Yarikh vs Basilia
Perhaps deep down the man knew that he had lost, but Yarikh was not the kind to back down--not until the fates forced him to do so. However, despite his efforts to kick the woman off his foreleg, he felt her jaws dig in with more and more pressure until...snap.
No words. No yelps. Just a single deep bellow of pain left his lungs as he relinquished his grip on her side and collapsed onto his front left, where he lay for a moment in an attempt to ride out the initial agony. A hissing growl, a wince as he rolled his head over on the ground. It had been made blatantly clear that he was rusty in his skills, but now there was a question of whether or not he would be able to brush up on those skills...or if his performance would be permanently hindered from now on.
No. A broken limb was nothing. At least he was still whole. With a grunt the brute forced himself back up, balancing himself on his three good limbs before hobbling his way out of the ring, leaving in his wake a thin trail of the same red that coated his paw. Was he any good to Hannibal, now? he wondered. There was only one way to know. He needed to finish his mission and find him, now that he had had his fun.
"speech"