His breath escapes in a flurried rush, exploding into the hot space between them. The cherub's hooves caught him off guard; he can feel the contusions forming, a searing laceration low along the right of his barrel, a black blossom of hematoma where her left hind caught his belly- both dreadfully close to the family jewels. Were the demon in a state of logic and ideas, he would thank Cinnoru for protecting him from greater harm, ruptured intestine and faulty testes; as it is he thinks of nothing but her breaking bones, appreciates nothing but the scent of her blood in their warm atmosphere. He missed her throat by quite a ways, but the fleeting vision of the line of searing red that segregates the size of her stupid, fat face is a welcome reward for the demon's hard work.

She pushes up as he falls down, a wily bitch to use his body as a springboard for escape. He stumbles clumsily with the impact of his own weight, wincing as silver hooves hit red earth. The damage to his forequarters is beginning to show; with both sides of his chest bleeding or bruised, Belial's bulk becomes a burden. Surprised at a level of pain unrecognized until now, the stallion does not pause to contemplate his next attack; she is getting away, and he must pursue, pursue her up into the leering teeth of heaven itself. For the third time he throws his weight, crying his agony as he shoves himself up, up and right and high as he can. His body rises on the injured spine, the skin of his bleeding barrel tearing, horns seeking to rend her flesh, hooves thrashing at sinful air. I will crush you! - the mental scream accompanies his rear- and for a moment he is flying after her, his mind consumed with bloodlust, breath coming fast in curls of wrath. In his rise he snaps his teeth, aiming for everything and nothing, a blind and raging tortoise hunting for for fat seabirds.

The moment ends, and it is too late for him to realize his mistake. Too forceful, too fierce, he has tried too hard to grasp the sun; Icarus is ever destined to fall. The ground hits him before he expects it, breaks against him in a cloud of dust and sand. Backwards and to the right he has fallen, and his damaged side screams at the impact, throbbing as his weight thunders upon the space between ribs and spine.

He feels shame, and finds it unpleasant.

He had come here to fight for a cause- nay, not a cause. A soul. A single beacon of strength and control in the chaotic realm of mortal discord, a brilliant ray of power and perfection. Deimos had accepted his nephew on sight, taking the Seraph's spawn under his care. Never in the brief and brilliant years of his life had Belial been met with something so close to... love was not a word his family used. Zuriel and Stone, Ignatius the Firesword and Cinnoru himself- the names struck fear and awe in the demon's heart. They represented something mightier than himself, the ultimate goal, the aspiration of his youth and training of his age... but not love.

Deimos offered him regard, and in return Belial had given him body, mind, and soul. He was the Reaper's tool, Death's messenger; he had been brought as a soldier, and he could not fail. He would fell the lords of heaven for his kinsman, would march through hell and back and again on the stallion's whim, if only Deimos would continue to grace him with that stern regard.

This was his chance to prove his worth. Nothing could stop him; he could not let anything stop him.

From his vantage point upon the ground, demonchild spies the cherub's form. It is descending again, another dive from the onyx skies, the silhouette of wings upon a dim horizon. From the recesses of his mind a growl springs, rage rekindled and fire fanned. Fuck the bitch, and fuck shame, too; he came here to win. Bellows rage from his chest; the demon swings his legs around, body squirming, weight thrown left in an attempt to avoid the cherub as she descends. Cloven hooves claw at the ground, searching for purchase and finding it, shoving him up in a fluid motion- hopefully quickly enough to escape her mass, let her hit the ground in a meteoric descent of stupidity and fat. Left leg kicks out- maybe he'll beat her while she's down; and the demonchild snarls, arcing round the muscled neck to see what the bitch will throw at him next.

[ 800 words, post 4 of 4, defense 0 of 1.

As an aside, I made this kind of complicated for myself so I'm going to try and explain it. Belial reared up too high and fell backwards, then rolled onto his left side and stood up. I watched a bunch of youtube videos that verify that this action is very possible, and hilarious to watch. Whether Onni struck Belial depends on whether she adjusted his course; I'll respond to that attack more specifically in my defense ]