Hunter's Bane



His face feels cold in my hands.
I crush harder.
The rage of a thousand generations
All channeled into my grip.
His blood flows thick,
Coating my hand like a lacquer.
He stopped squirming three minutes ago.
I grip harder.
It burns as i touch his flesh,
But i don't care.
His skull cracks, and i press my hand harder
Fingers nearly touching.
His eyes have imploded
Leaving fluid oozing from the mutilated sockets.
I finally drop him.
His body makes a loud slam
As it hits the cold, hard floor.
I shake my hand
To disperse his blood.
His whip lies on the floor,
Coated in my blood.,
The hunter is dead.
Simon Belmont is no more.
I have avenged my death.