Nekroz
Well-known member
- Joined
- Jan 8, 2021
- Messages
- 190
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- 83
I wrote this up as a sort of test to see how much I've improved and to help get better, any criticisms?
The desert was many things, it was mysterious, it was harsh, and made for a terrible place to hide. Already, Mary could smell her prey. His scent akin to sweat mixed with a potent dose of fear. She could hear his heart, pounding in his chest on the other side of the dune. The rate it beat at rising as she got closer.
It was like the beating of a tide serfer herd, too loud to be ignored. For her, it was at least. She was sure that her prey thought that she couldn't hear him. That he still had the element of surprise. Unfortunately for him, she could hear the sharpening of his knife. The sound of Amberfire on stone, the near silent ring of the two dragging across each other, both made all the sharper for it.
That was why she came from above him, leaping over the crest of the dune and watching as his brain tried to process what he was seeing. By the time he figured it out though, it was too late.
Mary had landed in front of him, a heel coming down seconds after her and kicking the knife out of his hand. He was disarmed now, cornered with nowhere to run, and desperate.
Mutant were at their most dangerous when they were desperate.
Her prey was no different.
With a feral sort of snarl, he lunged at her, nails turning to claws as he went for her throat, and he crossed half of that distance in the span of a second. In the next, he fell backwards, clutching his severed arm, staring up at Mary as she sheathed her sword.
"You could've surrendered." She told him.
Words that clearly fell on deaf ears.
He was barely paying her any mind, and was instead holding his raining hand over his new wound, more than likely trying to keep as much blood in him as possible. A waste of time that did him as much good as it did Mary's last target, still it was his time to waste, so she let him.
A few minutes later, though, she had his full undivided attention.
It was moments like these that she loved. Everything from the look of terror in her prey's eyes, to the shaking of his breath as he realized what was about to transpire. She let him think on that for a little longer.
Thirty seconds, to be exact. After that, her blade fell just as it had with her first and last victim. A quick slash across the neck.
It was by no means quick or efficient, but it gave her prey one last chance to think back on his life and try to figure out where it all went so wrong. Which always, always, brought out a certain look in them when it happened. A flash of pure despair surfacing on their face, followed by the dulling of their eyes.
Without exception, it was Mary's favorite thing in the world.
The desert was many things, it was mysterious, it was harsh, and made for a terrible place to hide. Already, Mary could smell her prey. His scent akin to sweat mixed with a potent dose of fear. She could hear his heart, pounding in his chest on the other side of the dune. The rate it beat at rising as she got closer.
It was like the beating of a tide serfer herd, too loud to be ignored. For her, it was at least. She was sure that her prey thought that she couldn't hear him. That he still had the element of surprise. Unfortunately for him, she could hear the sharpening of his knife. The sound of Amberfire on stone, the near silent ring of the two dragging across each other, both made all the sharper for it.
That was why she came from above him, leaping over the crest of the dune and watching as his brain tried to process what he was seeing. By the time he figured it out though, it was too late.
Mary had landed in front of him, a heel coming down seconds after her and kicking the knife out of his hand. He was disarmed now, cornered with nowhere to run, and desperate.
Mutant were at their most dangerous when they were desperate.
Her prey was no different.
With a feral sort of snarl, he lunged at her, nails turning to claws as he went for her throat, and he crossed half of that distance in the span of a second. In the next, he fell backwards, clutching his severed arm, staring up at Mary as she sheathed her sword.
"You could've surrendered." She told him.
Words that clearly fell on deaf ears.
He was barely paying her any mind, and was instead holding his raining hand over his new wound, more than likely trying to keep as much blood in him as possible. A waste of time that did him as much good as it did Mary's last target, still it was his time to waste, so she let him.
A few minutes later, though, she had his full undivided attention.
It was moments like these that she loved. Everything from the look of terror in her prey's eyes, to the shaking of his breath as he realized what was about to transpire. She let him think on that for a little longer.
Thirty seconds, to be exact. After that, her blade fell just as it had with her first and last victim. A quick slash across the neck.
It was by no means quick or efficient, but it gave her prey one last chance to think back on his life and try to figure out where it all went so wrong. Which always, always, brought out a certain look in them when it happened. A flash of pure despair surfacing on their face, followed by the dulling of their eyes.
Without exception, it was Mary's favorite thing in the world.