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06-07-2015, 11:07 PM
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--and then the bastard had even more shit somehow, I don’t even know where it came from—but suddenly he just decked himself out in some shitty tinfoil, I dunno, maybe he thought he looked hot in it or whatever—all I knew was that the sight of it pissed me off even more than it should have (well, okay, let’s be real; I was pissed off more at the fact that I had missed his ass than the fact that this dude had stacks on stacks on stacks of bullshit). Up above, you stopped pumping me up—your steady trickle of rage and encouragement dropped off suddenly when you saw the appearance of his armor. Oh shit, you were probably thinking, except not in real words, cuz you don’t know how to do that—but I felt the freeze in you (if only slightly) and you started wondering whether or not it was a good idea to go up against a gilded porcupine. Except I wasn’t even at that point anymore. I was pissed and he was pissed now for some reason too (oh yeah, I tried to electrifry his ass, huh) and he was moving towards me and I was moving towards him, too, to take another shot as his smug, snarling, spiky ass. The chance to pussyfoot around it was passed and it was time to go to blows (no, forreal this time). Like I said, he was coming for me—slowly at first, his feet careful on the slick ground that had already demonstrated its treacherous nature—but then he built some speed as he gained confidence, hooves dipping in the snow as he cantered for me. I broke for him, too; my own movements were just as slow, if not slower, cuz honestly I wasn’t really looking forward to busting my ass again, not to mention mid-fight— --except even at my most cautious I still got the short-end of the stick, cuz I guess I was still standing on a super slick spot—so even though I was doing my best to bound forward in a careful, deliberate trot, my legs still found a way to slip in ways I didn’t want them to, sliding here and there and in all sorts of ways underneath me, knotting up in a perfect little clusterfuck— --and he was still coming at me, wasn’t he? Faster and faster, his confidence building and apparently the ground he sailed on so much more groundier that the bullshit I was standing on— --and my feet were so convoluted that I couldn’t even escape his clutches if I wanted to— --so he crashed into me, and I braced for that impact, since it was an impact that I was growing way, way too accustomed to (my poor left shoulder)—and I figured that since it wasn’t the side I had originally landed on when I busted my ass earlier, it wouldn ‘t be too big of a hit. But I was wrong because it was a 1-2-POW of a killer combo—cuz he slammed into me, shoulder to shoulder, and that was a pain in itself that I expected—but when he slammed into me spikes appeared, fucking spikes lining his collar, teeth and teeth and teeth everywhere, this fool was dripping in them—and one stabbed into my skin, reaching into the flesh just above my wither—and I cried out from the pain of it, my voice screeching in shock at the appearance of this new weapon of his. I was so frazzled and distracted that I wasn’t prepared for him slamming his head towards my barrel and his horn slicing across my back, tearing so nicely into my skin and marking a lovely line of glistening red that began to spill almost immediately. He sailed by my left side, his charge carrying him passed my mutilated body, his spike ripping itself out of my flesh with twice the tenderness it had had going in. There was so much pain around me—my neck, my back, both shoulders throbbing—that, blinded by desperation, I reached for the magic in my blood again and I twisted my body (ow, ow, ow, a thick trickle of blood rolling down my shoulder blade)to the left, to follow his movement. Sparks showered from my horn, something base and instinctual gripping me instead of a calculated mindset that I associated with battlerage. I shot that wave of lightning at him, forgetting momentarily that it had been a failed tactic—I just wanted him gone at that point. The anger I had been feeling had started devolving into a panic, a blind fear at this guy and all his sharp what-the-fucks clamping down on me: wolf’s jaws on the ice. [W/C: 799 PC: 2/3] |
