>>5439295You see it, and can’t help but watch, transfixed. Its movements are slowed as it slides along its own trail of blood. Your caltrops burrowed deep into its face, neck, and chest, tearing into their host like malevolent metal burrs. But blood is the only blossom from the body made sluggish from overwhelming pain.
You’re captivated to see what your craft has created.
A chilling wind blows to rekindle its struggle once more, spurring it to spin on the spot in a steady spurting suicide spiral. The wind callously comes to breathe life into its fatal vitality once again.
It’s only after this harsh surge of wind that you take your eyes off the beast, but far too late. The shape that your eyes spot crouched upon the wall is already dropping through the air. Your own cold-stricken body hardly moves before it slams onto you, crumpling you to the ground under its momentum.
The smaller of the two slashes at your raised arms, knocking the dagger from your hand, as you lie upon the ground winded. You lie in horror as you finally see the twisted creature up close. Taut and sickly skin drawn over misshapen limbs, the pus-filled opening dotting the entirely of its body, and horrid damp heat that it oppresses you with overwhelms your senses. Sensing an opening, it shoves its oversized maw upon your chest and bites deep of the tender flesh of your chest.
Heat, agony, and wetness all erupt from the same spot as you scream into the uncaring winter, trying to beat it back. It chomps aggressively on your flesh, splattering you with your own blood before it is pushed aside by the tackle of a small running frame.
The Elin drops to the ground alongside it, and it whips its head to find its new target. Your teeth dig into your lips as your muster the strength to land a solid kick into its blackened genitals.
It howls in suffering along with its brother as you desperately paw at the surrounding ground for your knife. But one of the voices is stopped after a dull crunch.
Through a hard wince of pain you look up to spot a darkly clothed woman with blonde hair pulling your own dagger from the beasts dead face. Beyond a dark cloak, her playful eyes lock upon your own as she dexterously spins the knife completely free of the blood. Standing over you with a bemused smile she opens her mouth to speak. "Need some help with them, little ones?" Her eyes then turn to observe the recovering beast before scanning the horizon. "I'll scratch your back, if you'll do the same for me." Her words are bizarrely sing-song as she touches the tip of your dagger against her finger.
