He crashes into her, his hooves splintering bone and rendering her broken. There is no question; she will not survive this. Even if he walked away now, she would die in a twisted blaze of agony, her lungs punctured by the shards of bone and her body ruined beyond repair. It would be so easy to do exactly that - to walk away, leave her to writhe, leave her to scream her agony at the ears of a man who will not listen.

Her hoof clips the Indomitable's left foreleg, but due to the force of his descending limbs, it hardly makes a scratch. A faint bruise blossoms against the fetlock, but it is nothing compared to his gored right leg. It is nothing compared to the gruesome, heinous damage that he's inflicted on her.

Then, she's speaking again. The first time I beat her, she cried for her Apa. The words are bullets; she's hit her mark, and it shows in the way he flinches. "No," he growls, but the word sounds weak even to him. That sentence hurts more than the injury to his leg, more than the thrumming beat of his broken heart, because it reminds him that he failed her. He failed his beautiful daughter. She is dead because of him. Airlia might have lifted the sword, but his armour was not there to protect Vezér from it. It should have been. He is her father, her defender, her most staunch soldier. He taught her to fight wolves, to survive predators - how could he have known that the biggest monster of all was the one who brought her into the world?

Volterra recoils, his eyes stinging with pain. For the first time it truly hits him that she's gone, that he'll never have the chance to watch her grow into a powerful young woman and have children of her own. She'll never have her first fight, or sob into his chest because a man has broken her heart, whilst he heads off to break that man's bones. Airlia's stolen all of that from her, yet if Volterra hadn't been so damn caught up in his own business, he could have saved her. He failed her.

Killing me won't fix that. She's right - this is pointless, hopeless revenge. It will not reanimate the mutilated corpse, and more blood on the titan's hooves certainly will do nothing for his fragile mental state, but....he has to do this. He has to. He has never shied away from killing before, but this is Airlia, the woman he could have loved. That is what gives him misgivings, what almost stays his blade and bids him to walk away and leave her to expire on her own terms. But his resolve is steel, and his hatred is iron. Volterra exists on the concept of an eye for an eye. He is doing what he must, and he must be the one to end her. "It won't bring her back," he agrees, his voice a low murmur that still holds every inch of his regal authority. It is tinged with pain, but it is strong. "But it will avenge her. I couldn't protect her, but I will rest well in my bed knowing that her killer is rotting in the ground."

The behemoth limps forwards so he's stood over her, looking pityingly down at her. "She is with the Gods now, and they will watch over her. But you? You, Airlia, are going to burn in the pits of hell." The dragons croon in the distance, their solemn flights leading them in low circles around their bonded. They offer him their reassurance, their love, their solidarity. He does not need it, but he accepts it all the same.

Volterra lifts onto his hindlegs for the third time, his forehooves descending once more like the axe of the executioner. This time, however, he aims for her skull - it's time to end this, to end her.

____________________

@Airlia

5/? - 664 words

Thanks again Pare <33