The chimera fought itself - a weak design, compared to Bauxite-T-One's sublime coordination. He knew what he wanted, and he knew it completely.
He wanted this thing DEAD.
They still clung together in combat, Gore gnawing on his tooth and Bauxite stabbing furiously at their shoulders, but he was getting sloppy now, lost in his pure, indignant, rage. He wasn't even breaking the skin at this point.
@Triage
He stabbed. And he stabbed. And he stabbed. All thought and sense fading from him in the adrenaline-fueled fury. He would kill them, all three. He would die trying. Because he
hated them with all of his glowing guts.
That, and he was really REALLY hungry, and it was getting worse by the second.
With one final jab, he prayed that the triage would meet collective downfall. Unable to move, to struggle against what was clearly the circle of life. To be repurposed, and become something far greater.
HIM.
He was flung before the strike could land. He rag-dolled through the air for the second time in this thread.
@Triage
The Bauxite collided with the ground, again. This time it took longer to get up, righting itself on legs that ached with numerous cuts and bruises. His limbs were unfortunately delicate - he was lucky to not have broken anything today.
Not that he was aware of this, at all. All he felt was the storm of his own tantrum as he watched the Triage make their escape in his peripheral. The failure stung worse than any injury he'd gained - wasn't this his birthright? To feed on the lesser?
And so, as the three disappeared from view, T-Bauxite-One screeched. Like he was dying. Like he was unable to do anything else than make this one, awful noise.
[dramatic exit/end]