The cat's body became encased in opal while Tsvetok lay there, panting. Something else had killed him, eating him, and taken him away. Tsvetok was, in a word, furious. It screamed at the chrysalis and then threw its head like a child throwing a tantrum, roaring and scrabbling its claws against the scorched, damp ground.

Lava choked up its throat one last time and it spat it all over; the ground, the chrysalis, itself. Fire lashed at its claws and front legs while it swallowed everything else-- all except Worm, of course, safe in his stone --and it only felt angrier and angrier.

Skin boiling and blistering with its own spell, it lashed out and left a thick but shallow mark on Worm's stone, its foreclaws raking down the face of the opal. Tsvetok turned, shrieked bloody murder again, and stood in its own fire.

Next time, it wouldn't be nice. It would just eat him right off the bat.

The adrenaline died. Its body hurt, and the fire left a deep, dull throb where it'd licked. It felt... correct, though, in some way. With the smoke choking up into the ceiling, Tsvetok slowly limped away from its fire, exhausted.