[There’s a swell of triumph and glee as the metallic tang of blood greets his tongue, tearing flesh from body with a snarl. This is what he sought, what he needed all this time. To allow the rage he’s suppressed for countless years now to return to the surface and let it guide him. There’s no need for other thoughts. Not now.
And he’s clearly not the only one embracing that today.
In the back of his mind blooms the faintest flicker of recognition at the sight of Amos, but there’s no distinction between friend and foe for the beast. All that matters is that he’s strong, that he’s somehow still standing despite his wound, that he too is now embracing the need to fight and draw blood. The large clearing here among the roots is growing louder with the din of pockets of scattered fighting and the bellowing of monsters, but Vander’s focus is locked onto the man in front of him, a man quickly becoming more bestial himself.
He spits the gore from his mouth and with a roar rushes in to meet Amos head on. In the state that he’s in, there’s something simultaneously satisfying and maddening in having someone strike back at him with equivalent fury. It’s like it amplifies it, draws forth a deep and primal need to show him just how powerful his own rage can be.
His opponent’s claws find their mark and tear a long and bloody gash along his chest. There is no thought or foresight to dodge, only the need to push forward with pure power and meet him blow for blow, his own claws swinging wildly in retaliation.]
no subject
And he’s clearly not the only one embracing that today.
In the back of his mind blooms the faintest flicker of recognition at the sight of Amos, but there’s no distinction between friend and foe for the beast. All that matters is that he’s strong, that he’s somehow still standing despite his wound, that he too is now embracing the need to fight and draw blood. The large clearing here among the roots is growing louder with the din of pockets of scattered fighting and the bellowing of monsters, but Vander’s focus is locked onto the man in front of him, a man quickly becoming more bestial himself.
He spits the gore from his mouth and with a roar rushes in to meet Amos head on. In the state that he’s in, there’s something simultaneously satisfying and maddening in having someone strike back at him with equivalent fury. It’s like it amplifies it, draws forth a deep and primal need to show him just how powerful his own rage can be.
His opponent’s claws find their mark and tear a long and bloody gash along his chest. There is no thought or foresight to dodge, only the need to push forward with pure power and meet him blow for blow, his own claws swinging wildly in retaliation.]