Volent, combat, fatal, blood,short combat scene.
No real point just an excesise in descriptive combat,
Blood smeared across his face , his vision swimmin as his knee's buckled. A vicious blow split his left brow as mottled yellow dot's obscured his vision. Vision's of distended faces and screaming voices filled his mind, his grip on reality began to fade. Shaking his head he staggered to his left, stumbling and narrowly avoiding another blow Pain erupted from his temples as he forced himself to focus, gaining a moment of clarity his vision sharpened, desperately he swung his left arm upwards. Unable to make a fist he hammed the ball of his palm into his opponants chin lifting the grim horror into the air before it stumbled back into a crouch.
For a momet, everything was still. The creature before him had once been a man, now disfigured a contorted mask of horror and rage where it's face should be. Wicked gaunt fingers displaying inch long talon's where once the hand of a husbad and father had been. Darkness filled it's eyes, no mercy nor pity, no soul.
Again the foul abomination lept forward with inhuman speed. Brown muck oozed thick gumpy liquid from a deep split across it's chin. Blood splayed across his vision as it's taloned hand swept upwards, felt feel the gash and yet the pain only hightened his momentary focus. An arcing blow from his right hand rocked the crreature, seemingly he had the upper hand and pressed further. Crouching then lifted his knee into the creatures mishapen face he felt the bone give way. Only pain, only pain and suffering was left as he fell atop the crippled husk of the lifeless vampyre.
Again a moment of stillness, was it dead? Could it have been so easy. A stake, he'd read about that somewhere in a book. A cross, a stake something. Slowly he crawled to his knee's. Again his vision swam, the motled colours seamed to cover everything. He wiped his brow, the sticky ruddish liquid covered his hands. Good the wound had congealed, infection was his only fear now. Staring down at the lifeless husk before him he wondered, why ? why would god allow such an inhuman beast to exist. Without warning the ground rushed up to embrace him, instead of the shattering thud he had expected he was ebraced. Embraced by the cold, and the dark.
"What do you think happened here ?" A middle aged man stood over two bodies, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Seem's the old man managed to beat his attacked to death before sufferiung a stroke himself." He kicked the body lightly with his foot.
"What's become of the world these day's." A slightly younger, taller man walked behind his companion and examined the scene. "Bob, Im not so sure you should be touchin' them bodies. Something don't feel right."
"Not to worry friend, I'll not be robbing them. Just confused, the old man is ancient easy be beaten by this young cut throat. See's odd he managed to defend himself." He circled the bodies trying to glean some piece of information.
"Bob, I think it's time to leave." The taller figure stepped backwards his face white, eye's wide. Bob looked up.
He opened his eye, his lips felt parched. Cold, so cold he could feel his injuries dull ebb's of pain though the agony he remembered had passed. Rolling his head to one side he caught glimpse of a tall man. Blinking he tried to call out. Ask for help. Spittle flecks and a rasping cough ensued. Closing his eye's he let himself take a deep breath. He cleared his throat opened his eyes and spoke...
"I need.. help me..." He caughed again, brown flecks of dried bloody as he felt some strength return to him. "I need... " his eyes narrowed as his mouth split into a sinister grin. "Blood."