COMING OFF A HIGH // o, bloodlust (tw; gore)

[JORMUNGAND Di ANGELO]

JORMUNGAND

male — the Pitt — bio — pinterest board

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OC TEXT

tw: gore
Solo continuing from this thread
IC TEXT | IC opinions only

Seeing the brutality Sojourn had brought back had woken a sort of lust in the panther, a hungry grin carving his lips and twisting the scars on his mouth. The blood and positioning of the lioness had called forth a memory of what both he and his father had done, and he flicked his tail. Didn't matter anymore. He was hungry, he wanted to feed- no, kill.
He wanted to destroy something to feed the character that had snapped his ties to sanity, a manic gleam forming in his optics. Ignoring anything else and seeing only red, he turned and bounded away, away from the sane people, away from the outer commotion. Irrelevant little shits. They didn't matter.
He liked bloodlusts, they prevented him from thinking straight and only give him the thought of hunting. Kind of like a high.
A chuckle, sinister, slipped from between his maw and before he even knew it he found himself in enemy territory, the Typhoon. Wet little fuckers, they were. Who the fuck cared? He was on a high, the blood was rushing through his system and he opened his maw a little, letting strings of saliva slip from between rubbery gums as he tasted the air.
Ah, prey.
Let the hunt begin.
Beautiful.

Fear hung in the air as the couple tried to run from an unknown presence, him, lurking, just out of reach. Tiny little things, he could almost squash them with a paw.
He examined their fur from afar, brightly colored, like a parrot. Would make a pretty gift, or he could dye it black or something. He'd have to be artistic first, which he was, but not with like painting or whatever.
Killing was an art, especially when you're experiencing it tenfold. He let the grin widen, pleased at the reaction he was getting before severing one's neck, watching the blood coat the other and it freeze, eyes widening and pupils dilating. He laughed, loud, causing the last one to whimper and shake in its place, unable to move.
"Maiming, it is then." He decided with a honeyed purr, his Italian accent coming in thick to coat his words smoothly, paralysing, hypnotising. The sun was going down, glowing the eyes of both him and it before he slowly made his way over, coat dripping with water, and nearly dragged a line from neck to underbelly, watching steaming hot guts roll out, a hungry gleam in his eyes. The animal was still alive but did he care?
No.
Why would he?
He preferred fresh food after all.
Gently picking up the spilt guts and throwing them to the side caused the other's knees to buckle and it thud to the floor, much to his delight. "You are truly wonderful." A rumble of delight, and the panther began feasting, the screams of the animal like music accompanying his meal. The flesh was gamey, so what? Not like he minded. Food was food, no matter what the state.
He was making such a mess that he lost track of the point the animal died and instead carried on tearing into its flesh, his claws cutting through its skin like scissors would paper.
And oh yeah blood got on him.
Hell yeah it did.
He grinned, more to himself than anyone else. "Father, are you proud of me?" A warning mumble, the scars on his muzzle twitched and he hoisted both animals up, flinging them onto his back and  beginning to make his way home.
Adrenaline was still pumping, but the panther, now full, was slowly coming off the drunkness, feeling stuffed, a lazy grin on his face.
He chose to enter camp slightly away from the group, maybe find somebody artistic.
But most likely they'd look at him weird.
His muscles were visible, painted with crimson colors of different hues, but so what?
He found a spot and called out, "Anybody good with artsy stuff?"

#psychosocial.