12-17-2018, 05:38 PM
Fear enveloped his terribly shaken mind as the Stryker, the dastardly bastard, fixed an illuminated gaze at another individual in the audience, before educating the likely-vile feline on the transpiring situation. With each hateful sentence gushing out of the lion’s maw, Wendell’s heart sank further and further. It was no coincidence that he, of all people, was to be the subject of the Ardent’s wretched torment and pain; this was revenge. Spoken phrases such as ”an old friend o’ mine”, and ”Wendell is the one that got away” each invoked substantial amounts of terror inito his rapidly developing thoughts. The wolverine examined that the backstory had been overly-exaggerated on Stryker’s part, portraying the Sunhavener as a runaway antagonistic malefactor, rather than a man simply trying to live life peacefully. None of this mattered now. All that mattered was that he was in for a world of pain.
Surrounding movement as a whole apparently went to slow-motion whilst the lion once again shifted his glare unto Wendell, the height difference between the two annotating the obvious strength advantage Stryker had in this circumstance. Such power he had evaded once before, back in the chilly confines of Snowbound - this time was different. Now, if he had tried to run, it was possible that a much more painful demise awaited him, a bloody death at the hands of many instead of the hands of only one. For him, the latter was preferred route, even if both choices meant suffering, if not death.
Still in slow motion was the unsheathing of unnatural sharpened claw, followed by the raising of a beefy limb that beckoned the mustelid nearer, against his own will. A bizarre complacency sprung from this bodily contact, as if it was his profound nerves’ way of telling him that this would be the final “normal” moment in his life; and he reluctantly relished the moment. A few witty words ushered themselves out of Stryker’s system, before suddenly, all outlandish luxury and ease ceased to exist on account of the feline’s adjacent actions. Tremendous force, deriving from a heavy paw placed at the aft of his head, swept him off all fours and slammed his face onto the solid surface. A thunderstruck scream of pain and shock erupted from within, while the control of his jaw had perished, and teeth violently loosened from the gums. Words cannot describe the despair, the shock, and the fear in which he underwent in these very moments. Soppy tears had begun puddling in their sockets, and the process of crying had only sped up when the hyperventilating commenced. But Stryker did not relent. Very shortly after making mincemeat out of Wendell’s jaw and chompers, he elevated his victim and continued his dental work.
Weak gasps and feeble cries slipped out of the Sunhavener’s gullet whilst one of the lion’s aforementioned knifelike claws penetrated swollen gums, and tugging out the the pearly whites unaffected by the initial attack. Blood pooled in his unresponsive mouth, only to drip down his hung chin once it began to overflow.
His form once again met the ground, this time in an agonized collapse. Gags as strong punches rocked his midsection, an unpleasant mixture of blood an what may have been last night’s meal brewing together below.
”Ready for the next part?”
No he was not. He didn’t even want a next part. No. He wanted to be at home, to be with those who had respected him, to coincide in a society of kindness and compassion likewise to what was found in Snowbound. There, he’d share stories, and drink and eat to his heart’s content.
"Arnckk..." was about as good a response anybody in his position could give. Right now, Wendell was unable to speak, nor would he ever do so again.
His chocolate hues, misty and flustered, glared expectantly at Stryker. At least for the next part, whatever horrors awaited him, he’d be prepared.
Surrounding movement as a whole apparently went to slow-motion whilst the lion once again shifted his glare unto Wendell, the height difference between the two annotating the obvious strength advantage Stryker had in this circumstance. Such power he had evaded once before, back in the chilly confines of Snowbound - this time was different. Now, if he had tried to run, it was possible that a much more painful demise awaited him, a bloody death at the hands of many instead of the hands of only one. For him, the latter was preferred route, even if both choices meant suffering, if not death.
Still in slow motion was the unsheathing of unnatural sharpened claw, followed by the raising of a beefy limb that beckoned the mustelid nearer, against his own will. A bizarre complacency sprung from this bodily contact, as if it was his profound nerves’ way of telling him that this would be the final “normal” moment in his life; and he reluctantly relished the moment. A few witty words ushered themselves out of Stryker’s system, before suddenly, all outlandish luxury and ease ceased to exist on account of the feline’s adjacent actions. Tremendous force, deriving from a heavy paw placed at the aft of his head, swept him off all fours and slammed his face onto the solid surface. A thunderstruck scream of pain and shock erupted from within, while the control of his jaw had perished, and teeth violently loosened from the gums. Words cannot describe the despair, the shock, and the fear in which he underwent in these very moments. Soppy tears had begun puddling in their sockets, and the process of crying had only sped up when the hyperventilating commenced. But Stryker did not relent. Very shortly after making mincemeat out of Wendell’s jaw and chompers, he elevated his victim and continued his dental work.
Weak gasps and feeble cries slipped out of the Sunhavener’s gullet whilst one of the lion’s aforementioned knifelike claws penetrated swollen gums, and tugging out the the pearly whites unaffected by the initial attack. Blood pooled in his unresponsive mouth, only to drip down his hung chin once it began to overflow.
His form once again met the ground, this time in an agonized collapse. Gags as strong punches rocked his midsection, an unpleasant mixture of blood an what may have been last night’s meal brewing together below.
”Ready for the next part?”
No he was not. He didn’t even want a next part. No. He wanted to be at home, to be with those who had respected him, to coincide in a society of kindness and compassion likewise to what was found in Snowbound. There, he’d share stories, and drink and eat to his heart’s content.
"Arnckk..." was about as good a response anybody in his position could give. Right now, Wendell was unable to speak, nor would he ever do so again.
His chocolate hues, misty and flustered, glared expectantly at Stryker. At least for the next part, whatever horrors awaited him, he’d be prepared.