For Volterra, anger is a familiar friend. Anger is safe. Anger is a warm embrace, the soft caress of a long-time lover. Anger is something he can wield, something he can channel, something he can truly enjoy in the most basic sense.

This is not anger. This is more. The sight of his daughter's lifeless, mangled corpse has pushed the leviathan past the point of rage, past the pumping heart forged by wrath and the red-hot blaze of defiance that flattens the ears and stiffens the muscles. The spiderweb mare's words do nothing, her insults falling on ears that are too numb with grief to truly appreciate them. His volcanic temper is triggered by the most minuscule of things - missing his mark in battle, tripping over, being insulted. Nothing like this has ever happened to him before, and it has thrust him through the safe, warm veil of his rage into the cold unfamiliarity of something completely different.

Hatred. This is hatred. Usually, even when he's at his maddest, when the tempest burns within him and leads him to bring chaos upon those who have wronged him, Volterra holds no true malice towards the force of his ire. They are a means to an end; they do not incite anything like this. Airlia, the mare he thought he could love, has done something unforgiveable. She's murdered a child, his child, his precious Vezér, and that has driven him beyond the point of anger to something even more dangerous. From the ashes of his sorrow, his utter bone-numbing, mind-crushing misery, has risen a beast of a different breed. It's loathing, soul-deep loathing, cold and painful and bright within his heart.

It's the purest fucking thing he has ever felt in his life, and also the most terrifying.

"She was so much more than you will ever be," is all he can say, all he can force out between clenched teeth and a throat constricted by mourning. To think that he thought he could love this woman - in so many ways she was perfect, beautiful and powerful and imbued with a serious lack of fucks to give, an ideal addition to his harem. She bore him a darling daughter and he was stupid enough to think that it would be the start of something glorious; his empire, his life, his glory.

Then she burnt it down, ripped it apart and slathered herself in the remains.

Whereas his anger makes him act rashly, stupidly, this hatred clears his mind of everything. He is cold, calm, calculated; he knows what must happen, knows it with a conviction so strong that he doesn't need his rage. She must die. It is the only thing to do, the only logical outcome of this heart-wrenching event. An eye for an eye in the most primitive sense of the word; she killed his daughter, and so she must fall into Hell as well. The death of any child is a crime worthy of the highest punishment in Volterra's eyes, but to slaughter his child?

That ice-cold, stony sensation of loathing inside him tells him to make sure she dies screaming.

He can't let himself dwell on her final words; on the fact that she's been abusing his daughter without him even noticing, that he'd managed to again be a negligent, useless father by not saving the filly from the cruelty inflicted on her by the one woman who she would have trusted above all. No, he can't let himself think of that, because that will detract from how much he despises Airlia by inflicting the blame upon himself. That cannot happen. The time for self-flagellation will come later - now is the time for revenge.

She lunges, misses, but it does nothing to remove the sentence he has handed her. The Indomitable clicks into battle-mode as quickly as it takes to blink. He lunges forwards, seeking to approach the mare head-on; he aims to slam his chest into her own, wanting to barge her over backwards with his superior weight and stun her enough to let him end her. His jaws snap forwards, aiming for her left eye, knowing that if he rips that out, it will aid him in annihilating her.

There is no question that his dragons will help him. This is not a simple spar, meaningless and emotionless - this is the most important fight of his life. This is to avenge his daughter, his precious slaughtered princess, and the dragons feel his anguish as much as he does. Vadir swoops first, aiming for Airlia's back with a torrent of flame erupting from her gaping jaws. The burning pits of Hell await her.

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For @Airlia , a direct continuation of this thread. This fight will continue until Airlia is at 0 HP. Set in the Deep Forest.

Emotion for his quest: true hate

1/? - 779 words