"Your life," she screamed, "Ends ... NOW!"

And as she ran she let her wilder side take over. Simply for effect her body began to morph and transform. Muscles rolled, the main bulk of her form grew larger, heftier, larger. Nearly six inches did she grow in height, with her face steadily enlonging to form that of a natural goats. Still, she ran on two hooves, two legs, charging at her quarry head on and letting out the angriest, most hateful bleat. Fury was her friend in this time, rage her ally, and she haphazardly, with little thought, threw herself right at the dragon's head - all the while her body began to grow with more thick, lucious chestnut fur, so she ended with a mane running all the way down her back.

Twisting his head to her, the dragon slowly grinning his half-fleshy face. A grusome smile that was partly empty jaw and a scarred eye jeered at her. Steadily the maw opened, a long breath being taken in as the three-quarters goat bleated out a savage, faunish war cry ... but she was faster. As the fire began to spit out - first sparks, and then a heavy tongue of green, sickly flame - Philomel pounded a hoof on the ground. Then she flew, high and brave into the air above the fire at the same time as a rabbit spirit ...

Was thrown. Philomel raised her brows, but shook herself out of the confusion as she assailed down. Right down to the dragons neck, nestled between his crooked horns and spines. Once there she began to harshly batter away at his skin, her eyes roaming madly at trying to find a weaker spot. For zombies had exposed flesh, and thus a weakness. The dragon let out a moan and twisted in various forms, moving an arm to try to batter her away - as if ridding himself of an irritating pest. Great claws attacked her from the air, and then he huffed, and threw up his head to try to dislodge her. The faun, however, was ready, and had a firm grip. As she felt the beginnings of the first toss that he did, she growled and plunged down with her white bladed sword as hard as she could. It jarred through scale, then flesh a couple of inches - but it was enough.

Enough to endure the trembling and protesting throwbacks of the dragon's head that enshewed.

Meanwhile Veridian stood there, looking confused. He tilted his head to the side as he watched Ri toss the rabbit spirit right into the air. Ayami was hurled, like a shotput, right over the entirety of the monster's form, towards the back leg. It took him a while to understand it, before he realised Rianna had mistunderstood his suggested term, "flank," for the physical part of the beast, rather than the verbal action, "to flank."

After a pause, he grunted a piece of laughter, and jumped over the green flames coming his way. Wriggling his tail he paused before launching himself at full run around the other side of the dragon, heading to the opposite side that Ayami was. As he flew like the wind his body began to morph, much like his beloved's. Paw-step, paw-step and he began to grow, quintupling in size rapidly until a full five metre fox pace there, from nose to tail. Letting out a roar of challenge he let his body burst into flame, so his coat became a rippling whirlwind of fire and embers. Whistling through the air he let Philomel be a distraction, racing to the other flank (physical) of the beast of beasts, his paws scraping on golden coins for the first time.

And then he lunged, jaws agape. Straight for the dragon's awkwardly outstretched limb. Flanking the flanks.