The brutal, scorching demon fed upon the Pegasus’s fear, enjoyed the taste, the touch, the sizzle, the tension, the savagery of her terror, of her trembling motions, of her quavering, wavering movements. She was prey, flighty, confused, panicked, and he was predator, carnivore amore, wolfish, rapacious. Floundering, falling, speared and harpooned, she reminded him of a flailing mouse, dangling by a cat’s paw, jaws open wide for the vulturine swallow, carnivorous consumption and condemnation. He relished the sight of a quivering foe, of a foolish infidel lost to the folly of their poor planning, lamenting on their vacuous decisions. He savored the ruthless blend of weakness and imprudent whims, watched as dreams were torn asunder, as divinity and virtue were plucked from the seams of innocence. He reveled in the forlorn state of another, caught and brutalized, awaiting the death sentence that hung over their heads, the bleeding, fleeing, screaming cavalcade of witless foes. Now he wanted more; craved, yearned, desired her mouth to part in a dying, final outcry, for her soul to be crushed under the wake of his dominance, his might, his precision and prowess, for her carcass to wilt under the Siberian, callous touch of the Aurora Basin. The monster hungered for their destruction, for their demise to pour into the visage of ice and rime, for their last thoughts to be cemented, brutalized, fixating on their idiotic decisions, on why this land was supreme, on why the warnings of their treachery were real, perilous, on how their demands should have been answered. Africa had been led into her catacomb by a herd mate, and now she would sink into her unknown tomb, gesture wildly, fight for survival, be smothered, obliterated, annihilated by an idiotic fancy, a walk into the ferocious enigma. The mystery of their kingdom had unraveled before her, and the evidence was dangerous, daggered, detrimental and debauched.
On the hunt, on the prowl, he surveyed her limp-walk, her hindered steps, and nearly smirked at the loss of her abilities. He wondered if she had anything to make up for it, incantations to gather at the deprivation of her motions, if he should be ready for another calculating sentiment driven from the obscure creature. But it appeared as if she truly wished to leave the gathering – and he followed, drawn, beguiled and allured, to the need of bedlam, entropy and menace. She wasn’t allowed to waltz away from the error of her ways; they’d teach her a lesson in formalities, in trespassing, in pursuit and ruin. Deimos pursued her from the right hand side, driving his strides again to mangle his target, to scar his opponent, ignoring the wake of his companion nearby (he was assured by Alan’s experience; she’d take care of the other nuisance), aiming to maim, ruin and ravage. He forced his muscular bulk towards her right side, hoping to align his shoulder with hers, to obliterate and drive her slender frame back into the ground. Thereafter he plunged his forehand to the right, twisting his hind end, launching his rear hooves in pursuit of her right haunch.
[517 words.
3/4 posts + 0/1 defense. 0/1 magic used.
Watching Africa flounder, fall and become speared by his horn, Deimos doesn’t allow her to continue her escape. He follows after her, drawing his body to her right side, intending to force his muscular frame into hers. Soon after, he moves his forehand to the right and twists his hind end, and therefore rear hooves, towards her right haunch.]
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Come not within the measure of my wrath. [Sinuhe & Africa Challenge]
