A growl rises up in its throat, staring back, fur raised on its ends - but it doesn't try to snap at her. She was right in that it couldn't throw its rebellion now, as much as it wanted to. It was too weak. The moment is not right.
A shadowy smoke envelops them both, darkening into a vision of the beast free of its bonds. This form stands upright, massive and hunched forward, left arm made of jagged iron. An ethereal version of Saturday appears in the vision as well, thrust into a heated battle as it desired. The fighting and spilling of its own blood made the beast feel alive.
Eventually, it leaps to pin her dream-self down beneath its black-furred bulk, quicker than a large thing should be. Her sword arm is wrenched free with a furious thrashing of its jaws, leaving what it wanted intact. The thing keeps their bodies pressed together, possessive of its struggling prey. It is warm from blood-mottled fur and body heat. Metal claws rake slowly over skin and cloth, splitting open flesh with careful ease. It is a grotesque mockery of intimacy in a pool of wet viscera. Its maw drips hungrily as it begins to feast on its spoils, flesh and bone crunching in its teeth.
"It is only a matter of time...."
When the illusion ends, the hound has vanished. It had slithered quietly back into the dark from where it came, chains rattling behind it.
Guts tries not to look shaken, remaining dead silent as he stares emptily ahead. His hand is clenched so tightly he would have broken skin were it not for the wrappings. As much as Saturday seemed to be handling it, he can't help but feel consumed with a deep dread. The creature had been so dormant on Elfhelm, its return was like a cruel, dizzying whiplash.
(tw for awful gore dream)
A shadowy smoke envelops them both, darkening into a vision of the beast free of its bonds. This form stands upright, massive and hunched forward, left arm made of jagged iron. An ethereal version of Saturday appears in the vision as well, thrust into a heated battle as it desired. The fighting and spilling of its own blood made the beast feel alive.
Eventually, it leaps to pin her dream-self down beneath its black-furred bulk, quicker than a large thing should be. Her sword arm is wrenched free with a furious thrashing of its jaws, leaving what it wanted intact. The thing keeps their bodies pressed together, possessive of its struggling prey. It is warm from blood-mottled fur and body heat. Metal claws rake slowly over skin and cloth, splitting open flesh with careful ease. It is a grotesque mockery of intimacy in a pool of wet viscera. Its maw drips hungrily as it begins to feast on its spoils, flesh and bone crunching in its teeth.
"It is only a matter of time...."
When the illusion ends, the hound has vanished. It had slithered quietly back into the dark from where it came, chains rattling behind it.
Guts tries not to look shaken, remaining dead silent as he stares emptily ahead. His hand is clenched so tightly he would have broken skin were it not for the wrappings. As much as Saturday seemed to be handling it, he can't help but feel consumed with a deep dread. The creature had been so dormant on Elfhelm, its return was like a cruel, dizzying whiplash.