All the beast had time to do was curl its elongated arms defensively around head and chest in face of the hastened onslaught, growling as sparks flew from crystal skin. The beast wasn't entirely without a concept of preservation; it was mindless, but not completely stupid. Ragnarok was a weapon, a walking purpose, and it would not permit threats to that single-minded purpose. But self-preservation? Cie'th didn't truly live. There was nothing of self to preserve.

It ducked further and dove forward into the strikes into an attempt to get within Gil's range. Then Ragnarok surged up, whipping its tail skyward to try and launch the Yahri away from it. The spirit was persistent, so endlessly, infuriatingly persistent.