Tsvetok didn't even bother waiting for Worm to right himself and get his juices back before it was lashing out again. Fire roiled in its chest and soon, fire was seeping towards Worm's open wounds. Very nice of it to close those up for him! Unfortunately it fucking hurt.
Not that the Valkhound cared.
It's an ungodly noise that leaves Worm. A curdling caterwaul as those claw marks were scorched, not really back together. Just scorched.
The heat was drying him out faster than he could sustain the spells. It was a last ditch effort. If this one didn't work...
He couldn't even move to position himself better, he just wobbled and opened his maw. Letting the water shoot from it and hopefully towards the valkhound; he couldn't see where he was aiming. Everything thrummed. Everything hurt. He couldn't focus.
Worm screamed, and so did Tsvetok. The baby fight was really heating up now.
It was drenched, now, the pressure of the jet of water scalping a few feathers off its neck and leaving behind crimson, agitated skin. Oh, it'd kill him. It'd kill him dead and eat him. It's massive scarlet head swung back and it choked up another spitball of lava, throwing it forward out of its throat and splattering towards Worm.
Leaving your mouth open after casting a spell was not a good idea. Something Worm was now learning in active practice. This also wasn't how he imagined the crudely put 'spit swapping' he'd learned that love interests do, when signing up for the musical.
It was a mouthful of lavaspit. It seared his tongue and the soft tissues of his mouth and throat; burning right through the soft flesh there. Almost as if kittens weren't built to handle mouthfuls of lava.
Worm decided then and there, he didn't have the time to assess the damage. It hurt. It hurt too much and he couldn't use his magic any more. He didn't know how, his single option had been taken away.
The cat turned and loped away with an uneven gait, swaying and staggering as he tried to stay upright. Speed wasn't something he had on his side with so many oozing injuries. Staying upright was the only task and leaving, it didn't matter how fast.
Just stay awake. Just keep running.
Tsvetok wasn't letting that shit slide at all. When Worm turned and went running, Tsvetok went running right after him, four legs thundering against the muddy, half-burnt grass after him. It wasn't exactly hard for something several feet larger than him to catch up with, but Tsvetok didn't want him running. At all.
Another globule of fire was reguritated out of Tsvetok's throat, this time aiming for the back of Worm's fleeing legs.
Burning. More burning, somehow. It hit his shoulder and Worm crumpled. A heap of reddened flesh in the grass.
Everything in his body screamed at him to move. To run. But he couldn't. Nothing wanted to cooperate, not his legs. Not his face. The pain had drifted into an odd sensation. Hotness and throbbing. He was so tired.
Time felt slow as he mused about his tiredness. Then, it rapidly sped up again as his brain reminded him, the danger was still here.
One hind leg kicked out as the valkhound drew closer, claws out. Just hoping, praying that they'd do something. Anything. Just get it away.
Worm's claws sunk into the ragged scales along Tsvetok's forelimb at the shin. It screeched in his face, breath hot and stinking, and reached for another spell. Something gave, certainly, but at first nothing happened. Then, when Tsvetok moved, a large, comical spotlight was shone on the two.
Like some kind of Shakesperian play about a baby fight.
At least that stopped Tsvetok in its tracked for a few merciful seconds, confused at the golden light shining down on the carnage.
The big bright light in the sky. This was it. He'd died. That shitty bird had killed him. The light had come to take him away into the next life. He just wished it didn't still feel so awful.
It's with a sigh that he let it happen. Perhaps he could put one last insult to injury again.
He kicked out once more with a clawed foot. And it flailed useless in the air, weak and limp.
Damn that chicken for killing him.
The kitten seemed unaware that the light was a spell from the valkhound and not his own untimely demise.
Tsvetok barely noticed Worm's foot kicking in the air weakly. No, it was going for the kill. The spell failed to respond, though, and after a beat-- with the adrenaline leaving its body in the moment it hesitated --Tsvetok suddenly felt... very tired.
It stood, panting, staring.
Consciousness was leaving Worm too. It was some miracle that his stone knew what to do. It ebbed with the last dregs of magic to begin reforming the chrysalis the kitten had once emerged from.
He was so tired. Everything felt bad. Maybe... Maybe if he just shut his eyes for a bit. Just for a moment.
And once he had, he drifted off.
The last memory one of smells; seared flesh and sweet grass.
He'd been too exhausted to even feel scared.