Writing Prompt #2
Your character incites a vicious attack.
Strife silently stalks his way across the forest, sliding in and out of the dark trees. Entering the edge of the clearing he lifts his snout to the starry sky and inhales deeply. It's faint, but he can still make out the scent of others nearby. His blue forked tongue flicks out of his toothy jaw and he chuckles to himself. He hasn't eaten in days-and more importantly-hasn't had a chance to ‘play’ with his food.
The moonlight catches his scales and dances across his hide; dark grey and sickly green. With his torn and tattered wings folded neatly against his back he proceeds forward. The spikes on his collar and wrist cuffs glint against the darkness, as do his rust-red eyes. He catches a slight rustling sound coming from somewhere off to his right and freezes. Slowly he backs up, reemerging into the cover of the forest. He waits in silence, eyes scanning the outer edges of the clearing. He does this without turning his head. Finally he sees, to his utter delight, a young human male of about eighteen edging into the clearing-Edging closer to him. Strife grins, revealing rows of recurved teeth. His tail twitches in anticipation; the muscles sway the flexible appendage to and fro. The spiked tip catches a sapling, slicing it in two and it crashes noisily to the ground. Too late the boy’s head snaps around, and too late his eyes catch the form of Strife’s sleek raptorine body sailing towards him.
The boy doesn't have time to scream. Strife’s powerful leg muscles clear him from the forest’s vegetation in an instant. He lands directly on top of his human prey, pinning him to the ground. The teen cries out in surprise and fear. He strains to push Strife off of him, but the dragon's eight-foot-nine and three-hundred-and-fifty pound build is far to large for him to handle.
Strife raises a clawed forepaw to the boy’s face. The boy’s frightened eyes dart back and forth between Strife’s burning gaze and his razor-sharp talons. Strife grins.
"Let's get started, shall we?”
He rakes his claws down the boy's face, drawing blood. The adolescent screams shrilly and lashes out, beating at the raptorine dragon’s broad chest with his fists. Strife chuckles, the sound cold and reptilian. He loves it when his food puts up a decent-if not altogether useless-fight. It makes things far more interesting for him. Strife shifts his weight and brings his right hindleg froward. The oversized digit on the inside of his hindpaw flexes in anticipation and the sickle-shaped claw embedded in it glints savagely. Strife careful rests this fearsome killing claw against the boy's abdomen.
“Help! HELP! Someone-Please stop!” the boy cries out. Strife responds to this by digging the killing claw through the teen's clothes and into his flesh. He savors the teen’s screams as he squirms beneath Strife’s body, skin and clothing scraping against scale. Out of desperation, the boy reaches up and grabs Strife's long labret piercing. Using all his strength the boy pulls on the piercing, abruptly yanking Strife’s head downward.
Strife grunts in surprise, shaking his head and freeing himself from the boy's grasp. He gnashes his teeth. Although he is completely devoted to the acts of both giving-and receiving- pain, he dislikes minor irritations as such can not take the edge off his masochistic itch. He eyes his prey in sudden anger.
“The best you have?” he hisses, “Here, let me show you how it’s done.”
Strife plunges his killing claw deep into the boy's upper abdomen. His leg muscles contract and he rakes the weapon down the length of the boy's body, leaving a gaping six-inch deep wound in its wake. The boy screams again and Strife quickly grabs his head, holding it in place. Strife leans in hard. His ivory teeth rake the teen’s lips and cheeks, shredding the sensitive tissue. Opening and closes his jaws rapidly in succession, he scrapes flesh from bone. Blood spills over Strife’s lip and dribbles down his chin. The boy gurgles and convulses violently, drowning in his own blood. His body shutters and then is still.
Strife licks the gore from his lips with a tinge of remorse. He hadn’t intended to kill the boy so soon. Next time, he told himself, he’d keep his temper in check.
Two variations of mutilation are under the cut. I’ve got some pretty violent stuff here so be sure to check yourself before you wreck yourself.
Critics and red-lines are welcomed and encouraged!