Gatto's leg had seen better days, but overall, the oversized turkey had seen much worse days. Master Nemean even had the inspiration to heal them and the competitors before the next round: a luxury not afforded to a single trial-goer as far as their living memory could recall. So it was that the Agate was feeling rather cocky, even for a cockatrice.

As cocky as they were, they payed careful mind to the announcements as their turn drew closer. V-Labradorite-One. Agile, doggish-- perhaps-- a quick, clever stone, one with a penchant for loyalty. The naming system was similar to the old days, though clearly marked them as one of Master Vargas's brood. One of the... Chaos Force, was it? They heard the roar, followed by Master Nemean's announcement for Gatto to enter the arena. Hm. Sounded like a big thing. Bigger than Five-Four-Six, at least. If they had survived the first round, they'd probably be smarter than a thick-skulled ox. It was time to get their head in the game, then?

Perhaps their foe would be disappointed when the second crowing bird (but bigger) came strutting out into the ring, head held high. After all, the looks of it seemed to be yet another uneven match-up, even if Gatto was easily twice the size of the last bird, standing proudly at three and a half feet tall.

"The Living Shadow! Why, I'd hate to ruin your dramatic title, but you do hear them calling for blood," the bird crooned, spreading their wings in a dramatic display of shimmering, iridescent feathers, waving them outward at the crowd. How keen the spectators were to see the unkillable, the survivors, finally fall. It was a shame that this younger stone was about to learn first hand how tough and hardened a Hydra Champion could be.

Oh, but it was also going to be great fun.

"Let's see you dance, Labradorite!"

Oohh, this one talked! Not a mindless beast, instead a true competitor! Of course, Gatto expected no less. Their mandibles clicked against their sharp beak, but before they could usher a response, the oil-slicked beast bolted forward in a lunge.

Now, the Agate was not a gutless, cowardly creature. Far from it, having faced impossible odds head on and surviving all the same! Buuut, they were also very fond of not having their bones snapped into pieces by many rows of vicious teeth.

So immediately, the cockatrice's already-spread wings began to flap, and they kicked with all the strength in their legs, to make a quick leap into the air and hopefully out of reach of their opponent.

But flight from the ground, without a head-start, and so quickly, was not an easy task. Gatto realized too late to do much but continue to flail as Labradorite closed the gap between them and snatched down on one wing with a sickening crunch and a blinding, white-hot pain.

"THE CRUELTY," Gatto screamed dramatically, "YOU DOG! HAVE AT THEE!" Yes... It hurt, and it certainly would be impossible to fly now, but they were hardly out of the fight yet... and as long as they survived the round, the Masters were feeling kind enough to provide same-day healing.

... the bird also, quite simply, was going to screech with the sheer pain they felt, might as well make it something to fuel the audience's excitement, right? Put on a show, and all that? Ha!

A snarl came from the mighty Labradorite, and maybe Gatto would have felt a thrum of fear if not for the sheer adrenaline that washed through their veins like an intoxicating drug. There definitely was terror in their blood, roaring along side the absolute white-hot agony, but both were frighteningly easy to ignore with shock and the thrill of the fight for survival.

It was the kind of thing that could get a lesser gembound killed, couldn't it?

The Agate was tossed through the air like a chew-toy, another loud squawk screeching from their throat as they flailed the one wing that they could still control. Their vision threatened to turn to blackness as the opposite wing-- torn asunder by their foe's wicked teeth-- was wrenched with their weight tossed in a violent tug-of-war of gravity versus what threadbare sinew kept it attached.

But Gatto landed-- strangely, rather than being thrown high into the sky-- almost neatly upon the back of the Labradorite. Talons slipped on oil for purchase, curling in to dig deep on whatever grip they could find.

It was not an easy thing, barely managing to hold on to the beast, but they found balance upon the beast, and with all the strength they could find, they threw their face forward toward the closest approximation of the creature's spine to try and snap down with beak and mandible. They would chew straight through Labradorite's neck like a sand worm through Hydra's dunes if they could, but even with a tail whipping about for balance, they had one completely dead-weight limb sending spots into their vision with every jerk.

Which was to say that any second now, the Gatto could fall right off their bucking bronco into the spines, claws, and teeth of their untimely demise. It would be a show, one way or another!

Gatto had two thoughts as they stood on top of Labradorite. They could either try to use their spurs to slash the Labradorite's neck, which could certainly make a quick end to the fight if done correctly... or could send them plummeting off of the beast if improperly done. Then there was the safer option: hold on tight and use their beak to inflict as much damage as possible.

Considering how their position was causing the Labradorite to actuate, the violent bucking doing little to dislodge the Agate while they held tight, but it would take one careless misstep to fall, and with their one wing dangling uselessly to their side (the agony starting to draw more and more attention with each vicious kick of their foe) there was no way that wouldn't end in disaster.

So, Gatto held strong. The champion sunk their talons in deeper to the slick, gooey form of the beast's neck, and drove their beak toward the glowy sections of the Labradorite. They aimed for the glowing bits that seemed to be eyes-- or gills-- vulnerable parts that both hard beak and sharp mandible could tear and damage with surprising effect.

... or, well... it would be, if they could land a single snap of their beak. But balancing on top of a quick, squirmy hound made for a difficult game of wack-a'-eye indeed.

The Labradorite was a fine competitor. There was no way for the Agate to know if their opponent truly meant to kill them-- as was the point of the blood sport in the first place-- or if there would be mercy, so the cockatrice fought like their very life depended on it. They lived every day like it would be their last, and this split moment of terror was no exception.

Their opponent twisted, rolling, throwing itself to the floor with a snap of its own quills. Gatto knew that they had two choices: to try and flee, or to pray that they could outlast the beast in a tangle of horrible blows. Normally, fleeing would be the obvious choice for the bird.

But they knew what would come if this did not end here and now: Draconua and hellfire.

So for once they did not flee, as the oil-beast's body flipped over, throwing their carcass under carapace, oil, and razor sharp spines. They threw their good wing, lashed their tail, and tried to drive their deadly spurs into the Labradorite's neck as they fell, aiming to kick and slice through the viscus fluid and armor plating and hit something vital.

They felt themselves slip through the oil, spurs finding no purchase, and in that split second decision it was suddenly over: their body was crushed by the weight of a beast much larger than them, their sturdy but lightweight bones straining against the impact.

The air was gone from their lungs; they tasted blood and oil, and from beneath Labradorite came a fowl screech.

Make no mistake: Agate was still... alive, for now.