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03-18-2017, 06:06 PM
Failure was imminent; he was quickly overwhelmed, rushed at, disassembled, maimed by this group of hellions – predator becoming prey – and no matter how much he tried to deny it, no matter how hard he pushed against the shadows crossing over his eyes, the pain burdening his skin, his flesh, his bones, he was faltering, stumbling, dying. His swan song throngs, bellows, and roars were only so the world knew he didn’t go down and out without fighting back – his claws were bloody, his maw was tarnished, and his mind was muddled, and though the end was coming swiftly on horns, swords, and brutality, he’d tried, and that had to count for something.
The first of many final blows landed squarely in his chest, a deep, penetrating thrust of the blue one’s sword, burning him from the inside out, and even as he attempted to sweep aside the beast he knew it wouldn’t be done, his shoulder crumbling down, his strength failing him as pain surmounted over everything. Then seven more barreled into his side, sticking against his ribs, his lungs, his great, beastly, burly bulk, shouts echoing, ricocheting, resounding through his ears – kicking, stabbing, assault after assault, until they were just a blur of motions and knives. He fell before the massive mare could topple him, limbs flailing in his death rows, reaching out to shatter the world apart, but then there was nothing, nothing at all, as his lungs seized and his body couldn’t take anymore – organs shutting down, one by one, his heart taking its final, restless, feverish beat. Then, as suddenly as he’d come rampaging towards them, he was gone, still, foolish, ignorant, and perished.
[Oh he dead.]
The first of many final blows landed squarely in his chest, a deep, penetrating thrust of the blue one’s sword, burning him from the inside out, and even as he attempted to sweep aside the beast he knew it wouldn’t be done, his shoulder crumbling down, his strength failing him as pain surmounted over everything. Then seven more barreled into his side, sticking against his ribs, his lungs, his great, beastly, burly bulk, shouts echoing, ricocheting, resounding through his ears – kicking, stabbing, assault after assault, until they were just a blur of motions and knives. He fell before the massive mare could topple him, limbs flailing in his death rows, reaching out to shatter the world apart, but then there was nothing, nothing at all, as his lungs seized and his body couldn’t take anymore – organs shutting down, one by one, his heart taking its final, restless, feverish beat. Then, as suddenly as he’d come rampaging towards them, he was gone, still, foolish, ignorant, and perished.
[Oh he dead.]
