Coward.

If there's one word that ignites Volterra's blood beyond anything else, it's that. It is the one word that is the polar opposite of everything he stands for, the one word that he is the utter antithesis of, the one word that makes him want to bring death upon whoever dares issue it towards him. That word is the finger that caresses the trigger of a loaded gun, and the second it reaches his ears he feels the muscles flex against the delicate metal. The bullet shifts, loosens, ready to explode.

She calls him a liar, too, and his crimson eyes flash as the fire is struck within him. It's a sizzling of wires and veins, molten flame searing through his body until it reaches his head, until there's nothing he can concentrate on but the blind fucking rage towards this woman, this object in front of him. It's an involuntary shudder, a rippling of white-hot anger through every rock-hard muscle in his entire massive form, a frisson of danger that flattens his ears and lines his throbbing wound with steel. There is no time for pain when he is the berserker, when his sole purpose is to annihilate.

His bites strike their mark and grim satisfaction bursts through him in the form of a triumphant bellow from his clenched jaws. Now the ticking time bomb inside him has been lit, there's no way he can refrain from completing this job. She has, indeed, poked the sleeping bear in the eye, and behind the veil of his blind anger he cannot focus on what she'd said about her children. He cannot think of his father, what the man may have done, because all that matters is here and now and the fact that he must fucking dominate her for her sins.

She whirls around, using the slippery ground to pivot like a ballerina, and the titan launches his mind towards Vérzés. He snatches the red's eyes, uses them to peer through the blizzard and watch what the mare is doing - she's rearing, and Volterra knows that a direct hit to his back legs could be catastrophic. He reverses suddenly, trying to ram his rump hard into her underside as she's rearing in an attempt to push her over backwards on the slippery ground. Her hooves strike the heavily muscled area of his hindquarters instead of his legs, and the pain is exquisite - thick bruising develops in the area, the muscles stiffening and screaming their objection to their assault. Volterra roars his outrage, a bestial earthquake of a bellow that blasts through the air like a shockwave. What the beast doesn't know is that he's unleashing the power of his rank magic, a battle cry that will hopefully shatter the mare's resolve and shake her confidence with the sheer authoritative volume of it.

Vérzés, tired of being an idle observer, swoops down with an indignant shriek. It's so rare that he is allowed to help his bonded in battle, because the leviathan doesn't believe in using his assets during spars, but this is more than a spar now. This is vengeance, this is wrath, this is a primal need to put this fucking woman in her place for her insults and false accusations, and the red dragon is determined to have a part in it. He drops downwards like a crimson rocket, aiming for the mare's head; he seeks to plunge his clawed forepaws into both of her eyes whilst his jaws open to unleash a savage blast of frost, hoping to freeze her face and cause considerable agony.

Vadir, meanwhile, finds her attack greeted with success; she manages to wrap herself around the griffin and scorch it with her flame, but the creature soon wriggles out of her grasp. In a stark contrast to Vérzés' red-hot rage, Vadir's mind is a sea of calculating calm. She is above the uncontrolled, raw emotions of her red brother and black bonded - she is their intellectual superior and a paragon of self-control compared to their unrefined, untamed tempers. It is not acceptable that the griffin is now heading towards her bonded; utilising every ounce of speed she has, Vadir launches forwards, throwing herself in front of the creature's attack. The griffin's claws and beak just nick her scaled rump and despite her hard golden armour, she feels her energy drain from Wynter's magic. Her wingbeats momentarily slow, but the effect is undoubtedly less catastophic than it would have been had it hit Volterra.

The queen takes the attack as a personal affront, and spins in the air with a banshee's shriek. Her powerful jaws gape again and she aims another blast of flame towards the griffin, hoping that this time she won't miss.

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Teaching spar for @Arah !

2/3 - 794 words