a guise, to wear the hide of a sinner. "WHERE IS SHE?" He bellows, teeth exposed and tail lashing violently at his rear, predatory gaze focused on the creature whose foolish mind has brought him to the belly of the beast.

He takes control, mouth a gaping abyss of flesh-tearing ivory— hungering for this foul flesh of a liar— seeking to take what was his. He wanted her hide, he was driven mad by the possibility that perhaps that would be the last he could have of her. The beast stretches his neck, desperate to tear a chunk of tissue from the faux whore. "BRING HER BACK!" He roars, thunderous hooves crushing earth beneath him as his teeth come back to seek more. This second strike is aimed for the neck, the so sweet jugular that will end him.

He watches as away melts the facade, cascading down is the lie, pastel pink peeling away to reveal stark gold. No, this was not the whore— this was a man far worse. With ebony markings and twisted horns, he was exactly what the mongrel did not want to see. He is furious, snorting and growling, trivial rage engulfing what little rationality he'd had.

Horns strike up, a solid skull colliding with his underbelly as a hoof catches the golden's shoulder. This man was a fool, if he thought that he could save her and win over her heart, if he could slip beneath her skirt where so many more had been. "You are not the first— and certainly not the last." He barks, huffing as a horn rips open a jagged wound on his underside. "SHE IS A SINNER, A HARLOT." Madness, swallowing whole the thread of sanity he'd clung so desperately to.

He lunges, seeking out the face of this golden knight with bared canines, investing on bringing down the idiot who has sacrificed himself in the name of the conniving queen. He would fall prey to her lies, just as the mongrel had. Whatever reason he had for leaping to her aid, it would be forgotten in his demise. He would make it no farther, only if he was a coward would he flee. 
"Talk talk talk"