Her teeth latch on through the dark grey leg of his trousers, and he screams as her mouth grabs his shin for a second go.
“You little snot!” he spits, losing his balance, shaking his leg as she clings, “If Flesh didn’t taste like horse glue you’d be an appetizer!”
“You... ate... one of us before? Barbarian,” Flesh Flamina mutters, taking a step toward him, and another, and another, trailing silks.
The Valeshard raises his head and cries out, his voice a growling screech in the silence of the hallways.
“Rawrrrrrrgh! I will not stand for this rubbish! Ice is not the only tool at my disposal! I am chaos! I am...muflgrphmph!”
Flesh Flamina’s hand is on his throat, silencing the outburst, her long, deft fingers a ring around his laryngeal prominence.
She squeezes, shifting her grip by dainty degrees.
He just snarls a smile.
Suddenly, the fluid slows in her feet. Her toes harden.
Like clay, her shins turn to rigid slabs, her skin becoming more gray nacre than turned Flesh.
She looks down; Flesh Susan is already gray and unmoving, lashed by two tiny arms to the Valeshard’s black-bloodied leg.
As her thighs gray and turn stiff, Flesh Flamina lets her wings unfurl from the white materia of her back and snakes her free arm around his head, snatching a fistful of his hair and pulling his scalp back with the force of her grasp.