Bites rain down, each one sending a jolt of satisfaction through the dragon king's bloodstream. His chest, too, finds its mark, but unfortunately he fails in bringing the vermin to his knees. The stumble isn't enough, although it does send a small spasm of pleasure through him. Tyradon expects absolute submission; he will settle for nothing less, and Cynder sends images of unicorn throats ripped open, mongrel blood staining the stone ground. His foe turns to face him, and the leviathan twists marginally to the left, to ensure they are fully face-to-face and Déodat hopefully is no longer angled towards the beast's right side.

He expects an immediate attack, but none comes; instead the other stallion attempts to taunt, to rile the black beast into a frenzy. It fails - the warbringer's mind is too controlled, his concentration too immense, for him to allow himself to be distracted. He simply quirks a brow, scarred face expressionless, betraying no emotion - even his bubbling hatred is trapped beneath the surface, allowed to simmer but not to show, save for the cold determination behind his silver eyes. If this is the despicable lengths the stunted-minded creature will go to in order to gain an advantage, then the warlord takes it as a compliment, a testiment to his evidently formidable appearance and talents.

In his mind, he sees Cynder crossing to the far side of the cave, behind their opponent; like a chess piece she takes her position, circling like a vulture as she awaits Tyradon's command to strike.

The scum comes at him, that hideous tool of his wielded like a grotesque pillar atop his head; the beast hauls his rippling form a step to his right, feeling the tip of the horn rasp across his left cheek. It narrowly misses his eye, and leaves a bloody trail of destruction across the taut flesh of his skull, crimson oozing down the lines of his face and into the puckered scar from his previous unicorn encounter. That too-familiar pain spasms, and the hellion sends a mental scream to his war-dragon; NOW! Silently, an angel of death, the demonic reptile swoops, approaching from behind the unicorn until the very last moment, when she performs a half-circle to try and fly beneath Déodat's right side. Her canvas wings pivot to slow herself and she seeks to take advantage of his blind spot to attack unannounced, whilst he is attacking Tyradon's face; her head twists to her left, mouth gaping, and her bonded can feel her macabre pleasure as an orange belch of fire blooms from between her ravenous jaws. She directs the torrent at the area that hangs beneath the unicorn's thighs, red-hot tongues of flame seeking to ravage the stallion's genitals and ensure the vermin never again feels the satisfaction of a woman beneath him, or sates the desires of his loins by thrusting another hideous horned offspring into a willing womb. Her jaws slam shut with a snick and she redoubles her speed, hoping to fly out from beneath the abomination before he can trample her, flame-tail thrashing like a serpentine rudder beneath her in the hope of dragging the fiery tip across his underbelly as she retreats.

If she can geld one member of the lesser species, purge him with her flame, then it is a job well done for the dragoness.

His opponent turns, but his movement is not instantaneous and Tyradon seizes the chance to lunge forwards and to his right, causing his foe's hindhooves to clatter into his heavily-muscled right flank instead. It aches and the thick sinews bruise and tense, but the leviathan forces aside the pain for now as he seeks to run parallel with Déodat, facing the same way with his right side to Déodat's left. He hopes to seize advantage of the time it should take for his opponent to return his hooves to the ground, and he throws his weight to the right; he aims to crash his right shoulder into his foe's left one, trying to push the creature over sideways. His bloodstained skull twists to his right, aiming bites towards the left side of Déodat's face, hoping to pepper the region with more sharp nips to cause as much pain as he possibly can.

The warlord's breath comes in even huffs, only slightly haggard from the exertion; he prides himself on his stamina, but the heavy bleeding on his face is sending constant stabs of pain through his body. He cares little, though, so focused is he on ending this foul creature that has chosen to tangle with him. He feels no anger, no joy, only detatched determination to rise victorious - and, if he can, do his part to rid Helovia of its gruesome infestation.

""

____________________

791/800

Summary: Whilst Deo is attacking Tyra's face, Cynder tries to swoop beneath his right side and set Deo Junior on fire. Tries to run parallel with Deo and tries to crash his right shoulder into his left, whilst trying to bite his face.

Also I wasn't sure if Deo attacked with his forelegs or hindlegs? As you say you hope his hindquarters would be facing Tyra, but then that he lifts onto his hindlegs? I figured you meant he kicked out with his hindlegs so I hope I understood properly <33

2/3