"PIIIIIII!!"
The chain yanked.
The little bastard screamed and bucked, flames bursting from its hooves like explosive diarrhea made of sunfire.
Sykarra's arms nearly dislocated.
Her bare feets dug into the rock. Her chain glowed white-hot, vibrating with sacred backlash.
She grunted, hair stuck to her face, breasts bouncing with the effort of trying to drag what was basically a flaming tantrum incarnate up a death mountain by the neck.
This was supposed to be a quick snatch-and-sacrifice. One young Qilin, blood drained, tossed into a demonic altar to boost Czaar's strength to god-molesting levels.
But no.
This little fucker had a spine.
"Ugh..." Sykarra growled, biting down so hard her lip bled a thin red line. The chain held, but her patience didn't.
"Little bastard's fighting back harder than expected…"
"Sykarra."
Vaelzaar's voice came from behind, clipped and cool.
Sykarra didn't look back.
"I know, Spies!" she barked. "I feel it too."
