Giving up pride for a good meal (Expositional)

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    Nicholas Gritsipis

    A drifting Perth stood against two rogue Yao Guai. The stuff of nightmares. Claw fisted, mouths full of shining carnivore teeth, carrying only the desire for a good meal. They moved as a hive, their feet kicking up clouds of dust as they advanced, claws glinting in the sun.

    “Alright,” he said, a quiet salute to his dance partners as he wove around a green cloak, coat trailing him like a shadow. He might not walk away from this. But they definitely wouldn’t.

    His blade spoke much louder than he ever did, over and over.

    He had never brought himself to desecrate a human. Or anything even resembling a human. Beastkin included.

    But these were no beastkin. No humans.

    He broke their advance like oil parting water, the repeating clash of his steel leading the way. A red, viscous film covered the dirt, dust, and rocks when he was finished.

    “Alright.” he finished, looking appreciably down at his aetheric weapon. A trail of demon blood trailed from its tip.

    Hard to find a bite, most days.

    Every day.

    He wondered what they’d taste like.


    (Due to the nature of the post, involving minor combat and lore as a catalyst for character growth, I completely understand if this should be rewritten or removed, and staff can let me know if they wish for me to. Also, its better than a toilet.)

    I am The Jagged Shadow, The Ravens Mist, The Blade Dancer, The Spell Sunderer, and the wrecker of your shit.

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