*"HEY WORLD. COME AND GET ME."*.

Okay, sure.

But first—I set you down a little ways away, letting forcing you to scuttle from my head and down my nose and off of my face because shit was about to go down. But it was a better kind of shit then what had happened before--and as you looked at me with your wide-open, sunlit little face, I gazed at you and knew I was about to teach you some hardcore stuff.

“Some lil’ bitch is ‘bout to get got,” I whispered lovingly towards you as you scurried near the crook of some branches for better grip and footing, “Just watch a little bit, ‘kay? I’ll come back for you.”

And in my head I could feel you beaming at me, excited for my own excitement, because you could feel it rising in me, the need, the desire to fuck some shit up--to fuck someone up building and becoming unbearable and itching in all the wrong places and here was someone asking for the first punch. Too perfect.

So what if there was blood somewhere, and the heat of battle, and I had no clue about it? Just as well. This itch wasn’t for glory; it was for bruises.

Leaving you there in the tree (which was harder than I imagined, damn), I approached the glass-topped thingy again, struck by the coincidence that this was where you were actually born. Huh. Don’t know how I missed that, coming here. Maybe I had just wandered here subconsciously, or maybe you were steering me there without my knowledge, in the back of my mind—

--the fuck am I talking about? There’s a fight brewing and I’m sitting here waxing eloquent on bullshit. Yikes, I’m out of practice.

It turned out to be some kid who had belted the call, some chump that stood out like a svelte grey shadow in the grassland. I didn’t bother saying hi or even giving a warning or any of that nonsense, because he was asking the world for a fight and it was bringing it. I snorted and the air in front of my face burned and buzzed and crackled with an intensity that caught your interest super hard for some reason—I dunno, I was trying to start a fight, I wasn’t thinking about much—and from the tip of my horn shot a thick stream of searing, buzzing lightning that broke the air around me, causing it to burst with a CRACK! as it snaked its way toward the boy-thing. As soon as the last of it left my horn, I bolted for the bro, because ranged fighting is for pussies and I ain’t built for that noise.

Square up, bud, I’m comin’ for that ass.




[WC:460
PC: 1/3]




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