ayy, this oneshot has slight gore and vivid descriptions of death ;  stay safe !

— Something beautiful in the stillness, it strikes ament suddenly. Unsettling the young utahraptor from his rest is it's stillness. A vacancy that is unnatural in nature - there should always be sound : unnatural and wrong. Enough to drive the sense in him mad ; if he had an ounce a lick of reason, the sound of his own movement would be enough to distract. Now, it is a stark dichotomy to reverberate inside his marrow, to tense muscles. To make him scream .

Ament is nothing if not a predator, though. He knows the value of silence , of his own. Were his voice - his mind able to bridge the gap of communication around him : were his mind cluttered with thoughts rather than feelings maybe he would go inland for company, for comfort, for something familiar to preen against - but this was not his home - this was not his pack even if he stilled from leaving the tanglewood. Ament knows no familiarity beyond that of a pack he no longer calls his own, an omega lost. He retreats from the camp he settled into, falls away from the stench of others until there is nothing but the wild on his nose. He breathes deep, dark plumage blending seamlessly through the undertangle, dodging traps caught by the glimmer of ocean blue eyes - and the snap of mutations jaws.

Ament contends himself amidst the hunt of fresh game; the clang of chains around his neck a beacon to predators - a challenge to the cocky uncivilized prey that think themselves fit to fight a beast ; a god apex in the food chain that nature saw fit to destroy for balance. Now ament walks the earth again ; he refuses to be controlled, contained as something by the mortality the sense of others. Prey skitter and ament has half a mind to chase them for the sick pleasure of crunching bone and sinue between his teeth, but he has a different ardent for the day’s entertainment. A play on the senses of controlled puppets and minds of static.

A feeling of euphoria, a light buzz were once it would swallow him whole. Ament feels the tension of his wraith bleed into enjoyment as the world responds in kind. It reverberates in his throat in a way he hasn’t allowed in months , since the great separation , since the static settled and the voice curled around his throat and directed his teeth - his claws. Ament is Venadi again by his own merit. Latin , a hunter ground to dust and bone only to be born again in a world that nature saw fit to destroy - ament is everything the world tried to suppress , and he comes out screaming his own war cry.

It was a call to arms, that reverberated through the forest, through the silence, the stillness. Ament calls, for the ones lost to him, to the ones who’s ghosts bait each step. Who’s feather’s ament still tastes between his teeth. Ament calls for his pack, for his prey, for his home that was robbed of him, and the answer to his call is nothing but silence.

nothing screams louder than silence.

Ament pays little mind to it now - his attention caught, focus detained by the slosh and guttural click of a purr so similar to his own kind. Moss log wadding through the water as an ancient scaled beast wades through the water - closer towards ament and closer towards it's own destruction. Stench of it's hunger is immediate, second eyelid close to blink out water - a crocodile see's ament as prey and it is wrong. This creature's fatal flaw will kill it this day, and ament will feast on the falsity and laze of the simple creature born of instincts too.

They are equal, in that ; but the likeness falls there.

Ament will show who - why it is the venandi that will win.

It happens suddenly, a great leap through the air as a ebony masked features rip through scale. Fangs crunch the other armor of the crock. A hop away and clatter of chains as Ament moves before it can recoil - before he can be caught in it's own lunge. The first strike is concluded by the reverberating snap of his enemy. Ament is silent save for his movements, his collar. It is outlined by the gutteral purr of the crock getting louder and louder as the battle lingers, the damage sharpens it's last moments on this plane.

After that, it is a battle of the ancients, a test as old as time, predator versus prey. Who will feast on the other ? Which will continue their exsistance within this terrain? The natural swamp dweller, or the forgin invader - the stain of outdated lethality ?

Ament feels static and rage both, they cool and boil his blood in tandem during the fight, to the point that ament feels the crocodile's maw snap around the chain attached to his ironclad throat : suddenly ament is at it's mercy. The action is instantaneous. with a fling the beast rears it's head back and drags ament by the neck around - jerks the omega through the air until he sails from land unto water. A splash and the sound of a bubble as the moss-covered ancient slips into the water.

Ament stands without bonds : The collar around his neck - his safety has snapped clean with the force, and when he realigns from the water he feels angry - wraith - static - calm engulf him. Instinct fills his lungs and takes his mind, his sense until he taste the flesh and crunch of crocodile skin between his teeth - until he is satisfied.

With silence ament too, slips deeper into the water.

there is sudden movements, jerks and thrashes that splash the surface in spray of murky depths, until blood foams in bubbles to the waters still, does the victor drag his prey unto land to feast.

Ament is bleeding, neck raw and new wounds to recover from. He alone stands the victor of this fight - his opponent nothing but still between his jaws. The savage drags them both unto land, and feasts.