Oh, the pain was sweet. If he were human he'd be dead, so very dead - the blood flooded his throat as it flowed, his body already hissing with magic to heal his shoulder. The laugh became a wet gurgle, but it echoed in the radio nearby, catching his broadcast.

He won. He won. And he'll keep winning, because he knows, he knows that the king is far too lonesome to kill him, even in a fit of rage. With that confidence, that amusement, that certainty, the serpent's bite filled his veins with a sweet poison that made his heart hammer. "Cher..." his voice echoed from the radio. What was he going to say? He doesn't remember. Every inch of him is on fire in such a pleasant way.