He doesn’t recognize Sabra’s scream, not immediately. She has never uttered such a rattling noise or exhibited a sense of weakness.

So, no, he doesn’t connect everything right away, but his curiosity is piqued.

The skirmish and unsettled dirt funnels Castile’s attention, ripping his eyes away from all else. In the distance, he first sees Sabra with her opalescent skin catching the summer light, but there is more – so much more. Seeing the blur of violet pressing to her is enough to elicit a deep rage that escalates faster and more powerfully than ever before. Everything is happening so fast and yet so slow at the same time; he feels powerless even as his body rips, tears, and grows. The grass and rocks fall away in quick succession as his body seamlessly whirs from shifting into flight. There are gaping wounds left behind as he launches himself in the air, the groan of Mother Nature falling on deaf ears.

Then the smell of blood reaches him.

Whose is it?

The immense roar that thunders from his throat blares across Nerine, an announcement for the wakening of a great and terrible monster.

Instincts propel him into a frenzy, the coppery smell of blood pouring across his tongue; he can practically taste it. The hunger that blossoms is insatiable and primal. It accelerates the beat of his wings as he streamlines across the sky until the skirmish is seen just below. With a swift tip, Castile descends with another vehement roar, flames exploding past his muzzle that he soars through to land near them all.

Then, he sees her again.

Sabra is there, but her body lies in a pool of blood, listless with hollow eyes.

In that moment, Castile’s heart both weeps and screams. An unimaginable ferocity poisons him, suppressing his righteousness and better thinking. Everything is painted in scarlet red except for the violet stallion and Leilan. They stand out in stark contrast with targets on them. For a fleeting moment, Castile notices Sabra’s blood painfully dripping from Klaudius’ speared helmet, but then it freezes beneath Leilan’s breath. The peculiar iron armor masking the murderer’s face shatters easily enough with a mortal’s kick. Honing in, Castile lunges forward, jostling Leilan aside and snapping onto Klaudius’ leg to drag him closer. His jagged teeth sink in, tasting the victim’s blood and not caring whether the bones shatter underneath the pressure of his jaws. A low growl trembles through him and into his prey, Castile’s grip on himself loosening with each passing second. They could all see it; his eyes are predatory and starving, lacking the warmth that usually frequents his expression.

His lip curls in a snarl while his slit pupils jump back and forth to digest the sight of his lover’s killer (and rapist). He pauses. It lasts long enough that would make his intentions seem questionable, but then another growl escapes him. Another quick lunge, biting at Klaudius’ neck, but only to draw blood and not kill.

He must die
(Let him suffer)

Castile had almost forgotten the voice in the back of his mind, the monster that he had always feared. It has been years since it has chilled his bones and blocked out his thoughts. He thought he destroyed it, but here it again rising as Castile’s own judgment slips and falls deeper into the abysmal darkness.

(He must suffer)

Craning his head upward, Castile regards Klaudius bitterly. A titanic claw lifts then slowly, agonizingly, drags a nail down his torso to split his skin. Blood pools then seeps sideways. Castile presses deeper with a maniacal stare, his talon diving deeper to puncture organs before withdrawing to watch the stallion writhe and groan.

And then there is fire.

The chasm of his mouth brightens to a swirling storm of red, yellow, and orange. As tempting as it is to douse his prey in flames, it would be far too quick.

(That would take away the fun)

When the inferno does slip past his lips, it’s deliberately a slow and steady stream. He wants to hear Klaudius scream and beg for mercy. He wants to smell the flesh and hair burning. He wants there to be excruciating pain.

(Where is your Queen now?)

Those had been the final words Castile heard over the frenzy before he arrived, shouted at his precious Sabra as she crumpled into the puddle of her own life and memories, broken by this fool. Castile almost repeats them in mockery, but he can’t bring himself to stop burning the stallion, charring his corpse and draining the very life from him.

(Die… die… DIE)

The seconds leak into dragging minutes until Castile lumbers backward with his wings outstretched. Lying at his feet is Klaudius, blackened but still visibly cut open and maimed, destroyed by those he hurt and sickened. Dead, finally dead.

A deafening cry blares from him one last time in victory, but then he looks over to Sabra’s corpse. For the first time since his body shifted, Castile’s true thought surfaces and reaches the forefront of his mind. With heavy footsteps that tremble the earth, he inches toward his opalescent love and delicately curls her into his claws. A final growl punctuates his departure as he carries Sabra away. Whether it is to mourn or feed or seek help, no one knows as he leaves them in a thick cloud of dust and destruction.