The sound of the beast's throaty, rolling breath filled the startling calm as surely did other labored pants. All of them in some fashion or another had been in dire circumstance, their lives on the blade's edge, and for a moment the stillness of life - perhaps the realization of it and that victory had somehow been attained, snatched thrice over from the jaws of defeat - settled in. However, such a pause was not long lived as the tremendous, broad, furred digits that were barely restrained against the armor of the hand tightened harder still along the handle of the sword they were already draped around. The soft crack of each knuckle preceded the the shift of armor as both powerful limbs, both arms truly, lifted the sword up and with a wrathful, vengeful snarl, the blade struck at the fallen blue dragon's neck. It mattered not if the blow was enough to decapitate the other monster's tremendous head but the blow was one of surety.

Something still burned in the heart, some ethereal flame that kept this other aspect him of alive and well so that it did not again shirk away to lick its wounds. If anything the golden, killing eyes were still alight with intensity, and the wounds sustained even if largely healed still funneled the supernatural furor into them. It was not enough to kill Cyanwrath or even his lackies, let alone his lesser underlings, the champion of the ferine wanted to fell them all; a frenzy of urges that made the pale, blood-stained pelt twitch even yet. There was no hope of kindling the light of the soul if there were still adversaries ever eager to plunge life into darkness, those same who would leave the land and its people barren of what belonged to them. Growling louder still, lips quivering, the hunter snorted loudly and looked up to the rest of its company.

If it could speak, it certainly did not; how much of the man remained was unclear through this channeling but some amount of the harsh expression softened as did the heaving exhalations once mutual glances were exchanged. None of these things lasted long as the looming body turned away, withdrawing the sword from its sickening place of rest despite not once having left either palm. Brannor, rather the version all too similar to Torus in the moment, went quite outside the hungering, animal breaths that passed over and between the rows of pearled fangs...

[@Hekazu][@Ryonara][@Zverda][@Lucius Cypher][@Norschtalen]