Post by Deleted on Nov 12, 2015 17:20:41 GMT -5
Dark, hollow, haunting. Drifting...like a feather upon the wind, fading into the black, draped in the weightless grasp of oblivion. The beast gasped. His mind was spiraling, reaching, calling out as the shadows enveloped thoughts, twisting them, defiling them, tearing his consciousness apart. He was flying, fleeting, dwindling away, wide pupils of swirling visions captured in the embrace of viciousness, narrowing into daggers. He could feel himself slipping, the light that swept through his head unreachable. Intelligence. He had it, it was there, fluttering, floating like a bubble and yet impenetrable. Possessed, but not functional, not without the angry taint that came with his feral composure.
He could feel it welling, threatening to burst, to spill over the edges, a warmth that rang through his senses with a metallic scent. The fluid lingered, teetering upon ripped flesh, before sliding across dry, burning skin, staining brown fur crimson, conjuring images of surprise that flickered across a predatory expression. Pain lingered there with a momentary grimace, and then it was gone, thrust away like trash. He did not need it, his focus was required elsewhere. The suffering that threatened his functionality was discarded with the ease that only rage could bring.
This fool...this fool....
The projectile had burrowed itself deep within the confines of his powerful, well muscled shoulder, and the ear splitting screech that was torn from his lips, flung with spittle to echo for miles, was that of defiance. The man faltered, his hand trembling with fearful emotions that clouded his reflex. The pistol was still pointed at his opponent, a wicked thing of wings and claws of whom wore a gaze of penetrating scarlet. In a flash, the weapon was knocked away, sent skittering across the wood of the dock before descending into the depths of the water below.
Man-Bat offered his best presentation of a smirk as he hesitated for a moment more, if only to see the doom that stretched across the human's features, spilling from his eyes in droplets that reflected the moonlight with a pleasant shine. His mouth opened to scream, but the noise was cut short, shifting into a gurgle as talons sliced across his delicate throat. The creature observed his foe's rough collapse to the dock below, writhing in the few moments of life that remained before his rigid limbs fell limp.
The death was a senseless one, but the Man-Bat felt no guilt in his actions. His purpose on the docks had been that of merely finding prey, and human was certainly not on the top of that list. It was hardly his fault that the man had been so easily startled upon seeing the monstrosity, instinctively whipping out a weapon in which to assault the nightmarish entity with. Now there was a bullet lodged into bone, and the pain of the injury was a fierce one. Such a wound had only happened due to the close proximity of the two. If he had been shot from farther away, the pistol would have done little damage. But alas, the past could not be changed. He could do little more than cringe, and find satisfaction in knowing that the person responsible for his injury had been slain.
The Man-Bat turned away from the scene with little more than a blink. Unfortunately, flight proved to be a difficult thing. He was weightless in the skies, hovering upon sheets of heat that rose from the earth in waves, gliding through currents that danced across fur, wings cutting through air likes knives through butter, effortless and proud. But now the stretch of his wings brought a flash of agonizing white across his vision. He knew the bullet had bit deep. Bats were not meant to be grounded, they were meant to soar, hunters in the skies, and prey on the ground.
He did not like being prey. He did not like the ground. The Man-Bat snarled at his predicament, dropping onto four limbs to slither away with nary a sound, though each step showered the ground below with drops of blood, his blood, his own life force, and it enraged him. The gnarled fingers in his chest stirred and curled, hot iron shaped claws coiling around his heart with a seething fury. It would be unwise to come across the beast in that moment. Vulnerable, lost, hovering above the ground and unable to lift, to fly, to be free, contained by the bindings of agony that burned like blazing coal, every step a flash of light, a glimpse of red, a hatred that boiled within severed veins.
He found himself clawing down the entry of an old warehouse, tearing the doors from their hinges before delving inside, melting into the darkness to care for his wound. He'd have to dig the foreign metal from his own shoulder, until he grew dizzy with blood loss and suffering. But he would do it. He had to. The Man-Bat was trapped by his own body, but beasts always fought harder when they were cornered.
He could feel it welling, threatening to burst, to spill over the edges, a warmth that rang through his senses with a metallic scent. The fluid lingered, teetering upon ripped flesh, before sliding across dry, burning skin, staining brown fur crimson, conjuring images of surprise that flickered across a predatory expression. Pain lingered there with a momentary grimace, and then it was gone, thrust away like trash. He did not need it, his focus was required elsewhere. The suffering that threatened his functionality was discarded with the ease that only rage could bring.
This fool...this fool....
The projectile had burrowed itself deep within the confines of his powerful, well muscled shoulder, and the ear splitting screech that was torn from his lips, flung with spittle to echo for miles, was that of defiance. The man faltered, his hand trembling with fearful emotions that clouded his reflex. The pistol was still pointed at his opponent, a wicked thing of wings and claws of whom wore a gaze of penetrating scarlet. In a flash, the weapon was knocked away, sent skittering across the wood of the dock before descending into the depths of the water below.
Man-Bat offered his best presentation of a smirk as he hesitated for a moment more, if only to see the doom that stretched across the human's features, spilling from his eyes in droplets that reflected the moonlight with a pleasant shine. His mouth opened to scream, but the noise was cut short, shifting into a gurgle as talons sliced across his delicate throat. The creature observed his foe's rough collapse to the dock below, writhing in the few moments of life that remained before his rigid limbs fell limp.
The death was a senseless one, but the Man-Bat felt no guilt in his actions. His purpose on the docks had been that of merely finding prey, and human was certainly not on the top of that list. It was hardly his fault that the man had been so easily startled upon seeing the monstrosity, instinctively whipping out a weapon in which to assault the nightmarish entity with. Now there was a bullet lodged into bone, and the pain of the injury was a fierce one. Such a wound had only happened due to the close proximity of the two. If he had been shot from farther away, the pistol would have done little damage. But alas, the past could not be changed. He could do little more than cringe, and find satisfaction in knowing that the person responsible for his injury had been slain.
The Man-Bat turned away from the scene with little more than a blink. Unfortunately, flight proved to be a difficult thing. He was weightless in the skies, hovering upon sheets of heat that rose from the earth in waves, gliding through currents that danced across fur, wings cutting through air likes knives through butter, effortless and proud. But now the stretch of his wings brought a flash of agonizing white across his vision. He knew the bullet had bit deep. Bats were not meant to be grounded, they were meant to soar, hunters in the skies, and prey on the ground.
He did not like being prey. He did not like the ground. The Man-Bat snarled at his predicament, dropping onto four limbs to slither away with nary a sound, though each step showered the ground below with drops of blood, his blood, his own life force, and it enraged him. The gnarled fingers in his chest stirred and curled, hot iron shaped claws coiling around his heart with a seething fury. It would be unwise to come across the beast in that moment. Vulnerable, lost, hovering above the ground and unable to lift, to fly, to be free, contained by the bindings of agony that burned like blazing coal, every step a flash of light, a glimpse of red, a hatred that boiled within severed veins.
He found himself clawing down the entry of an old warehouse, tearing the doors from their hinges before delving inside, melting into the darkness to care for his wound. He'd have to dig the foreign metal from his own shoulder, until he grew dizzy with blood loss and suffering. But he would do it. He had to. The Man-Bat was trapped by his own body, but beasts always fought harder when they were cornered.