He seeks the flesh of his victim, the fleshy curtain of his lip risen to display the bloodied fangs beneath as he seeks purchase upon the fleeing Vidar’s head, the reeking scent of fear only further driving the hellion to dispose of such vileness. The other broken, weak, deserving of only death as blackened claws perforate the earth the Demon King seeks to close this distance between himself an the meal he will have this night, the demons of his mind bay with excited desire as saliva pools afresh and he reaches to take what is his own. The arrival of another does not hinder his assault, fangs parting to slice in the flesh of Coza as he flings himself with reckless abandon before the weakling boy and yet still the creature is rewarded in this fashion, heated blood rushing upon his tongue to bath teeth and throat in liquid delight that only further sees the creatures rage become a near berserker assault. He cannot stop. He cannot control himself. The taste is all he desires as Vidar is near forgotten and the darkened Angel of demonic perfection lunches his jaws further into Coza, as if attempting to swallow the living flesh from him, biting into skin and hair, throat constructing and rolling with every bite, to swallow anything that may come loose in a manner so utterly sickening, eating Coza alive. Yet it seems the Alpha of Taviora will not bow so easily, his jaws slamming into the creature upper right leg, tearing into flesh, spilling blood in rivers of red down his limb as the creature releases his hold upon the males ruff with a screaming raw of outrage before ripping the limb clean, slicing it against fangs as he does and yet such in this beautiful madness, he cares not, feels nothing, desires only to feed as his limbs is ripped free and teeth dive downward with violet intent to savage Coza’s face, to maul and ravage it apart, one paw lifting to claw in frenzied destruction in this same manner, his assault so sudden, so unrelenting. How can one fight what will not stop? How can one fight a creature without sense? He will rip Coza apart this day, the taste of his blood already upon the darkened Angels lips- and he desires more.

Another comes, a scent he knows well at yet in this moments his ravaged mind does not understand, does not see, cannot remember the Warrior King of old with whom he has clashed so many times before as Devils bulk is forced forward, blocking any retreat and yet still the fractured creature bites at Coza in frenzied oblivion, striking again and again and again with a force near unholy, near immortal in it’s violence when fangs spear into the back of his neck, the creature hauled backwards in Devils grasp by the thickness of his ruff, jaws pulled from whatever part of Coza he may have clung to and yet such is his madness, such of his inability to fill that his weight is forced downwards, the demonic creature twisting like a rabid snake within Devils jaws to pry free once more, a chunk of his ruff ripped free in the older Kings jaws and yet, his paws barely touch the ground once more, the earth merely brushed beneath him before he slams forward again, seeking to grasp Devils neck in his own fangs, to puncture and ravage and tear open with the same ridiculous fury. This is why he has survived, why he has lived so very long. He is…crazed, wild, berserker. He feels nothing, seeks only blood, his attacks holding no slither of self-preservation. He simply assaults again and again with unrelenting and vile force in every direction. He overwhelms his opponents, tears them apart and he fears neither Devil nor Coza. Two is not a group, he will not be forced back, Vidar long forgotten as he flees.

Yet more come. The one of earthen grey reeks of Diveen, Beowulf, though he knows not the name of this assailant, merely the scent, a hated and vile scent as the creature pulls from Devil to pivot upon the earth, to twist like a vile serpent and lunge, muscle rolling and coiling with his leap, to meet Beaowulf mid-jump, the Assassin and Dark Angel colliding mid-air, the heavier form of the other a jarring thing and yet he seeks to force Beowulf to rear upward as they land, seeks to wrap paws around him like the jaws of death itself should the other rise to his hind legs to meet him, fangs seeking the left side of the others neck before Tobias’ frame is flung further forward, aiming to push the other down, to grasp him and toss him aside. Too many. He fear groups. Perhaps his only fear- for his mind remembers and recoils, instinct demanding he return to the shadowy embrace. Coza has opened his front right limb, part of his ruff torn free in Devils jaws, Beowulf claws grazing down his side to tear free blackened fur as the ache of their collision rings still within him and yet he lunges once more, bashing Beowulf aside should the other have failed to dodge and lunging for the open space as his limb and neck spit with pain and blood runs afresh. Yet he cares not. Madness blurs such things from his mind as the final warrior comes. Kiska. Her name he knows, her name he remembers and indeed for barely a moment those reptilian eyes fall upon her as his neck arches in defiant disdain and bloodied lips part once more to hiss with blackened fury as the obsidian nightmare twists aside of her fangs, they catch his back limb, puncturing flesh and no more and he wheels to face her, savage snarls leaking from his lips before he twists once more, plunging suddenly to the left, tearing deeper into Taviora, slower perhaps then he should be as injures burn and yet such a creature has survived worse, he will live still for such is the decree of fate and hell itself and he tears forward, faster than those behind him. Devil is aged and heavy, Coza is heavy, Kiska is heaviest of all and even Beowulf is simply not light- they cannot match his speed none of them……save for the white and violet eyes King whom appears so suddenly before him, the oldest amongst them, flesh reeking of age and decay and yet he remembers……he remembers Heyel.

Dark claws digger deeper into the earth, bloodied black frame launching skyward, aiming to knock the Angel King down and simply race past him, run over him, bash through him, whatever need be in these moments as a shrieking roar pierces the air and the demonic creature rushes forward.