Damien
Pain hit like lightning — white-hot, sharp, absolute. The ROU's teeth clamped around his forearm, weight dragging him half a step forward before his boots dug in and held. The sound it made up close wasn’t a growl; it was a kind of wet grinding. He could smell the filth on its breath, feel the crunch of its jaw trying to find bone through muscle.
He didn't cry out. Just a low, guttural sound somewhere between anger and pain as he fought back. The axe was still in his free hand, and that was all he needed.
He turned with the pull of the giant perfectly adequate rat's body instead of fighting it, using the momentum to line up his next swing. The blade came around short and mean, a chopping motion meant to split through the thick hide right above its neck. Too close for elegance. Too close for anything but brutality.
Out of the corner of his eye he caught motion—Theea wrestling one of the smaller rats, her dagger gone, her shoulders squared. Deimos' shield remained standing, Thorn still fighting. Good. That steadied something in him, as he drove the axe down upon his own adversary.
Damien hacks at the “Perfectly Adequate ROU” currently latched onto his arm, aiming to drive the axe into its neck or shoulder to force it off him.
He didn't cry out. Just a low, guttural sound somewhere between anger and pain as he fought back. The axe was still in his free hand, and that was all he needed.
He turned with the pull of the giant perfectly adequate rat's body instead of fighting it, using the momentum to line up his next swing. The blade came around short and mean, a chopping motion meant to split through the thick hide right above its neck. Too close for elegance. Too close for anything but brutality.
Out of the corner of his eye he caught motion—Theea wrestling one of the smaller rats, her dagger gone, her shoulders squared. Deimos' shield remained standing, Thorn still fighting. Good. That steadied something in him, as he drove the axe down upon his own adversary.
Damien hacks at the “Perfectly Adequate ROU” currently latched onto his arm, aiming to drive the axe into its neck or shoulder to force it off him.
i speak for the trees
and they hate you bro
and they hate you bro
