The scream is beautiful, a benediction for his ears. Like a banshee's shriek, it enters his mind and addles with his senses, making his eyes drift shut to prolong the euphoria of the sound. He made that happen. He created that feral noise, that primal cacophony of battle. This is how it should be - two opponents giving it their all, clashing with hoof, teeth and wing, neither giving an inch.

She folds her back end and lifts like an angel towards the heavens, and he realises with a sudden dropping of his heart that this battle isn't over, not by a long shot. They're both badly injured, but her wings help negate any damage to her forelegs. He's never fought a winged opponent properly before, as he's always engaged them amongst the trees where they can't take off to strike from above. Out here in the open, there's nothing stopping Weaver from using her nature-blessed gifts, and he's given another forcible reminder of their usefulness as the feathered tip of one succeeds in smacking him across the face. It's only a light, glancing blow, but it causes him to see stars and set his teeth in a savage snarl.

By the time he's blinked away his dizziness, the hybrid is out of his sight. There's no chance that he can twirl around in time to see what she's doing, because his grievously wounded side prevents any such movements. He relies on his dragons to inform him of where the mare is, and by that point it's too late. Her hooves strike him firmly in the withers with so much force that he hears his body crunch with the impact, sending him staggering forwards and wobbling ominously as his muscular legs fight to keep him standing against the weight of the downwards blow. A bruise - horrendously thick, bone-deep, crippling - erupts across his entire upper back, ensuring that his movement will be even more compromised than it already is. It's a small miracle that she didn't manage to break the top of his spine, although he puts that down to her weakened forelegs and his own thick musculature.

Her words draw out a weak, pained smile. "You're quite right," he manages to groan out through the haze of agony that threatens to overwhelm him. "I always have to be on top." Given the Indomitable's inability to suddenly sprout wings and battle her in the sky, he's forced to rely on his dragons. Go, he tells them weakly, knowing that they've been waiting for his command since the battle started. He hasn't the strength or energy left to direct them or tell them exactly what to do - he leaves that down to their instincts. He manages to hobble forwards, keeping his head lowered in case she should kick out at him again, his eyes darting and his jaws ready to unfurl should she come within range of him. Thanks to the fact that he hasn't moved much during this fight, he's not as exhausted as he thought he would be in the unbearable heat, but he's in so much pain he can hardly focus on that particular positive. In his agony-addled mind, he hopes that Weaver will exhaust herself in the heat as she flies around, and he knows his dragons will do their part to ensure she pays the price for the wounds she's inflicted on their mammoth bonded.

Like twin demons, Vadir and Vérzés lunge forwards. Their bodies glimmer in the sunlight, their thick scales shimmering like precious gems as they dart, beautiful killing machines, through the air. They so rarely get to help their bonded, stubborn as he is, so they both seize upon this rare opportunity like wild dogs upon a dying animal. Vérzés lunges to the left and Vadir to the right as they seek to approach Weaver from behind, wanting to flank her on either side. Vérzés hurls his weight upwards, jaws agape, and tries to wrap his savage teeth around the joint of the mare's left wing in an attempt to prevent her using it. He hopes this will cause her to lose control and crash to the ground, where he knows Volterra will be only too happy to finish this fight with a flourish.

Vadir's mouth opens too, and hers unleashes a great blast of static electricity. She wants to use her flame, wants to watch this mare burn and die screaming, but she knows her bonded would not allow that. Instead she aims her shock breath towards Weaver's right side, hoping to paralyse, stun and electrocute the tobiano to cause her considerable pain. The sheer delight Volterra's dragons take in aiding him helps numb his shame about using them - they, like his muscles, need toning and utilising.

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Spar for @Weaver !

3/3 - 798 words