Ascendance (P NK)

Salzem snarled, his black mane bristled as he sensed. his lips curled into a growl, revealing his white, dagger-like fangs. He sensed the presence of many people... He smelled the blood that coursed through their pathetic bodies. His mouth dripped with saliva as he recalled the familiar scent of those gang members... the remnants of the Royals.... Salzem raised his wolfish head to the moon, eyes enraptured by it's silver glow. Let out a long, wolfish howl, one that would shatter the will of even the most harden ninja. However, these men were not ninja... no... they were to pompous for that....too confident in their stride... His mouth watered as the smell of his prey got progressively stronger... slowly, but surely. The werewolf finally saw his prey, about 50 meters ahead. Although the darkness of night shrouded them, Salzem could clearly make out the suits and ties of these gangsters. He also noticed the moonlight reflect off the knives each one held... smaller than kunai, blades slender and sliver. Not made of the same metal, clearly. There were so many of them... They filled up the streets ahead, leaving no room to flee, and that was just fine. He had no intention of fleeing anyway... Salzem took a step forward, then another, then another, quicker and quicker until he fell forward and, on all fours, began a death-charge at the enemy. He leapt over the crowds of gangsters, using his powerful back legs to propel himself. He landed atop one gangster, grabbing his head in his massive wolfish palm and slamming his head into ground, shattering the tile road beneath. He let go of that man's head swinging his other arm around in a punishing backhand, snapping another unfortunate gangster's neck and sending him flying into the crowd, knocking over a few of his brethren. Salzem ducked under a thrust aimed at his right eye from another gangster, swinging his hands around, smashing into both sides of his head, smashing his skull in a splatter of blood and bone. He felt multiple swipes at his back and in response, Salzem swiped his claws across three flanking gangsters' eyes, blinding them and tearing their eyes from their sockets. They screamed in horror and agony, falling back, clutching their faces as blood poured from their gouged orbs. more swipes... much more, splitting the flesh on his cheeks, nose, sides, back. Salzem roared in annoyance, leaping high above the gangsters again, this time landing atop a roof, crouched like a sitting dog, analyzing the vast numbers of gangsters below. Small amounts of blood leaked from his shallow wounds but he barely noticed them. He was too busy licking the gangster's blood and flesh off his palms. God, they tasted delicious... Salzem's mouth watered and his belly rumbled. He wanted MORE! He leapt back down into the crowd, landing atop an unfortunate suited baddy and began disemboweling him with his claws. He did such a job that he was split in half, still conscious, still watching, still not making a sound. He felt the steel blades bite into his back and in response, grabbed one of the gangster's legs and swung his lower half around like a bat, cracking the skulls of all those who struck him from behind. They fell away like twigs, only leaving more for him to slaughter. And slaughter he did. Salzem lost himself to the bloodlust, remembering only a bite to the throat here, a disembowelment there, but when he came too, his belly was warm with the flesh and blood of the dead that filled the streets around him. He couldn't even feel the pain of the wounds he sustained, so profound was his bloodlust. Tattered, blood splattered suits and bodies were thrown about like rag dolls as Salzem dug around for survivors. Sometimes, he had to dig through piles of corpses 4 or 5 bodies deep, occasionally snacking on an arm or leg of the fallen. Finally, and much to Salzem's enjoyment, he did find a survivor. He was scrawny, not even a made-man in a dark brown suit buried under the corpse of a man with his entire ribcage torn out. He was pretending to be dead, and Salzem might have over-looked him, if he didn't catch the subtle rise-and-fall of his chest as he breathed. He smiled, his blood soaked fangs revealed. He tore the corpse off the man with one massive paw and with the other, wrapped his hands around his throat and held him off the ground. The Werewolf licked his lips as he imagined the taste of this man's blood. The smell... oh god, the smell... Even among an ocean of blood, Salzem could smell the fear, the sweat, the adrenalin in this man as he tried to struggle against Salzem's grip. He found it adorable, and his wolfish smile grew even larger. He was going to have some fun. He threw the gangster on the ground hard, not breaking anything, but causing him intense pain. The gangster gasped and scrambled back, eyes wide and the giant Werewolf smiled.

