The serpent's lips twisted, becoming the coldest of smiles.

Perhaps it was the fact that he had been waiting to find this woman’s weakness, or simply had been pining to see her in a state of destruction since their heated meeting...
but, either way, the gelding was more than glad to hear her roar.  Nothing pleased the pale one more than a defence tore down, especially one built with paper clips. Since Oizys’ over-zealous and cocky introduction all those weeks ago, Toulouse had wished to see her lose that penetrating, squirming smugness she always seemed to carry upon her countenance. It was the kind that caused him to scrunch his nose in irritation, his hatred for the young and entitled growing stronger with every word the gargoyle spoke.

Just as his fangs bit and tore, a grunting growl of his own escaped the chasm of his lungs, echoing through his mouth as his rival spun before his eyes. With his hoof reaching for her knee, a knee he hoped was destined to crack in submission to the power of his own, Toulouse keeled his eyes upward to glance toward the young woman’s face. It was a clumsy miscalculation. His hoof, gliding over her own through the air, struck the turf below with a great thud causing his lips to curl up and over his incisors with a snarl of disgust and disappointment.
Toulouse had so missed the thwack and crack of breaking bone.

‘What in the name of the Spark God’s hairy ball-sack was that for?’
Her hiss was an unwelcome one, causing a great glare to run from his own eyes to hers. There was no need to explain his attack, and besides, his reasoning was, by all means, the least of her concerns. She seemed like a woman who could endure pain given the impressive life-long mark she bore upon her face. The serpent could only assume it was immaturity and girlishness that caused such an almighty reaction — the kind he’d never got before when beginning a spar.
Boomslang eyed the eagle, craning his own head upwards and giving a hiss of warning towards the attacker and her paired avian. Boomslang hated other companions, but most of all he hated birds.

The pair of serpents took a defensive stance, edging away from the agitated gargoyle as her bonded sprung into action.
What came next was something neither snake nor thief would have expected, and it seemed Toulouse would get his crackle and smack of breaking bone after all.

His opponent, which had previously been a rather beastly mare, was now completely deformed… and it only got worse with each passing moment.

Watching with a horrified glare, Toulouse wondered momentarily if this was Boomslang’s doing and another trick up the young snake’s sleeve he was yet to discover, just like the last had been. As the horrid transformation progressed, however, the more it seemed completely intentional. Coarse hair and a rounded snout took up the face of his rival, eyes turning an even darker shade of black.  A bear.
“…No…” Toulouse uttered in disbelief. This was NOT what he had signed up for.

The gelding had no time to curse fate for choosing this course, nor did he have time to think up much of a plan. In only a number of seconds, the beast was upon him, plate-like paws reaching towards his neck. Enveloped in a strange embrace, Toulouse found his nose pressed against the snarling chops of the great, hairy bear, clenching his teeth and gritting through the pain of her clawing grip upon his whither. Blood fell, he felt the droplets rolling from a tendril of marks upon each side of his wither, the pain searing and hot. How could he escape this?
Another moment and he was being pulled towards the ground, ghastly fangs of her own reaching for his throat. Surely if they reached him he was done for.

“Boomslang!” the thief stammered, coiling upon his haunches as he attempted to untuck his legs from the bear’s grip. The angered snake, having received his signal gave one more almighty hiss before he lunged for the bear himself, fangs attempting to latch onto the fleshy neck of the deformed creature and unleash his paralytic venom. Only a few moments more and the beast would be rigid as a corpse… or so he wold hope.
Steering his movement away from the clawing creature, Toulouse managed to slam his back legs upwards in an attempt to bashfully penetrate the skull of his beastly rival, hunching upon his injured wither as he packed his punch.