Plip plop.
Splish splash.
The red liquid dripped.
A slow and measured stream flowed from its newly dyed snout.
It savored that lovely metallic flavor.
The meat in its mouth perfectly paired with the sweet terror of its prey.
The woman had been quite skilled, it would admit.
She had cut through its brethren with remarkable ease.
But it was smarter than them, and despite the woman's carefulness, she could not always be prepared for an attack.
It was in that single almost imperceptible moment of carelessness that it had struck.
Caught off guard, its strike came quicker than she could defend herself.
Its mighty jaws rent her arm from her shoulder, and with her balance shattered, she tumbled to the ground.
She helplessly tried to crawl away.
A hopeless and desperate attempt to flee or perhaps find miraculous salvation.
It let her for a while as it dug its teeth into her severed arm.
Hoping to ignite hope in her breast.
Acting as mindless as it was supposed to be, as the wild animal it could never be.
She should have known such was not the way of its kin.
That mere meat was not what it sought.
That it had no stomach to fill.
And yet its actions contradicted such knowledge.
Perhaps fortune had come for her in her time of need?
What she was ignorant of was that it was ancient, and with its age, it had learned.
It had learned how to nurture the delicious terror that it craved.
The prolonged despair of hope just within reach unceremoniously torn away.
Such a delicacy was magnitudes more delicious than the simple fear of a quick feeding.
It turned its eyes back to its muse.
A dark and frightful red crept ever so quickly over what was once pristine snow-white cloth.
Ah, how beautiful.
It was almost transfixed.
Tragically it was, however, snapped out of its reverie.
The ever-familiar sounds of footsteps echoed far too close by.
It appeared it no longer had the time to play with its food.
Truly a pity.
It walked up to the girl with a careful silence unbefitting of its stature.
She was none the wiser, it seemed.
Perhaps delirium had already taken her far away from this place.
In what could only be dubbed greed, it took in one last guzzle of her agony and terror.
A tearful howl pierced the air.
An already bloodstained maw had torn its way into her spine.
Soon she could only croak.
Shortly thereafter, she could do nothing at all.
Exquisite.
The unadulterated horror, sorrow, and regret that poured from her soul alongside her last breaths were of unparalleled quality.
It couldn't help but find her to be truly delightful.
A masterpiece.
Sadly nothing is sacred.
And it was, unfortunately, once again rushed along by those discourteous footsteps.
Now accompanied by such speed that it doubted its trained ears.
Headed right for its location with undeniable intent.
It felt cold suddenly.
Its hairs stood on end.
Dark clouds enveloped the sun.
A fell omen.
Had there been such clouds within the clear sky?
Its eyes widened.
Dirt was torn from the ground.
Roots were ripped from their soil.
Sturdy trees collapsed abruptly.
Bursting through the forest, the red whirlwind left carnage in its wake.
Cold rage drowned the atmosphere.
It began to shake.
Eyes as silver as steel burned through it.
Every fiber of its being, every cell in its body screamed.
What stood in front of it was death incarnate.
Run.
Run, run, run.
It needed to run.
But what could outrun a hurricane?
It steeled itself as best it could.
All it could do was fight.
All it could do was hope for even a chance at victory.
It roared.
A ballad of all of its fear and all of its hatred.
Death roared in kind.
A vortex of rage and grief.
It leapt.
A towering beast with the weight of a goliath.
Pouring all of its years, all of its experience, all of its raw strength into its razorlike claws.
The monster charged.
A demon with the stature of a girl.
Moving at a speed faster than the naked eye and oblivion resting at the end of its blade.
And so they clashed.
With a force that could crumple steel, its claws grazed the face of Death.
Translucent red shattered like glass.
In a triumph, it gouged out one of those accursed eyes.
Had it been mistaken?
Had its fear been misplaced?
How could it have mistaken this prey for such a thing?
Victory was within grasp.
Ah.
A crack rent the air.
Its thick bone carapace shattered more easily than porcelain.
How could this have happened?
A curved blade burrowed into its neck.
Despair seeped into its very being.
The blade completed its arc.
And then there was nothing at all.