Still she laughs, and still he wants nothing more than to send her crushing down into the depths of oblivion. She belongs in Hell. She deserves to writhe in agony for eternity, to burn in the pits of righteous fire until her flesh is singed from her bones, and he will be the one to condemn her to such a fate. He will be the one who sends her into damnation, who takes an eye for an eye in the most gruesome, and yet the most pure, way possible.

A savage hiss of pain erupts from the leviathan as his downed foe's horn slashes up his descending right foreleg. It cuts through skin and threatens to grate against the bone of his fetlock, only saved by the thick feathering around his feet. Blood spurts, drenching the white waterfalls of fur around his right hoof, and the agony is exquisite; it's too late though, because his forelegs are still slamming down towards her like the reaper's blade.

His hooves collide with the sweet flesh of her left side, shattering her ribs like matchsticks, and the stallion unleashes a loud snort of pleasure. He does not usually revel in the business of death, but this is the exception. Now, he's delighting in every blow. Every ear-rending scream that emits from her mouth is a benediction, a flower placed upon his daughter's grave. Every hint of agony in those cold dead eyes of hers is inflicted in his dead child's name, and he will send Airlia to meet her maker with Vezér's face in his mind and his love for her etched across his heart.

Volterra returns his forehooves to the ground, slightly favouring the injured right one. He looks down at his victim, and his crimson gaze is as hard as stone. The dragons keep their distance, knowing that these last few blows will belong to their bonded, to the great broken titan of a man who stands, sweating and heaving, over the soon-to-be-corpse of his daughter's killer. There's a harsh hand of spite that clenches around his heart, bidding him to pause, to waste a few seconds simply staring at Airlia in order to prolong her agony; no, he decides, she hasn't quite suffered enough yet. There is more torture to be had for her, more punishment.

The Indomitable rears again, forehooves pawing at the air; he does not aim for her head to finish her off, though. Despite every ounce of honour in his body that tells him to end her, despite the fact he's turned his nose up at men who needlessly torment their victims, Volterra knows what he's doing and he enjoys it. She deserves everything that happens to her. What she's done is unforgivable, and her mammoth lover is now her judge, jury and executioner.

That is why he seeks to bring his forehooves slamming down onto her ruined left side again, to try and further shatter those broken bones and inflict yet more agony upon the demon that lies at his feet.

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@Airlia

4/? - 506 words