At the end of the night it's going down
02-01-2014, 03:31 PM
Blood was such a wonderful, delightful thing. Not because it kept him alive and strong, but because it fed him, quenched his thirst, decorated his coat. The titan's taste for blood was insatiable and undeniable, developed from a young age, a taste he was sure was to last until the days where his powerful body became grayed and aged. For now, he was powerful; invincible. He was a murder, a cold blood assassin; a monster. Whatever name you wanted to give him, Demyan was a man from anyone's worst nightmare. He relished in the thrill of the kill, the screams of his pathetic victim's as they begged and pleaded with him to spare their useless lives. Always in vain, hopeless cries that fell on deaf ears, the mammoth was never one for mercy. There had only been one that had managed to get away from him, more than once, but if she ever came back, he wouldn't make that same mistake again. He had learned his lesson. Massive jaws would clamp down again and again on the lifeless carcass of the unlucky rogue that had crossed the man's path. The skull was bashed in, having been smashed against the wall that was so conveniently placed in the area. Some limbs were hanging by threads, flesh split and torn away to reveal the red meat beneath. Its throat was torn out, the trachea spit out on the side; unwanted. Demyan was chewing away at the throat, working his way through the muscle and bone in order to severe the fool's head from his body. In the meanwhile his right forepaw would work at the face, talons digging into the eye sockets, penetrating the eyeballs as he worked to gauge them out, wanting to dismember and disembody this carcass to the maximum. Talk like this |