Try as he might to hold out optimism, the belief that the Squallfang might come to her senses or the adventurers manage to somehow assuage her maternal rage, even Richter had to eventually admit the worst end to this encounter appeared the likeliest. Very few seemed interested in employing methods that avoided unnecessary ripping and tearing. Furthermore, the great beast herself clearly was suffering, for surely nothing other than an ailment led to such pitiful moans and the immense water loss. An awful prospect, unhatched children losing a parent.

Of course, if they never knew her, the loss likely wouldn't be felt. But perhaps he was wrong. Maybe some biological need would result in a deep sense of wrongness, their birth immediately followed by an unexplained hollowness. While no fearsome resident of Lacerta, he'd certainly experienced that once initial wonder at his own surroundings had faded away. It was a void he filled with answers to an unceasing deluge of questions and the pursuit of good company. Friendship and discovery replaced the immediate guidance of someone sharing a piece of his soul.

He couldn't prevent the death, but easing it might work. Struggling against the pain would prolong her passing, so his jumping paused to see if a paw could be brushed against her tail as it swung toward him once more. Ducking avoided a collision that would've catapulted him into the lagoon, but the risk worked out. Claw tips grazed the tough underside, and a brief silvery spark leapt between them. A reluctant executioner had struck his single and final blow.

The thing was blinded, as they had hoped. It meant that it no longer was following them, chasing them, attacking with purpose. It was still very much attacking though.

It also doesn't help all that the other Gembound playing out a melodrama around the angry mother.

Not much else this one can do, they think. It takes another moment before realizing that then they should be attempting to stay as far away from the Squallfang as possible. Thankfully, the delay doesn't get them in trouble this time, and Survivor safely darts away from the center of the chaos.

It found itself not sinking into the silt of the lakebed, but something hard and spiky yet... comforting? Soh-ling found itself instinctively curling up so it wouldn't fall off the edge of Vestyge's shell, claws hooking lightly onto the edge of it as it peeked over to examine him. It reminded Soh-ling of a crab, often considered one of the most Ideal forms. It decided, in this moment, that it Liked this creature (this is absolutely not a good thing.)

If Soh-ling knew that its disease- it's beautiful creation- had incited such a wonderful feeling as hunger in Vestyge, it would've felt pride and a desire to share that creation further. But all it really knew was that Vestyge was moving towards the sickened beast with violence purpose and absolutely the worst form it had ever seen.

It would slide off Vestyge's back in a manner that made it clear whether it had actually MEANT to dismount or simply fallen off. Either way it would shake itself off nonchalantly, as though it was waking up from a nap and NOT in the middle of a bloodbath. It would blink languidly before suddenly launching forward to sink it's teeth into the squallfang's throat. It would have to leap up to do this, and then hang there, awkwardly dangling, until the titanic beast finally succumbed.

@Vestyge

There is a great bout of confusion, fear, and call to action amidst the surrounding Gembound. It is unclear whether or not the train understands any of it. Just before the height of the commotion, someone approaches the train and attempts to communicate various expressions and phrases to it. All @Ryoto finds in response is a single large rune written across the side of the train that she is facing—a rune she likely will not understand.

Then, at commotion's peak, something large and brutal slams into the train full force, and the train struggles to reorient itself in the air. And in this case, 'struggles' directly translates to 'fails'. Besides the various sounds of regular impact, there is no groan or moan that one might expect from a person—or even a machine—who has taken on the full brunt of such an act of physics.

Likely dizzy, confused, and very possibly hurting, the train seems to switch to a different operation. It can best be described as: hide. Summoning the rich supply of moisture from its incredibly wet surroundings to its aid, the train coats the area around it in fog and dives straight into the thick of it. Somehow it manages to coat its full body in mist.

Flinging rocks was probably silly, but the owl-beast had little else she could do, right now. Maybe if her magic had been better-honed--if her pride had prompted her to train more--she'd have been better able to adapt. But right now?

...It was back to flinging rocks with her mind. She missed the fact that someone else had joined her in this, and not only that but was doing it better. She was half-blind and in the middle of a fight. No doubt she'd have been jealous as sin, though.

"UGH-" was the only vocalization she managed, wincing with the strain. She wasn't quite overusing her magic, yet, but it was starting to feel quite taxing--she hoped the rampaging, but distinctly slowing, monster below died sooner rather than later--and that there wasn't much left to tackle beyond it.

The Squallfang was hit in the side by Nebula. It staggered, though its massive size was certainly not knocked down by the young Gembound. (Being twenty feet tall would do that.) Still, it was an opening--one that Vestyge was first to exploit. The crushing teeth closed on its throat, and it roared weakly, trying and failing to shake him off.

The rock that impacted its eyes, and the other its skull, did stagger it to the ground: the Valkhound clinging to its throat, the impact to its side and the flung stones left it reeling. It hit the ground hard, and a moment later Richter's magic was dragging it down that dark road to death in a wholly different manner. Its heart slowed, the pulse that spilled blood over Vestyge's teeth coming with long gaps between until suddenly, it had stopped.

The Giant Squallfang slowly tipped, sliding onto the ground--where it remained, unmoving. Its one open eye began to glaze over, but if anyone followed its line of sight, it was fixed on its distant nest--and Yvan, who guarded it.

---

The Giant Squallfang is dead. All that remains is to loot the cave and nest; Gembounds may now roll to search for loot of their choice, in general terms (i.e. armor, weapons, etc.).

The eggs are being guarded by Yvan; attempts to take or destroy them should take into account his reactions.

---

The next post will take place on July 21st in the afternoon/evening GMT.

Titivilus should have any placeholder posts complete by next round.

@Nebula @Richter @Vestyge @Survivor @Triage @Yvan @Ryoto @Hrimfaxi @Titivilus @Soh-Ling @Hecate

They had done it!

He smiled widely, bouncing up and down for a moment, panting gently before he finally calmed down. He was just so proud of himself!

He shook out his fur for a moment before turning his attention to the loot, cocking his head to the side as he began to search. He already had his helmet that he adored, so what else could he find?

Vestyge often preferred to use his talons for the killing blow. It was cleaner that way, quicker. However, time was of the essence, and the excitement of the moment was getting to him. He had one shot. Better make it count.

His blunt teeth crunched against the Squallfang's throat, what was often reserved to the processing of solid foods repurposed on impulse, and to horrifying effect. All structure hidden within the meat began to give as the vice tightened, skin breaking and blood gushing, soaking into his mouth. Too fresh.

The deed was done. He pulled backward, blood and saliva dripping from his open mouth with no way to keep it in. Vestyge wasn't too bothered. He'd eaten on the way here...

But not really. it'd been a while since he'd had his Oil. Out of curiousity, he looked the corpse over for a gemstone. Not that he'd eat it if it did - too much activity. It wasn't the kind of thing he did in the middle of a crowd.

If he couldn't find a gemstone on the Squallfang itself, he'd settle for something in the treasure piles.

They, thankfully, are far away from the carnage. They watch from a distance as the Squallfang is attacked, how it slows and stops. How the poor mother looks forlornly at her eggs.

Survivor might have felt bad, if it wasn't a lesser. But it definitely understood the pain in its eyes, as the life drained away.

It turns away, deciding not to worry about that all. There might be more useful things to take, to ferret away and use in the name of the Hive. Idle hands are the Chaotic One's workshop, after all.