[size=9pt]One minute he's standing on the ground, staring into the muddy mess of it, undoubtedly thinking some horrible shit, and the next he's colliding with that same ground, getting the air knocked out of his lungs in one quick blow. His head snaps back and smashes against the dirt. It feels solid, now. Not nearly as malleable as when they'd dug Lazarus' grave.
It's a pretty fucking monstrous thing he's staring up at. Massive, gaping jaws - multiple of them - and too many eyes for Moon to count. It's hulking and it's grotesque-- and it doesn't scare him. A second passes where he stares at the crimson that stains its teeth, and then another, and the fear doesn't come. He doesn't know why, but he doesn't really have it in that moment to psychoanalyze himself. Instead, he fights to settle the thunder of his heart that's kicked up despite himself, and rasps, "That's the best you can come up with?" The deformed lion's claws dig into his shoulders, and even though he can feel the sheer power and knows there's nothing he can do to get out of this, he squirms anyway. "Gabe." He calls, once his brain remembers that, oh, yes-- he's waiting for someone. Someone who's got a whole lot more fighting ability than him. Someone with wings enough to literally swoop in and save his ass. His fittingly named guardian angel. "Gabe!" He calls, again, slightly more desperate, and tries not to breath in the scent of flesh on this thing's breath, tries not to feed the doubt that's starting to replace his hopes of rescue. He'll be here soon. "Any time now, Feathers!"
It's a pretty fucking monstrous thing he's staring up at. Massive, gaping jaws - multiple of them - and too many eyes for Moon to count. It's hulking and it's grotesque-- and it doesn't scare him. A second passes where he stares at the crimson that stains its teeth, and then another, and the fear doesn't come. He doesn't know why, but he doesn't really have it in that moment to psychoanalyze himself. Instead, he fights to settle the thunder of his heart that's kicked up despite himself, and rasps, "That's the best you can come up with?" The deformed lion's claws dig into his shoulders, and even though he can feel the sheer power and knows there's nothing he can do to get out of this, he squirms anyway. "Gabe." He calls, once his brain remembers that, oh, yes-- he's waiting for someone. Someone who's got a whole lot more fighting ability than him. Someone with wings enough to literally swoop in and save his ass. His fittingly named guardian angel. "Gabe!" He calls, again, slightly more desperate, and tries not to breath in the scent of flesh on this thing's breath, tries not to feed the doubt that's starting to replace his hopes of rescue. He'll be here soon. "Any time now, Feathers!"
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; height: auto; text-align: center; font-family: ; font-size: 9pt; color: COLOR; letter-spacing: -.5px;"][i][b]and die like a hero going home.[glow=black,2,300]