the devil's got stripes

Here he becomes the predator of a new age, he is powerful and equipped with the necessary items needed to launch his body a fair distance in a short time. His hindquarters bunch together, muscle contracting as he watches her flee. What little the beast expects, to see a storm thrumming towards him with power and pain wrapped within its wicked winds. He will not bow to these winds, he will not let them take him as a fool or a coward, but he will not let them take him apart with their dark magic. His body spins, pushing forward as he avoids the attack of the tornado, feeling sharp pains against his hip as cuts from invisible blades tear through his flesh and expose his tissue to the world. 

A deep snarl bolts from his dark lips, an expression of raw anger and vengeance sprawled across the hardened features, eyes watching as he passes the storms range and watches it diminish. Reduced to nothing, a loud laugh bursts from his lips as he sprints after the strawberry mongrel, not willing to give her up yet. The carved earth and uneven terrain heeds no obstacle for him, his leaps and bounds bringing the girl into his range with terrifying agility, swift as he trails at her rear. 

He takes his chance, eyes widened with primal instinct as he launches himself forward like the predator he is. His muscles bunch and spring, letting him burst forward to the cream's side (he prayed the right). She has retracted the armour, which gives him a chance to take it from her, body on a course to slamming into hers as he reaches his neck forward and tries to clamp his teeth over the laurel that crowns her. He pulls back with savage strength, not caring if flesh or golden tresses cling to the silver ornament. He would let it fall from his lips, discarded and left to whatever found it interesting, perhaps a greedy raven or unknowing equine. 

His gaping jaws rocket towards her throat, threatening a death grip upon the flesh the ivory can grasp at. He does not pity the damage he has done, and he will ignore the pain flowering along his right leg in favour of crushing the weak beneath his feet. These aggressive, snapping jaws are hungry and needy for the soft flesh of an impure woman. The tongue will seek the blood, the teeth will take apart the tissue, and the throat will take it all once the last savory seconds have been wasted. 

He strikes back, right hind bursting out to find a limb to strike down, to break and bend unwilling. He wants to bring her down, where she was easier prey, to tear her down and ruin her emotional stability.  He would take down what walls she had been building, all this work to keep herself comfortable and happy. He was the unpleasant cold water leaking in through the ceiling, drip drip drip that drives you insane as the months tick by, tick tock tick tock. Until you can't take it anymore and you beg on your hands and knees before the feet of death, pleading for its sweet embrace and this release of crushing insanity. But it will never come, because he is death, he is that itch in the back of your head, the quiet darkness that brings false safety with passing days until it unravels and you fall back into despair. He is merciless and cruel, your feelings mean little to his power driven ambitions.  
"growl grumble roar"