Killing had been apart of Tetradore's life for as long as he could remember. He didn't fight on battle fields with waving banners, bugling horns and tight formations. Such an art of warfare was lost upon the ebony panther. Instead, he had been taught a much crueler method. He was one of those street fighters. The kind who preyed upon the innocent and weak. The kind that took down war lords with their flashing guns and determined henchmen. He was sent in to assassinate, to destroy, to strike fear. There was no glory in what Tetradore did and just as so there was a cold kind of apathy that came with such ruthlessness - the kind that liked to do the job quick and easy. His large ebony paws had propelled him forward with every intention to maul the were that had brought back such an injured wolf. For some, missing their target might turn them into a blinding rage but Tetradore only landed lightly on his feet, his fangs flashing in the dying light as he pivoted, facing his target once again. Tetradore was unaffected by the anger that laced his opponents words, answered only by the softest of growls. His mind was busy calculating, watching, waiting for the next chance to strike.

His emerald eyes flickered ever so slightly as the familiar smelling beast reached out to take a bit of metal within his hand and yet, Tetradore hardly seemed perturbed within the least. Metal was ineffective if he was attentive enough. His saliva could cut through it, his poison could corrode it into nothingness and yet, the ebony panther hardly bothered to call upon his power. It was far better to keep the element of surprise held close to his chest. He had considered, briefly, calling upon his ability to craft fear but he suspected such would not be the most beneficial tool in his arsenal. His ears twitched ever so slightly at the sound of the man's voice and yet there was not a rise within his cold soul. The truth of the matter was simple - Tetradore didn't care enough to be particularly phased by the possibility of Raven's death. To him, his standing as alpha, his standing at the head of the Ark and thus this singular fight was vastly more important then that of the possibly dying lupine.

It was true that she meant something to his spotted friend, just as he knew how upset Tobias would be when she took her last breath, and yet, at that moment, Tetradore simply didn't care. For a decade and a half, he had lived under the belief that his family was dead. Tobias had already defied him once. Nadya was already on the fringe of leaving him. Tobias might never forgive him but Tetradore already knew he would be able to survive when they left him again. The male hardly faltered, instead stepping into the shadow cast by the boat. The darkness engulfed his already dark figure, his green eyes seeming to glow, willing the man's attention to remain steadfast upon his current location and then...like a ghost...the figure of the panther faded into the umbrage.

His figure reappeared only seconds later behind the young man, his claws already outstretched. Tetradore was purposefully leaving his mouth open, even though he knew just as well that his bite was far stronger then the sharpness of his claws. He was ready for that crowbar, his emerald eyes intent on it as his large paw reached out to strike, aiming to rip through fabric and skin. The calf was his goal - after all, a lame creature was hardly able to escape his grasp. The equine creature wanted war upon his own turf and unfortunately for him, Tetradore was more then willing to play. He would not back down - not until his own life was taken. He would not sway - not until he had pushed this intruder from the borders that he had claimed as his own. The poor, naive pony had little idea of exactly what he had gotten himself into.