Violent
Violent - Violent - Violent
Pet Name: Violent
Owner: Wasteland
Theme / Type: Plague Obsideon
Born: June 8, 2012
Collection: 4
MisticPal Name: Seal
MisticPal Age: 4564 Days
Hit Points: 184 / 184
Strength: 57
Defense: 0
Speed: 20
Intellect: 15
Misticpower: 52
Battles Won: 1401
Battles Lost: 0
Books Read
Books Read: None
Exotic Foods Eaten
Foods Eaten: 0/1155 [ View Foods ]
[suffering]
-hit 250 battles 10/13/12
-hit 500, 750, 1000 battles 10/29/12
-made hall of fame with 1401 the same day
[on hold until whenever they fix battles again]
[images]
critical moment - by Ilovestuffi
[and with thanks to Dissolve for the poppet!]
it's dark on the town. you're just a traveler and you lean against the sign at the bus stop, repeatedly checking the time on your phone. it seems to be taking ages and no one else is waiting, so it's quite a lonely time.
"you!"
a screech tears the night and you jump, looking around wildly; the source of the voice turns out to be what you could have sworn was only a stray dog beforehand. now it is a hunched dog-faced thing dressed in clothes that oddly resemble yours but for the grime and dirt of a hundred years rubbed in. it surveys you for a second with glowing eyes, and you get a good look at the stitches wound into its matted fur and the glinting blade that makes up its right arm.
"slit my throat and leave me to die!"
it giggles maniacally, the burbling, oily sound dripping from its jaws. it drags one clawed finger across its throat, clacks the blade-arm on the ground and laughs all the harder.
you're done here.
dust flies as you take off running down the sidewalk, turn a corner, head between buildings without thinking. a sound begins, high and earsplitting, following through the maze. you turn again and run down a narrow alley, aiming for the large, open road on the other side.
suddenly a fence springs up from the ground, twisted razor wire catching at your clothes. you turn and your fingernails shred as you claw at the bricks of the buildings, unable to get enough of a hold to climb. panicked breath swirls away into the cold.
you chance a look back.
it's there, it's the source of the noise. walking slowly, limping, the long blade sheering across the ground, spitting up sparks on the concrete. your fear is lost on it; it opens its mouth, grins, the skin and fur on its face tear at the stitches and the seams are barely holding it all in.
you go to back up against the chain-link and realize it is already wound around your limbs.
the monster is getting closer.
and closer.
closer.
you can see every grimy stitch in its fur.
-
there's no light in the doorway.
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