Breath fully spent in that final hurling of acid-laced abuse, nothing more could be accomplished besides simmering in place, outrage practically steaming off his body. How much he despised how easily she took the Gembounds' collective displeasure in stride, chewing away in that casual manner; fair odds she'd done the same when she'd stolen Imp's eyes, twirling them by their optic nerves like some insignificant trinket instead of an artist's keen sight irreverently plucked away. The bile rose in his throat again, and he almost gagged forcing the disgust back whence it came. That physical of a reaction to her presence would only bring forth mockery, not that he'd have any chance to avoid it entirely as the following special attention demonstrated.

Intense light bathing scales flushed previously mottled scales fully white, and despite his own anger, the sudden assault caused Fahl to shrink back, squinting. His jaw tensed at the trivialization of her crimes, as that was his exact issue with her: a being of remarkable power, she used it for sadistic amusement and little else. While initial hatred might have been born from the wrongdoing his mischievous mentor received, learning of her other misdeeds—sending horses off cliffs, twisting Artio's servants into trees—had hammered it into unfathomable depths. And what he despised most was his incapability to end this once and for all, awareness of the gulf between them in strength rooting him in a position where grudging tolerance and caution had to be exercised instead of deserved retribution.

"And here she goes," he thundered once she ceased her roasting of him and moved on to playing interviewee. "With all that shitting around, you really ought to change your diet! But in the meantime"—a thin thread of humor wound its way into his mind—"how about a little something to cram up there for starts."

Fahl drew his claws together, and between them sugar crystals spun into a shape crafted entirely from a vulgar imagination. Possessing a flat base and a stem connecting to a spade-like top, the candy was clearly intended for insertion somewhere. Based on his earlier comments, it didn't take a genius to infer the location. Apparently the iguana had picked up more than just foul language from associating with his batgator friend.

"A parting gift. I'd plug you both ways, but then there'd be nowhere for the shit to go. And that wouldn't be very great for you, now would it?"

Wrath could only escalate so far. Fahl's having reached its apex a good minute ago, now there existed two ways it could proceed: plateau and remain at an unhealthy boil or decrease to calmer, more physically tolerable levels that didn't threaten to burst blood vessels. His spiteful little rock candy sculpture had been a step in the second direction, heat redirected into an action capable of evoking some amusement, even if drawing hers as well was an unfortunate secondary effect. (Was there nothing to truly phase that despicable sprite?) The suggestion from another spectator was the next event to draw away further rage, and unable to lash out at a stranger for a genuine attempt at support, he settled for allowing his shoulders to slump. No Nemean to heckle further, he let petulance direct itself to another target and smacked his magical handiwork down. The meager strength behind the hit broke it into pieces, the sugar composing it fragile.

"Who are all the sick jokes for then," he muttered beneath his breath. "Whose backward idea is it... that strife... pointless pain is funny."

It seemed the opposite for him. Nemean wasn't comic relief in a dramatic tale. Instead the Gembounds were hapless bit players in a full-blown comedy, a twisted one whose audience burst into uproarious laughter every time eyes were torn from sockets and cheered when the troublesome main character miraculously escaped from brutal justice served to inflict the caves again with her unique brand of sadism. If she'd remained boiling in the Eyes, maybe he could believe her to simply be a minor player in a chapter of his life. As it stood presently, she was a recurring villain that demanded eventual defeat, something he couldn't achieve in his weak state as a mere lizard, mutation-riddled though he was.

He glared at his surroundings, kicked scattered remnants of fake Spire, and distanced himself from the scene with a huff of personal dissatisfaction. A walk would burn away the remaining embers of his disgust surely. If not, there was always improvement to focus on. Polaris had enough crystals to melt into puddles, regardless if they were the ordinary sort or those that tasted sweet.