The creature swung its head to look at him - just as Nevin launched himself into the air, boosted by the increase in strength from his crimson threads. His hands lashed out, the whips anchored to them and his arms snaking around the bullish throat as he shot through the air. There was a strangely wet crack as Nevin hit the end of the length of his whips, the crimson coils snapping tight as they tightened around the throat.
The blood mage swung around in an arc, anchored to the ophiotaurus by its neck. His feet drove into its shoulders, the force of the impact breaking its skin. As he stood there, planted on the creature’s back, he hauled back on his whips, drawing them tighter and tighter around the bull’s throat. As it began to choke, it started trying to buck powerfully, the fear of death overcoming the bursts of pain from Stare’s assault.
But it was too much - Stare kept it from moving too much, and what it could do just was not enough to dislodge the man on its back, slowly strangling the life from it. Large meaty fingers scrabble at the red cords around its neck, trying to pry them free - but that just ended up with it wasting breath as its fingers lost the edge of their skin and flesh.
With a soundless bellow, its arms reached out in supplication to something - to anything. But no help came. The last of its strength was spent, and it collapsed to the ground, the earth shaking as the enormous creature fell. Silence fell over the clearing, but Nevin kept up his strangling hold for a full minute and more - ensuring that this creature was dead. Then he turned his gaze to Stare, an inscrutable expression in his eyes.
Madness was in her eyes also, born of a creature who had been six months in the Hollow making. Ever since she had come from that place, reborn as Stare and not Avis a fury had overtaken her, and a lust for death. Vitruvion's first gift, one might say, before her powers and before the cuff and before …
All the myriad of intense feelings pumped still through her body. Right now she was concentrating on anguish (memory: being beaten after her attempt to escape the Hollow did well) to build a series of concentrated skin abrasions. The necrosis still ate into the ophiotaurus’ flesh, digging down like tiny maggots, eating at what it could get. Chest heaving she gazed at Nevin, her beat open in panting, her tail feathers, short as they were, shivering with excitement of the blood sport.
Her eyes grinned, and she stood to share in his joy. The ophiotaurus was still alive, but barely, and her final task would end it.
With a look away from Nevin she bent back down and lashed out with her gauntlet at the belly. A single long gash appeared, though shallow and she laid a second perpendicular to it. Then taken knife in hand she dug carefully deeper, the blood and flesh oozing out. She paused when she got to the beginning of the sign of the guts of the ophiotaurus.
