Yet, was it not the very Sun Azzaron threw against me that named me Queen here, when Leander and Svetlana had goaded others to follow? The Sun who granted this belligerent fool power would not follow behind him should he attempt to overthrow me, and the only way he would use fire against me would be in direct refute of the God's own words, and for that, he would suffer soon enough. Even if I could not devour him in flames myself, hell would be keeping up behind him with retribution for his crimes.

Now, however, as I feel my body slide by his figure, I lift up on my wings, setting out horizontally and looking up toward him with my dark, ocean eyes. I am tiring, either from my age or this heat, but this goose chase in which my body finds no mark upon his flesh, the rush to keep my body after his when he is surely a magician to be able to escape unscathed from a blind attack is wearing down my resolve. I still do not relent, nor will I give up the battle for this oaf. Let his dodge like a coward, for I will still arise victorious when his energy wanes. At least, that was my thought. I can feel the temperature on my shoulder building first, the temperature of my bruise rising uncomfortable as the sweat begins to build. My muscles begin to ache from heat, and, in a quick attempt to rid myself of this fever, I act quickly. I gulp in three or four massive breaths, and then still my wings, closing my eyes and focusing my energy on the air around me.

Azzaron, you are an idiot, I think, trying to use this sort of bastard magic against me, and assuming I have no way to squelch your fire. Yet, tell me, how does fire exist without oxygen? I grasp the threads of the air pressure, pushing the air our and away from me, the temperature around my frame dropping rapidly, quickly, only being heated by my own body and the sun above, which seems an awfully long way from here. I open my eyes, feeling the flames that were burning in my belly minimized, the aches and pains finding no hold as I breath no air, asphyxiating myself on purpose to avoid the burns, ridding the air around me to avoid the sting. I am a clever little bitch, and my opponent nothing but a second-rate warrior expecting the strength of a deity to do his bidding for him.

Cowardly, offensive, and down right ugly. I hope he burns for the mistakes he has made today, the crimes committed.

I catch sight of the idiot closing in, and I push up with my wings to avoid his hooves, yet they still scrape along the bottom of my ribs as my wings rise, leaving a two gashes and burning sensation not caused by fire. Hopefully, at least, his stupid face would be close-lined by my own barrel. Using this opportunity with his body lumbering underneath me, I kick out with my back hooves toward his back, wings, anything that they could get a hold of, with all of the force that I had left. Black began to take my vision without air, and I release the magic as the fire dies down in my gut, allowing the air to rush back in unaffected, restoring oxygen to my lungs and relieving the burning of my muscles not caused by fire. I gasp on air, choking it back into my sore lungs and flying onward, trying to gather my wits about me before his Haughtiness came after me more idiotic ideas on what constitutes a good attack.

Maybe he will think me crazy, but I care not. I lift my head toward the sun in the blue sky above and let out a callous laugh.
I will never bow to you.

[ WC: 685; 4/4; 1/2.
Wind magic used in this post is passive.
Buffs: Bulk and Swift. ]