Ragnarok did not relent--it was not capable of relenting. It leapt, but not at Gil; the creature bounded to another tree trunk with a four-legged leap before bounding to another, and another, rushing at the Yahri from erratic angles, looking for an opportunity to dash at the spirit. The tendrils hurt, but the pain merely fed its fury. There was a great source of pain.

Gilgamesh harmed. Gilgamesh laughed. Gilgamesh lived. That was enough for the seething hatred, that wordless, thoughtless need to annihilate. Ragnarok moved without any fear of sword or mortal consequences, and if permitted to get close, would collide with his chest or back and do its utmost best to smash Gil's head in, repeatedly.