in space the stars are no nearer; just glitters, like a morgue
A satisfied smile curls across Danta's lips as he turns to watch Astaroth streak past him towards their prey, and as the sound of snarling and muffled screaming fills the air, gods but the Maverick finally feels his shoulders relax. Closing his eyes to enjoy it all the more (it isn't like he can see as well in the dark as an Attuned, after all), the stench of copper and the garbled cries for help are all he needs to really, truly feel better, his bloodlust stoked to a high that hunting mice doesn't come close to touching.
Only as the fyrhund steps back does Danta surge forward, falling on the scout in the same way any predator might taken down their prey. All but straddling the man's waist, it's with a bare hand that the Maverick plunges his way in through the laceration he's opened, cracking and squeezing any bit of bone or flesh that gets in his way, only to tear out once more, streaking himself with a gout of blood.
And already the light in the man's eyes has gone out, not that Danta notices or cares. With the knees of his pants greedily soaking up the crimson from the hard packed ground and what looks like the scout's liver in his hands, the Maverick feasts as if he's got all the time in the world.
Only as the fyrhund steps back does Danta surge forward, falling on the scout in the same way any predator might taken down their prey. All but straddling the man's waist, it's with a bare hand that the Maverick plunges his way in through the laceration he's opened, cracking and squeezing any bit of bone or flesh that gets in his way, only to tear out once more, streaking himself with a gout of blood.
And already the light in the man's eyes has gone out, not that Danta notices or cares. With the knees of his pants greedily soaking up the crimson from the hard packed ground and what looks like the scout's liver in his hands, the Maverick feasts as if he's got all the time in the world.
Dantalion
Horns: Diamond - they look very similar to #2 in this image.
