kids sure like the devil these days [warrick/longclaw/any]

[Longclaw]

Of all the threats that have washed up on these sooty shores, Longclaw can’t seem to remember ever hating one so acutely. Something in the way Harmonia holds herself unnerves him, regardless of the venom she spits. It seems to him like a veneer - a soft shine of a thing meant to keep the hardy, ugly heartwood beneath hidden - and he begins to notice it because, similar to Harmonia’s, his own veneer had been in place for nearly his entire life.

Now though, after so much time cracking, the careful facade shatters.

Warrick’s harsh use of his name goes unheard, Wound’s gentle touch unfelt. Even Ajatar, the very reason for him being in this particular place and time, seems to fade from his view. He notices nothing but the bubbling, viscous overspill of the curse inside of him as it eats the final remnants of his humanity away and, my god it feels like a freeing thing.

As soon as the words, Ajatar? Go leave the golden mare’s mouth, Longclaw loses himself to the raw, untapped power within and bursts entirely into flame, uncautious of those gathered near to him. Hoof to head he’s alive inside of a writhing, pale blue inferno; sightless eyes staring with unflinching gravity at the poisonous female leech and the sweat sopping her furrowed brow. There’s no hesitation or warning when he attacks; barely a minute has passed since her decree and though Ajatar’s gift is working (the flames around his ankles flutter and seem weak) he still has the ability to release the burning death.

Heat as scorching and merciless as the surface of a sun explodes away from him and, twisting into a mad, cyclonic spiral, focuses the brunt of itself onto Harmonia. He can almost taste the sear of her living flesh on his own tongue, so delicious and hungry as he is for destruction and without much thought, Claw gives and gives some more - pouring out every ounce of wretched power inside of himself until it begins to sputter out of gas.

By this time, Ajatar is mostly responsible for the snuffing and not his stamina, as one would expect. The blue warg only opens his mouth and coughs, smattering bright, tainted blood across his parted lips and down his chin before the flame extinguishes altogether and he collapses heavily into the sand. A gurgling sound works free from his throat, painting the soft granules that cradle his head crimson, and true to her mother’s word Ajatar has done her job thoroughly.

Inside of his shimmering (once proud) chest, Longclaw’s heart ribbons itself to pieces, taking the spark of his shining life with it. He becomes nothing again - a corpse - half-eaten with the scaled mare’s black disease and soon food for carrion of the ocean. What has occured today is unthinkable; a misfortunate twist of fate that happened to be his undoing but Longclaw dies how he lived and for that, perhaps he deserved such a death as this.

One stallion who gave his best to King and country, and everything else to a woman he now waited for on the other side.

@[Warrick] @[Harmonia] He gave burning up Harmonia his best shot with everything he had