There was no shriek of agony, no wail of torment; her heart sinks a little, and she wishes she could glance over a shoulder, to see if he had been struck dumb or if perhaps the wave of black magic had simply slithered right by him. The sorcery had seemed to work, as the wolf could feel the nefarious magic drinking her reserves of energy, leaving each step a little harder to take and each clack of hoof on perilous diamond floor more wearisome, and yet there was no rewarding cry of pain. It was a rather atrociously horrible thought to think- what if her magic had simply deflected off him? Was he impervious to the blemishes that would kiss and caress his wine skin and paint him red with the true form of blood? No, surely that could not be so; she had used it on him immediately prior to their game of bruises and smacking bodies, watched the art appear on the red canvas that was his coat.

   It is only the reassurance of her mongrel that keeps her from doing something foolish, like swinging her cranium back only to no doubt shift her balance and allow him to get in an easy blow. She feels it, the keening pressure of his mind on her's, a promise that indeed gangrene and infection sprang into life on Déodat's ruby pelt; and she takes comfort in the fact, her heart skipping a beat as she envisions his face contorted and writhing at the damage she dealt single-handedly to him. Even despite the exhaustion that begins to weigh down hip and neck, she glories in the triumph, revels in her skill, primps and feeds her ego; ha, she was defeating him, look at him, was he so proud now when he was unable to land hoof or horn on her scarred corpse?

   Out of the corner of her eye, she catches a blurred smear of scarlet hair breezing by; her jaw props open, astonished at the spurt of speed that had allowed him to charge ahead of her. Teeth then snap shut, grinding together, ears pinning to neck- she would not allow this little lordling to rule over her, she would not allow him to float through this fight as if it were something he did every day. She was the wolf, descended from the Womanizer and the Demon King, Morgue and Oblivion; she was the union of two mighty bloodlines, and she would show Helovia their wrath by every breath she took and every beat of her pounding heart.

   Hooves crack down on glittering floors as she begins sliding to a halt as the unicorn turns back to face her, glittering violet horn thrusting forwards to her neck. No; he will not have the satisfaction of touching her, even in violence. Her sinful pelt was far too good for the likes of dogs such as him- he would have to lust from afar, drool as she stalked by, a decayed stallion who could never have the honor of her loins.
   Instead, she drives herself at the wall, the wall glittering with diamonds and crystals of unknown origin.

   She is not moving as fast as she could have been, luckily; instead of completely winding up a mess of bruised meat and exposed muscle, the infinite crystals grate and scrape against her left side, still peeling back numerous layers of skin. One particularly large ruby catches her on the hip, and her eyes squeeze shut, immediately pulling away from the side of the hallway. Confutatis' breath grates a little too quickly in her chest- but surely she cannot be tiring so soon? The fight has only just begun, after all. Yet with every step, her left side is stinging at best, and parts of her curvaceous body that took on the majority of the damage hurts in particular, the shoulder and hip; the injuries she has brought upon herself scorches and burns, the hundreds of nerve endings bitching to no end about the abuse she has bestowed upon them.

   The yako shares in her pain, being bonded to her (whether he likes it or not); it is now he launches his attack, with visions spun of lust and love, of the unicorn stallion mounting the wolf, horn torn from skull, all bleeding eye sockets and dripping nostrils; he hopes to catch Déodat off-guard, and give his compatriot a moment to recover.

   But she refuses, she abhors the idea of needing a 'break' from the battle.
   As her foe turned back to come alongside her, she cowkicks towards his left hind hock; immediately following this, she lunges at the eye and ear nearest to her (his left), hoping to grab onto the precious indigo eye and steal from him his vision.