His undisguised amusement only incensed her further, and she took a step towards his throne, fists clenched in silent warning. The look of cold hatred in her eyes spoke more than words ever could, but even then, she didn't dare challenge him again. Not yet, anyway. Fury could only take one so far, and after weeks of being left to rot, the tiefling was almost dead on her feet. Every square inch of her body either ached with pain or burned with infection from her unattended wounds, made all the worse by a long durance in a wet, grimy dungeon.<br/><br/>Even then, she refused to let him see just how exhausted she really was. All he would get was defiant hostility, a cornered beast facing its demise with nothing less than bared fangs and bristling hackles.<br/><br/>Her eyes narrowed in suspicion as he mused about the unfortunate angel, whose usefulness had evidently run out. She didn't dignify his purrs with a response, but when she realized what he meant for her to do, dread settled cold and heavy in her guts.<br/><br/>She could only watch, wordless, as the poor forsaken soul was dragged into the throne room and thrown before the usurper-god. He rose from his seat to unsheathe his blade, and at the sudden voice cutting through her mind, Aryel's thorny demeanor was briefly broken by a grimace. For a few moments, she was confused as to its source, but realized quickly that it had come from the enchanted weapons he had so proudly displayed earlier. Evidently, the souls of those dragons were still within the blade and sheathe--seemed like a piss-poor life to her, but then again, she wasn't a dragon.<br/><br/>The voice--which one it belonged to, she wasn't sure--didn't seem enthusiastic about Dradiro's plan, but he was undeterred. She couldn't help but grin slightly as the angel cursed him to the end, a subtle nod of approval given to the defiant celestial. Maybe it was just the last act of a man who knew his death was at hand, but it was better than cowering and begging for mercy.<br/><br/>That grin vanished as the souba was offered to her, and she turned her attention back to Dradiro. Silent, she took it in her hand, holding it up to watch the light glint off the blade.<br/><br/>She knew full well what a bad decision she was about to make, but killing an unarmed, broken soul in cold blood went against every fiber of her being.<br/><br/>"No." she said simply, the word punctuated by a loud clattering as the sword was tossed to the floor to lie at his feet. "He may not be one of mine, but I'm no executioner." She stepped back, towards Gabiriel, and extended her still-intact wing out to hover between him and the vampire like a feathery shield. "If you want to kill someone in cold blood, get your walking corpses to do it," She briefly glanced over her shoulder to look at the six guards. "Assuming they aren't tired of you killing their comrades on a whim."