Her chest is a solid staccato of pain, beating out an unpleasant rhythm through her muscles and flesh. It's her worst battle injury to date, and there's a fair amount of her pride that is equally wounded by the knowledge that Toulouse, of all people, was the one to inflict it on her. He seems the sort to gloat, and it helps give Oizys a sense of second wind as she readies herself for the final salvo of the battle. She's not going to stop now, give into the agony and let him have the satisfaction of besting her. She's not going to submit, bend the knee and beg for mercy purely because her chest is a mass of living fire, of skin forged into suffering.

The gargoyle does not give up. She has the scars, both physical and mental, to attest to that.

Her spark-beast's successful blow goes some way to helping anaesthetise her aches and pains, and there's a glow of savage pride in her eye as he screams. Her ears ram forwards to inhale the sound, to process it, to thrive upon it; it is her medicine, and it's almost utopia. Ker's attack is less successful, her foul emission failing to find its target, and the blood on her talons is scant consolation for the rabies she hadn't managed to inflict on him. She withdraws, shrieking, and moves towards her bonded again like a feathered bodyguard.

The gelding is stumbling, and a smirk flashes across the mare's scarred features at the sight of him. Look at him, wounded! She flicks her eyes to his, wanting to see them alight with pain, wanting to see any remaining hint of fear in their dark depths, wanting to observe the moment that he realises his grey-skinned opponent is not going to fall so easily. Oizys meets his gaze proudly, strongly, arrogantly; but pride, they say, comes before a fall.

Torture. Without touching her, without even being near her, the palomino has her in his thrall. He is the puppeteer and she is his doll, helpless to his command as he bids pure, unbridled agony to burn like wildfire through her body. Oh, it's something else - it's worse than the pain of her shifts, because at least that's something she controls and she knows it will end at some point, but this is unrelenting. It would be enough to bring even the strongest warriors to their knees, and Oizys flings her head high as a bloodcurdling scream rips free from her jaws. Her throat is red raw with the volume of her voice, and deep inside her mind she is furious with herself for letting him know how much it hurts, how much she'd be willing to do anything, anything, to make it stop....

"SNAKE!" Ker's screech rivals her own, and the gargoyle forces her eyes - which had scrunched shut with the torment - open once again. There, slithering towards her, is the gelding's damned serpent again, and it's coming for her body. Not a chance. Summoning what little strength she has left and releasing the shackles of Toulouse's torture, Oizys shifts in a half-rear from the ground, not enough to jar her already badly wounded chest. Then she slams down, seeking to counter the snake before it can clamber up her leg by trying to slam both forehooves down hard on top of it, hoping to snap the little fucker in half. Usually she wouldn't attack somebody's companion so viciously, but she's too addled with the hellish pain to find time for mercy.

Ker turns, angling towards the gelding once again. This time she goes for the face - not the eyes, her bonded isn't that far gone, but she hopes to rip her claws and beak across the delicate flesh of Toulouse's nose and forehead. Her wings flap and swing, hoping to batter and smack him around the chops, aiming to distract and hurt as well as trying to break the eye contact that seems to be making her bonded writhe so hideously.

The gargoyle can feel the exhaustion plaguing her even as she tries to attack the snake. This battle has sapped every last ounce of her stamina, and she feels weak-kneed with the veritable feast of different ouchies that cover her. Despite it all, though, she's proud of herself for seeing it through, and even more proud that she's proven herself to be more than just a loud-mouthed bimbo. She's also learned a very valuable lesson - never look a snake-tongued gelding in the eye.

_________

@Toulouse !

3/3 - 755 words

Thanks for the fight Neverr!