!!xr5GpC4Hw2Q 04/13/10(Tue)16:31 No.9169782|
Spitting out your own blood, you get up and sidestep away from his punches, manouvering around to get into reach of the weapon embedded in his back. His blows clip you twice more as you move, but your size makes you nimble compared to the brute, and you have soon leap onto his back and pull out the blade from his flesh. He attempts to grab you but your fury gives you speed and you hack off his paw at the wrist, causing him to buck and throw you off violently as he sinks to his knees, wracking sobs of agony shaking his flabby bulk.
You lurch towards him again, your footing uneven and your grip on the choppa leaving something to be desired. Despite this, a coup-de-grace is an inevitabillity. He doesn't notice you as you approach, his full attention focused on the stump gushing with blood. His face has gone a ghostly white - all trace of pink vanished.
All it takes is one blow, one slash. You raise your arm back and swing widely from the shoulder, the tip of the blade only just connects with his neck. A narrow, shallow wound that nevertheless causes him to choke and cough up blood.
His death is assured, but his last moments will be drawn out and filled with the loneliness that only mankind can feel. His sobbing stops. The only sound he makes he makes is a disgusting gurgling of blood. His lips move, though, and you think you can hear one last message.
He wonders why it had to be him.