That flame wall created a concealing barrier between them, Vhalla and her master sandwiched between the hellish duo even though that warehouse heated up from those blazing flames, angrily dancing around her intended targets. Vivid Red and fierce orange plumes decorate the very room, a hellish glowing hue across the bone white porcelain flesh of the vampire woman's features. Nothing more than a temporary annoyance, just how long would the witch be able to power such intense flames? Risque watches on with a vague disinterest and with an undertone of irritation at such foolish childish games that she hardly felt inclined to participate within. If they possessed a semblance of any sense of self-preservation they should have thrown themselves at her very mercy and simply hope for the best. Yet, Tetradore was already in position for that next assault upon his little witch as Risque called upon her own powers intended for Ivan, vaguely aware of the scramble between her pet and that witch. The vampire queen was met with a gratifying scent of blood seeping toward her, it was easy to distinguish it was the foreign bloodied scent of Vhalla, one that would be committed to memory, and she truly was never one to forget a scent.

Anger flits across Ivan's façade that would have been lovely to see, all of that delectable rage directed at her. Instead he chose to hide behind his bubble of faux safety and barricade of flames, which only served to deny the she-devil. Overkill? It was then that the woman struts forward, maintaining her distance enough from those roaring flames, just enough. She's searching for a weakness to expose but she only needed to unleash that torment that could slip through his feeble attempts to thwart her. She toys with him at first, those illusions dancing before him horrifically, a vision of what could be. His voice cuts through the flames, echoing through the backdrop. Clever woman? Those snide words seem to undermine her in every way that causes her lips to quirk into a displeased expression, barely visible. Silly little man, falling into what men like him do. Disappointing. This Ivan certainly brushing her like sandpaper against her very resolve, he truly had no idea whom he was toying with, or maybe he was simply just the fool. His words were meant to be cutting and all they did was serve to irritate her further. She was certain he was the kind of lowly vampire who enjoyed hearing those wasted hollow words. "You should see what else I can do, drop your shield.. Don't worry, little man, you might even enjoy it a little bit." That sickly saccharine voice so baits him, that hint of a french accent that once was peeking through.

One way or another his annoying little walls would come crashing down and there would be nothing stopping her from ripping him to ribbon. Did little bubble boy's shield work if she brought this building down upon him? She couldn't help but wonder. Maybe that silver whip could burn through it, that weakening metal surely to pack a punch... It would seem she had all the time in the world to wait him out and judging of the condition of his little attack mutt, he was running out of time.

Tetradore and Vhalla were already facing off for yet another assault, her feline's fear intermingling with that blood served as fuel to manipulate that situation in their favour. There was a commotion, the ominous sound of ice bouncing off a hard surface and shattering upon the ground like breaking glass. Risque's gaze slices to the witch who is now upon her knees, the scent of her blood toying with even over the smell of burning, she hardly liked the taste of witch, but perhaps today it hardly mattered. The blood of one's enemy tasting far sweeter than any other brew, maybe she would make her feline enjoy a morsel of the woman he seemed to possess an interest in. A new game to play on her chessboard of perversion.

Ivan then decided he had acquired some vague sense of authority to intervene on the assault of his own precious pet. Who was truly the pet? Perhaps it was Ivan considering how he seemed to possess that are over his charge. She was hardly aware that this game possessed rules that could be interjected when he saw fit, that he even deserved to control it! He truly was a jester amongst royalty. It was a pity, she was looking to outsource her dirty work but it would seem she had made a grave error in hiring him. He failed plain and simple. He strut toward his injured pet, Ivan's words oozed out toward Risque as if in challenge. How she would have enjoyed dismembering him, but it would seem he refused to face her. "If you wanted someone to play fair with you wouldn't have failed me." That sharp voice cut through the discombobulated warehouse. He was apparently so very concerned with her own broken bloodied form that he force fed his own blood down her throat like she were nothing more than a baby bird, it was amusing to watch. The witch had lost that battle, she deserved her fate. But he had betrayed himself in the process. He cared for her.. far too much than a vampire should over a mortal trinket even as he shoved his healed witch toward Tetradore to defeat again. It was all an illusion that he hardly cared, but if he didn't, truly, why heal her in the first place? Risque saw right through his brittle mask, just as she did Tetradore.

He heals her wounds, Risque watching him with a rather bored expression upon her face. It hardly made a difference, she would only be made an example of.. again. Such a waste of time, Risque almost began to pace, growing impatient with this foolish charade she had only wanted to be over. But she would make sure she got her money's worth in paid in full in pain and flesh she would expect interest. She toyed with that barbed silver whip within her hands, that handle held firmly as if ready to be wielded. Tetradore had made short work of the witch yet again, dragging her near unconscious body toward his master. She was not bleeding nearly enough to her liking, but that could be remedied quickly. She pressed her silver tipped heel against the witches throat, right in that perfect little impression upon her pristine little neck. She adds that pressure as if toying with robbing her from her very breath simply because it would have been pleasing to do so. She grasped her own affinity for torment once more, this time directing it toward the witch, sending a searing pain so strong through her that it could have felt like Tetradore's saliva but within her veins. It was meant to incapacitate the woman, so she remained that way. It was disappointing that that silver heel didn't burn her flesh, but it certainly was sharp enough that it could piece right through her throat if she decided to. How she would relish in that feel.

"You have a choice.. I feel generous, considering you have not only failed me.. but wasted my time." That commanding voice rippled through that warehouse, crackling with that potent power she so wields like an electric current.

"You will, join your witch at my feet and beg for my forgiveness, or I will sever your precious witches head from her shoulders. Surely your blood can't mend decapitation." Her whip uncoiled, that polished silver barbed weapon scraping ominously on the ground as if hungry for that flesh she rarely denied it. Her gaze lingers upon her obedient feline who had delivered.

"There is only one way this can go and its with you on your, bowing at my feet." There was not room for question in her words, she would expect nothing less.