who we are and all that we're trying to be
No more of the back and forth banter; his attention focused and honed for the upcoming onslaught. Once a Reaper, always a Reaper, embedded and infused in his bones, in the way he moved, in the action coiled and collected amongst and amidst fragments of the beast. Per her agreement in their plan, he watched and waited, intending to spring, intending to mold himself into absolute barbarity.
Her announcement and proclamation rendered him unleashed.
It was a conflagration of maneuvering, the way a warrior emblazoned towards a battle; the quick, poetic, swift harbinger of death and destruction, toiling in merciless depravity. No howls, no roars, a blistering fortitude of might and menace crouched in its haze; quiet, minatory balance in the slide between grass and nothingness. Then he lunged from the reed wall, parting through withered grasses, a molten, obsidian, Stygian bombardment, a monster, a hunter, a cretin, a piece of terror and upheaval. Hackles raised, fangs bared, the accord of muscles given into pernicious persecution, ensuring the flock of birds scattered wildly. Incoming, he snickered along predacious pursuits, meant to collect in the leopard's mind. The fowls' horror embedded in degrees of panic and flight, and he locked onto a particular target with one feral display – grabbing hold of tailfeathers, locking and biting accordingly, as the rest were sent in Aisha’s direction.
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
