The sheer viciousness of the combat was what the aptly named "Red" reveled in; the scent of the blood of men and monsters clung in the air, it drove him to wild, bestial frenzy. Like a stoked flame, his wrath burned brighter as each blow Zargon had landed upon his hide wept small streaks of crimson. The demon, not favored by fortune and victim of his own arrogance, had not left the fight so easily as he had desired - oh no, he had wounds to lick... ones that were not bound to heal as the others with anything but time. Injuries to one's soul, what makes them [i]them[/i] were no minor things, and angels and demons alike wore them as suit of fleshy armor, both at once indestructible to the works of men but vulnerable to something more sublime.

The vengeance and battlelust grew to pitch as the coward Zargon pulled himself away from this world in a concussive wave that shunted them all aside and as a darkness set in upon the battlefield; "living" darkness, no less. One, unknowingly assumed itself upon the seemingly vulnerable attacker, but as soon as it embraced the energy made real that was her form, she vanished without trace beyond a fine, faint mist that varied between clear spring and blue sea.

She was, just as many things, not as it appeared.

Instead it found itself under the tide of rage that was a beast of a man bestowed with the gift of its shape, too. Thrown across the cracked stone that was all that remained of Zargon's place among the body strewn street, that pool of vast fury destined for a demon unleashed itself upon the shadow which buckled as the air caught with a bright azure light. That killing blow "The Red" so prepared to level upon his diabolical foe reaped a lesser one as fangs struck with supernatural clarity and power. But the brief clap of discharged energy and the smell of ozone proved not to be a distraction to "The Red", who hungered wildly for bloody justice; still burning bright.

Whipping about, his golden eyes and blood stained fur bristled and his tongue rolled in heavy panting, he leveled upon feeling the throes of the hatred subside. Instinct no more in control he transitioned into the form of a man once more, shaking himself off briefly; the dynamics of the battle at hand had changed, and now free of his bestial wrath, so too had his.

Drawing a deep breath to steady himself, his arms then hands presented a gesture, almost as if striking at a distance; what transpired was not some form of concentrated magical strike, but a boon of restoration. Soaked and bloodied as he was, not terribly worse for wear, the other combatants now had foes of the own to confront - worse yet, even heroic men grew tired. It was for these reasons "The Red" bestowed upon them a gift of his [i]Incarnum[/i], healing body and spirit at the same time. Whereas the impact of the deed was pronounced upon beasts, men, even tame men, still held somewhere within them their long lost wild ties.

The amplified regeneration that now filled flesh, resolve and soul in Ionathan and Ioannes, the savage was as quickly as he began, off once more, vanishing between the rubble in moments in an ebon pantherine fomr.

Whatever demonic prey he set himself to now, he was determined to gain the ambush...

[@Jon Y][@The Fated Fallen][@IcePezz][@ArenaSnow][@Letter Bee]