Bomber loved his leather jacket. It kept blood off and was really easy to clean. Sometimes there was blood in the teeth of the zipper, but nobody got close enough to look there.
He walked through the forest in the Flop, not really trying to be sneaky, more looking for his next meal. Locerno’s blood was a good pick-me-up, but he was starting to feel hungry again. He would take one, maybe two Carnies before heading home.
He came upon a group of them, standing around an Illusionist. There was a girl in front of them. He didn’t know if they were trying to entrance her or intimidate her. It really didn’t matter to him – he wanted the prey.
As he stepped out of the forest, he saw something almost fly out of the other side from out of nowhere. It silently jumped into the group. Bomber saw the flash of blades, and the fiery Seneschal went down in a splash of blood – the scent reached his nose and made his throat ache. The girl was smart and took off; the Illusionist went down in the next second.
Then the man turned to the strongman and with a slash and spark, cut his chains holding his helmet. The man was a good head and shoulders shorter than the strongman, and he jumped up on him, wrapping his legs around the man’s waist and holding tight. He yanked off the helmet and held the man in a vise grip, even while the man tried to pull him off. The Strongman fell to the ground, the man still on him. His face was in the Strongman’s neck.
Bomber had no time to keep the Beast in check, because he was angry himself. My prey! the Beast roared in his mind, and he wholeheartedly agreed. He used his celerity to run out to the field. As he passed, he grabbed the man by the collar and savagely yanked him off the Strongman, throwing him a good twenty yards away. The man skidded along the grass for another five or so.
Bomber glanced at his prey – it was still alive, and maybe had enough to tide him over. The man looked at Bomber, his mouth bloody. He drew his swords and advanced slowly.
A part of the Beast surrendered to the tactics that Donavon had told him – take out the weapon, and he’ll be weak. Bomber watched the man cautiously, waiting for an opening. The man came at him, slashing, aiming for his head. Bomber moved to the side, but the man followed, slashing at his arm. He almost severed it at the elbow; but Bomber whirled with his other hand, and grabbed the man’s off hand, yanking hard and throwing him to the ground. He knew he had pulled the man’s shoulder right out of its socket, and if he pulled harder he could pull off his arm. The man’s arm must have gone numb because that sword was dropped.
Bomber swung the man like an Olympian would swing a mace, and threw him toward the forest. He watched him slam on his back into a tree about twenty feet away so hard that he partially wrapped around it. Bomber picked up the sword and watched the man slide down the trunk.
He snapped the sword over his knee and snapped the hilt off as well, tossing it. He thrust the blade parts into the grass, stepping hard on them, driving them deep into the earth. Then he started to advance on the man.
His spine had been broken, Bomber knew that, and the man was trying to straighten himself out. Bomber stepped on the blade of the other sword and tore it out of his hand. The man looked up at him, impotent rage in his eyes.
“Are you Sabbat?” Bomber demanded, holding the tip of the sword over his chest.
“What’s it to you, Cammie bastard?”
“Guess so.” Bomber thrust the sword into his chest, through his back, and into the earth. Licking his lips, he bent to drink from him.
Ecstacy. His Beast roared in victory while his mind tried struggled past it. He had learned that in a normal person to drain him relatively dry it took 50 draughts, half that if he was sucking hard. He had lost count by the time he was able to reign in the Beast, but knew he hadn’t hit 20 yet. To be sure, he stopped himself after another fifteen. He felt satiated, but the taste was wonderful, like smooth 150 year old whiskey, and he could drink it all day.
He raised his head, performing his normal ritual. Then he yanked the sword out of the body.
He looked down at the Sabbat. He couldn’t just sever his head. He couldn’t see himself killing him out of hand. Instead, he lifted the man and dragged him out of the forest to a tree that was prominently placed. He had been taught how to judge directions without a compass, so he pointed the man east. Lifting his body just over his head, he thrust the sword through his heart and into the tree, impaling him.
He walked away, humming, “Here comes the sun, doo doo doo doo doo…”
Words: 877
Inspiration: Scenes of Frenzy prompts
Music: Inside the Fire – Disturbed