"Go." Salzem croaked. "You may leave." The gangster didn't need to be told twice, for he got up and made a break for it, right back towards the gang came from. Unfortunately for him, Salzem had no intention of letting him leave at all. Moving quicker than a shuriken and quieter than a shadow, Salzem moved right behind him and forced his hand into the man's back, through his ribs and wrapped his fingers around the man's heart. He gasped, skin fading to a pale white, body shaking profusely. He turned his head so that his shaking eyes could meet Salzem's bestial sanguine ones.

"B-but..." the man stuttered out, his last breaths taking him. "I-I t-thought...." No further as Salzem crushed the man's heart inside his chest before ripping his hand free of the man's body and letting it drop limply to the ground.

"I lied." Salzem replied, although he knew the gangster could no longer hear him. Salzem began licking the delicious blood off his arms and body, spitting out his own as it tasted vile. Those fools were dead as soon as Salzem came to the Land of Tea.

WC: 1038

Blood was so delicious... He didn't need his wolven mind to tell him that. They tasted so good... Salzem was sane. He was sentient. He was not a beast... At least, he didn't think so. Humans... What did they know about what was wild and what was not? How can they know what is and what isn't when they were only one? Stuck in one pitiful form without knowing the joys of lycanthropy? Foolish sacks of food. That's all they were good for. Food. Salzem ripped off the arm of a dead gangster, gnawing on it hungrily as he sifted through the corpses for anything of value. Perhaps something he could take as a trophy. Knives can be found for a dime a dozen, as can these suits. Nothing he could gloat over than their corpses. He would not move them, he would not clean up. Instead, he would leave them to rot. Someone would come to clean them up eventually. As the former gangsters would say: Corpses in the open are bad for business. He had killed the Royal's leader, and now he had killed a good number of them. Salzem had gnawed through the flesh of the arm that hung from his mouth. He chewed on the bone as a dog would a toy, lapping up the succulent bone marrow that seeped from the mutilated limp. He pawed about on all fours, sniffing about for more gangsters to kill. To eat. To devour like the helpless sacks of meat they were. He opened his jaw, dropping the arm, now only soggy bits of cloth and shredded bone. He smelled fear. He smelled it close. He smelled two people near by. One confident, the other fearful. He smelled the metallic wang of steel with the confident one and that nasty, yet sneaky smell of artificial fur on the fearful one. It seemed as if humans were hunting each other this night. He followed the scent to an ally cut off at one end. He stood in the entrance and the only exit, shadow slowly arching over them both as the moon rose higher. The "hunter" was slender, yet muscular, dressed in shabby shorts and a fur vest with no shirt underneath. He held a clip-point knife at the prey. She was elderly, grey visible in her hair and wrinkles obvious on her face no matter how much makeup plastered her face. She held a purse close to her chest, a fearful stare in her watery blue eyes. By the predator's stance, he didn't seem murderous, just intending to be intimidating. He could see the movement of the man's jaw. The predator was saying something but he could not hear. Blood pulsed in his veins and his mouth watered. No matter how much  he devoured, he was still hungry. Still hungry. Prey... The prey rushed the man, faster than one might think an old woman would be capable of. She smacked the predator with her purse, then attempted to scratch him with her painted nails. He only watched as the predator, in an instinctive reaction, stuck his clip-point knife into the old woman's guts, dropping her in a second. He was intrigued as the predator stared at his bloodied blade, as if questioning the tool of that brought about his prize. He couldn't quite understand why a predator would question why he got what he sought. The predator seemed to snap out of his daze, snatching up the purse... but not devouring his kill... What a waste... the predator smacked into him and the predator stared up at the monster that towered above him. The predator dropped his knife in horror and Salzem smiled. Once, Salzem might've stopped the predator. He was, by human standards, a criminal. He was a hunter and hunted he did. He killed and claimed what he wanted. He stepped aside and, without another thought, the predator ran past him, clutching his purse tightly. He watched the predator go before turning his attention back to the kill. It was right there, blood pooling, scent enthralling. Even so, he turned away. Eating anyone's kill but his own was beneath him. Disgusting.

TWC: 1732

Claiming 1732 words into Lycanthropy Ascendance

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