Marchosias rose from the wreckage, his movements fluid and deadly. He pulled his sword from the scabbard at his hip. It wasn't a flashy weapon. It was a one-handed longsword, plain and brutally functional, its blade a dark, unadorned steel. The only ornamentation was the pommel, which was carved into the shape of a snarling wolf's head, its amber eyes seeming to glow with a faint, internal light.
He pointed the sword at Skarg. "You," he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "You think this is a game?"
Skarg shook his massive head, his mane flying. He let out a bellowing roar that was pure defiance. The temperature in the room plummeted, frost forming on the shattered remains of the table, the air chilling to the bone. "I'll do it again!" the wendigo roared. "Just because you deny yourself doesn't mean we all have to!"
Marchosias howled and dove, his sword a silver blur aimed at Skarg's throat.
Skarg didn't flinch. He reached up, grabbed one of the prongs of his own massive antlers, and with a sickening crack, broke it off. The jagged piece of bone instantly frosted over, a hilt of pure, solid ice forming in his grip. He brought the antler-bone sword up just in time to block Marchosias's swing.
The clash of steel on demonic bone rang through the room like a death knell.
What followed was a storm of violence. Zac watched in absolute awe, rooted to the spot. The wind from their swings whipped his fleece ears around his head. The percussive thud of their blows vibrated in his chest. Marchosias was a master of precision and fury, his every strike aimed to kill. Skarg was a force of nature, his antler-sword a whirlwind of brutal, desperate defense.
'Oh, shit,' Zac thought, a string of drool forming at the corner of his mouth. 'Look how strong they are. They're both so good with a big sword in their hands. God, please let me sword-fight with Marchosias someday. I bet he's a great teacher. Very hands-on.'
His fantasy of Marchosias teaching him how to properly grip and unsheathe his greatsword was interrupted by a firm tug on the back of his onesie.
Bune, his face a mask of grim determination, yanked Zac backward, pulling him out of the line of fire and pressing him against the far wall.
It happened just in time.
Marchosias's blade locked with Skarg's. The silver fire of the Captain's power met the raw frost of the wendigo's. The result was a massive explosion of steam and ice shards that shot directly through the space where Zac had been standing.
Timon was not so lucky. The rodent demon, who had been scrambling to his feet, was caught full in the blast. Most of his left side simply vanished in an instant, erased by the superheated ice projectile. He collapsed in a heap, another casualty of the lieutenants' domestic disputes.
Zac stared at the spot where he'd been, then at the half-vanished Timon, then back at the dueling alphas. His heart wasn't pounding with fear, but with a terrifying, exhilarating thrill. This was the most awesome thing he had ever seen.
"You defied my order!" Marchosias roared, putting his full weight behind a two-handed overhand swing that drove Skarg to one knee.
"You said we couldn't defile his body!" Skarg yelled back, his muscles straining as he struggled to hold back the Captain's furious blow. "You said nothing about his dreams!"
"They're destroying the room!" Bune wailed, running frantically around the dueling behemoths. "And dinner is in only four and a half hours! Stop! Stop! Or hurry up! Not the new high-chair! That just came in! Noooo!" The butler waved all four of his arms, trying to herd the brawling hellions away from the more expensive furniture.
'Aww, fighting over me,' Zac thought, a giddy warmth spreading through his chest. 'This is so romantic.' He looked around the wreckage. 'Where did Nock put that handkerchief? Princesses give knights their favor before a duel, right? A snotty napkin is basically the same thing.'
Completely oblivious to the demonic death match still raging, Zac began looking for the lion. He spotted him huddled in a corner, hunched over the bisected remains of Pumbaa.
'Oh, he must be mourning his underling's death,' Zac thought, his heart melting. 'He's not just a vain poet; he has a soft, compassionate side.'
In the background, Marchosias and Skarg roared as they rolled across the floor, crashing through a serving cart.
Zac walked over to Nock and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. "He was a brave man, Nock. Are you okay?"
"Don't look at me," Nock said, his voice muffled and choked with emotion.
Zac felt all warm and fuzzy for the lion man. 'Oh, he can be compassionate, not just fuckable. This adds layers.' "There, there," Zac cooed, patting his shoulder. "You shouldn't feel too bad. Timon got blasted, too. They're probably being reconstructed together right now."
"I don't care about that!" Nock snapped, still not looking up. "Just… just give me a moment, Avatar."
Zac stepped back, frowning. 'Rude. I was being supportive.'
Another explosion of steaming ice rocked the room. "No more silver fire!" Bune's voice shrieked from across the hall. "That was a load-bearing wall! Just accept your punishment, Furfur! It will be less destructive!"
Zac sighed. The drama was really killing his romantic mood.
Nock finally stood. It took a minute, but at least Zac had the fight to watch. It was quite intense. Marchosias clearly had the upper hand, but Skarg was defending himself admirably. The caribou man had started to freeze everything around the Captain as they fought, coating the floor and walls in a spreading layer of rime. The wolf was reprimanded by Bune every time he tried to blast it away with his fire breath.
Nock turned, a dramatic swirl of gold silk, his mane flowing and bouncing as he faced Zac. The lion's muzzle was clean now, and Zac noticed a small, neat pile of bloody napkins sitting on the legs of the bisected Pumbaa.
"Now," the lion man said, fixing his robe and giving Zac a cheeky smile. "Where were we? You had found my special conditioner. Saved it from that bastard Andras's trickery and my own clumsiness. A true hero's act-"
Zac's leopard-print tail flapped in the sudden wind as Nock was unceremoniously sucked into the fight. He had strayed too close, and a backswing from Skarg's antler-sword caught him in the ribs, sending him stumbling directly into a spinning elbow from Marchosias.
"I will-oof-repay you for-argh-your kindness!" Nock yelled, before getting hit twice more and being flung bodily out of the superhuman beatdown, crashing into a pile of ruined chairs.
Marchosias finally overpowered the wendigo. He got behind Skarg, grabbing him by the antlers and yanking his head back, his sword at the caribou's throat.
"He is already broken and insane like the rest of you fucking demons," Marchosias growled, his voice a low, guttural snarl. "And you torture him? You give him nightmares for your own amusement?"
"Fuck you!" Skarg shouted, his legs scrambling for purchase, his arms reaching back helplessly for the wolf. "You just make the fucking rules up as you go because of how you feel! Huh?! Why don't you go flagellate yourself some more, you fucking pussy! Go get off, go feel in a way that your rules say is ok!"
"You little shit," Marchosias howled, pulling the antlers tighter. "I'll-"
"Just because you're scared of fucking doesn't mean he is!" Skarg bellowed, his voice raw and desperate. "Why don't we send you to the Holy City?! You've been a virgin sense the fall!"
The room went deadly silent.