show me your teeth

Sicarus de Ericeto · 01-12-2010, 04:44 AM

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Word Count: 646

In Character

This was almost something new to Sicarus; he had received extensive training in his time, he had fought with tooth and nail and claw and sword and dagger before, but experience was a very different thing from training, and Sicarus had never encountered prey that actually fought back before. His victims were women, weak and starving in the bowels of the cities he prowled. Indeed, some did fall into the category of "prostitute" as he so loved to call them, but more often than not they were simply someone's sister or mother or daughter walking home from their day. Sicarus had never bothered to find out; simply for the fact that they were women — easy prey, easy picking — he'd stolen the life from them.

There was something like a twisted shout of joy from the other canine, a strange and strangled noise expressing the absolute euphoria caused by inflicting pain on another. Glee and relief rushed into Sicarus as he saw his claws cut through the flesh of the other canine, red pouring out of the wound for a moment before the smaller coyote was off and on the move again, twisting away from the larger wolf's deadly grasp. The tawny Gazon snarled at this, turning more slowly to keep up with the other canine, but he found that for once he was at the disadvantage here when it came to speed. He was used to being faster than his opponents, perhaps because he was quite a bit smaller than the average wolf—his own lupus form only topped out at eighty-five pounds, and thanks to the long months of travel, he was just about five pounds underweight, perhaps more in this form.

For some unexplainable reason, the other canine actually put the knife away, renewing Sicarus's will to throw him to the ground and tear him to pieces. There was no other way to describe what the tawny canine was feeling. There was just a completely insane desire to rip every little shred of red muscle and flesh from the other canine's frame and leave nothing but a mash of organs and bloodied bone. It was not so much a desire to kill as a desire to completely destroy and obliterate everything in his path. If he had possessed a targeting system for a nuclear bomb he would have dropped it then and there, even if it meant turning himself to dust in the process.

The tawny wolf could hardly see anymore, but there was a blur of motion now, a hand hurtling toward his face! Not today, coyote! the man crowed, throwing the arm closest to Snake up to block this attempt, only to find a moment later as more searing pain ripped across his chest. It had been a fake! The tawny-furred wolf reeled backwards, slashing blindly at the air with his claws to bat away any further attempts to damage his poor flesh. The pain was very much unlike anything he'd felt before—the wheat-colored werewolf was quite used to harming himself, but as he generally hunted those incapable of fighting for themselves, he was not used to this. "Sorca," he gasped, clutching at his throat. Thankfully, he'd jerked back enough so that the wound did not slit his throat, but this one was ugly, tearing across his collarbone and down along his chest almost to the arm. There was no further need for comment; he was beaten—if he remained he would die, and Haku Soul had not even ordered his mission. He could not disappoint his leader so quickly. The other canine would not pursue him; he still had to attend to the woman on the floor. The Dahlian turned tail and fled, his feet carrying him as fast as they could. His own blood coursed down his arm and chest, soaking his tawny fur a brilliant shade of crimson.

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