[@Griffintaur]

[i]Though the Magna Pater was agile enough to have skirted off the wing, it didn't. There were a multitude of reasons why, foremost among them being that it wanted to be as close as possible to its opponent with minimal risk. For at least a moment Tharra's body would be within even easier reach than before as he fell with his full weight upon the monster, and his impressive wingspan covered most of the creature's torso, leaving even fewer places to attack. Tharra clearly didn't want the Magna Pater to escape, but the knife was keen on either side. As he fell, that retching laughter far below the range of human hearing belted out from its gaping maw at full volume, hitching only for a moment on impact before resuming. A siren's sound from the pit, a ghoulish, quavering howl that could rattle tooth fillings and rupture blood vessels in the eyes and brain. No mere man could fully confirm this sound, save by the pain it inflicted, but with Tharra's powerful hearing it'd be much starker in definition, and all the worse for it. Even then, it could at best only be associated with pictures, images of creaking doors, of the mingling dying screams of animals and men in their last, agonized throes. Evil isn't like a shadow being cast, it isn't the negative of a photo or the reverse of a magnet. The shadow emanates from what blocks the sun, and what blocks the sun may be wholly solid, with its own variable substance. The substance of this noise was pure in its capering, hysterical malice. Tharra most likely was much too tough to simply die or pass out, and as for the deeper aspects of what he faced, he was well on the right path. A stern constitution and a simple will can take one leagues past that dark meridian where most sink when subjected to the petty tricks of an old horror. No matter how nasty something is, it can't properly scare a rock. Having a mind as steady and hard as a weather-beaten stone can undoubtedly enable one to push through most psychological attacks. Ascertaining this from how Tharra had fearlessly embraced combat with it, the Magna Pater's strategy was instead primarily meant to disorientate and confuse Tharra during that fall, so that he'd still be unable to detect how his foe had taken the impact.

The damage done to his eyes depended on how well Tharra's nictating membranes could absorb the sound. If they were only comparable to a second set of eyelids, then the pitch black would be replaced with vivid red sparks of pain and heat as his capillaries began bursting at the seams. The only reprieve would be that fractional judder as his body rammed the monster's against the ground, granting his singing ears a chance to receive his first and last hint at the demon's plan. Any other beast wouldn't have had a dog shit's chance in Hell's Kitchen to understand and react to that faint tenth-of-a-second whistle, that stream of hot mercury chopping through the air, but Tharra's reaction speed probably exceeded even the monster's. The Magna Pater had attempted to maneuver its slick tail between Tharra's forelegs without making unnecessary contact, so that at the right time it could whip the appendage upwards and plunge its narrowed tail fluke into Griffintaur's mouth with deft precision, seeking to fracture his beak and smash his teeth out. Even if it couldn't force its way into his mouth, the resulting smack could just as easily slop a heavy layer of mucous onto Tharra's face, drenching his eyes and mouthparts, flooding his nostrils, suffocating him with dense mucous that'd be impossible to remove unless Tharra was willing to tear his face off with it. To maintain accuracy, the Magna Pater had needed its senses back, hence having released the Malocchio which had been meant to keep Tharra from noticing where its lethal limbs were.

In short, as Tharra fell the Magna Pater released the Malocchio and started up with its ear and eye raping cries to disguise the location of its tail and the subsequent attack, which occurred right after the monster had been pinned onto its back. Still, that was only the tail. It still had two arms disengaged, held up over its head in anticipation of its opponent's next move.

Tharra had a few surprises in store for the Magna Pater, though. The first one was soon apparent. The monster's first (and typically accurate) instinct was to begin chomping into whatever meat was closest. As such would begin trying to maul the wing it was pinned under right after the tail lash resolved, yet if it were able to begin, it'd find that something was off. The feathers, though seemingly downy and tender, were unexpectedly resilient when put to the sword, so to speak. The Magna Pater could chew through military grade body armor, but even then this was no easy meal. It was like trying to dig into a layer of riveted Japanese plate armor, the overlapping feathers simulating pleated samurai faulds. Whether or not the Magna Pater could soon force the feathers to buckle depending on how well their steely consistency could put up with the monster's bite force, the effective weight of a heavy duty pickup truck compacted into the stropped points of its bared, black teeth. This bit of info would tell the monster that its opponent was more or less built like a tank, and its flaring papulae told it that its opponent was only getting stronger. 

This was to cause no end of woe to the Magna Pater, or at least as close a simulation to woe as such a distant horror could feel. It meant that this opponent could not be toyed with or tortured, lest the Magna Pater soon be overwhelmed. It preferred large and by far to take its time, but it was being rushed, being forced to strain itself. No, woe was not as accurate a term as could be ascribed to how the monster felt. It was more like hate. It hated this cat-bird very much.[/i]