UselessBytes
Plays too much Yu-Gi-Oh!
- Joined
- Dec 6, 2015
- Messages
- 454
- Reaction score
- 174
The man’s breathing was quiet and calm, just as it always was before a kill. The leathery black skin of a demon he’d slain several times over rippled beneath his perch as a familiar blind head listened for the pestilent hunter who’d been tormenting it for hours. It wanted nothing more than to feel the hunter’s bones crack beneath its claws. It had felt the skin of its brothers and sisters as its claws had run over the hunter’s back and it seethed with rage at the hunter for garbing himself in a cloth of its fallen brethren.
The man glanced down at the feathered weapon in his hands. It was a beautifully crafted bowgun, adorned with the feathers of a Great Maccao and shaped out of smooth, strong malachite ore. It was a beautiful and deadly tool, suitable for hunting beasts as beautiful and deadly as itself. It had brought an end to several of the Gore Magala stalking the Jurassic Frontier, and it would soon bring death to the next.
The man loaded a multitude of bullets into the exquisite weapon, each marked with a crude portrayal of a flame that had been stamped into the tough casing. He pointed the barrel downwards toward his prey, steadying his breathing for the first shot. He aimed the weapon toward the leg-like appendages stretching along the front of ink-black wyvern’s wings, where the flaming shots would burn the most. The Gore Magala would have a relatively quick death.
The hunter held his breath and squeezed the trigger, the recoil forcing the bowgun into his shoulder as the flaming ball of crude metal hurtled toward its target. The pitch black beast lifted its head at the sound of the bowgun’s discharge, only to fling it back down in pain as the shot impacted the flesh of it’s wing-legs. The hunter pulled the trigger one, two, three more times before the gun was empty, each round slamming into the beast’s parchment-like wings.
The Gore Magala writhed in pain and let out an earsplitting screech reminiscent of knives dragging over granite as the hunter loaded more of the flaming rounds into his bowgun. It whipped its head upwards, screeching again as it located the source of the fiery bullets. The hunter dove from his perch, planting his feet on the wyvern’s head and leaping back into the air, unloading his weapon into the Gore Magala’s back once again. He landed on the rocky ground gracefully as he shoveled more ammunition into his weapon, spinning around to fire again. The Gore Magala let out a mighty scream as purple haze and particles started to swirl around it, and the sky started to grow dark as angry, violet streaks surfaced on the wyvern’s formerly pure black hide. Horn-like feelers the same color as the marks appearing along its body sprouted from its head as it roared at the hunter menacingly, enraged like had never been before.
The hunter was not fazed by the Gore Magala’s sudden change of appearance, nor by the sudden night that shrouded the Jurassic Frontier. He continued to discharge round after round of flaming metal into the enraged wyvern’s skin. A swarm of violet particles enveloped the hunter and clouded his vision, dizzying him and blurring his senses, yet he grit his teeth and kept firing. He knew that strength would come if he pushed through.
The hunter kept loading and firing and loading and firing as the wyvern swiped and lunged at him, the beast’s breath hot against his skin as he edged closer and closer. He made his way through the gauntlet of claws until he was staring the Gore Magala in the face, and without hesitation, jumped up and planted both his feet onto the monster’s outstretched leg.
The Gore Magala screeched in anger and flung its limb upwards in an attempt to dislodge the hunter. The hunter quickly bent his knees and jumped, using the momentum that the wyvern provided to rocket into the air. The hunter quickly aimed his weapon down at the beast, firing as he ascended. He reached the peak of his mighty leap and began to fall, loading his bowgun with a single round as he fell - one stamped with the shape of a knife. He landed gracefully on the wyvern’s back and planted the barrel of his bowgun against the beast’s neck, his finger tightening on the trigger. The bowgun discharged, and with a loud cracking, the shot punctured the Gore Magala’s tough scales. It let out an agonized roar before slumping to the ground, finally defeated.
The Gore Magala was dead. The hunter sighed, slung the bowgun over his shoulder and unsheathed a large carving knife. He plunged the knife into the wyvern’s carcass, and went about removing all the usable parts and materials from the beast.
As he finished looting the dead monster’s corpse, he stopped and looked to the sky as the trees began to shake, and an ever familiar broke through the silence of the forest. He looked down at the unmoving face of the dead Gore Magala before him, and chuckled.
“The hunt never ends…”
The man glanced down at the feathered weapon in his hands. It was a beautifully crafted bowgun, adorned with the feathers of a Great Maccao and shaped out of smooth, strong malachite ore. It was a beautiful and deadly tool, suitable for hunting beasts as beautiful and deadly as itself. It had brought an end to several of the Gore Magala stalking the Jurassic Frontier, and it would soon bring death to the next.
The man loaded a multitude of bullets into the exquisite weapon, each marked with a crude portrayal of a flame that had been stamped into the tough casing. He pointed the barrel downwards toward his prey, steadying his breathing for the first shot. He aimed the weapon toward the leg-like appendages stretching along the front of ink-black wyvern’s wings, where the flaming shots would burn the most. The Gore Magala would have a relatively quick death.
The hunter held his breath and squeezed the trigger, the recoil forcing the bowgun into his shoulder as the flaming ball of crude metal hurtled toward its target. The pitch black beast lifted its head at the sound of the bowgun’s discharge, only to fling it back down in pain as the shot impacted the flesh of it’s wing-legs. The hunter pulled the trigger one, two, three more times before the gun was empty, each round slamming into the beast’s parchment-like wings.
The Gore Magala writhed in pain and let out an earsplitting screech reminiscent of knives dragging over granite as the hunter loaded more of the flaming rounds into his bowgun. It whipped its head upwards, screeching again as it located the source of the fiery bullets. The hunter dove from his perch, planting his feet on the wyvern’s head and leaping back into the air, unloading his weapon into the Gore Magala’s back once again. He landed on the rocky ground gracefully as he shoveled more ammunition into his weapon, spinning around to fire again. The Gore Magala let out a mighty scream as purple haze and particles started to swirl around it, and the sky started to grow dark as angry, violet streaks surfaced on the wyvern’s formerly pure black hide. Horn-like feelers the same color as the marks appearing along its body sprouted from its head as it roared at the hunter menacingly, enraged like had never been before.
The hunter was not fazed by the Gore Magala’s sudden change of appearance, nor by the sudden night that shrouded the Jurassic Frontier. He continued to discharge round after round of flaming metal into the enraged wyvern’s skin. A swarm of violet particles enveloped the hunter and clouded his vision, dizzying him and blurring his senses, yet he grit his teeth and kept firing. He knew that strength would come if he pushed through.
The hunter kept loading and firing and loading and firing as the wyvern swiped and lunged at him, the beast’s breath hot against his skin as he edged closer and closer. He made his way through the gauntlet of claws until he was staring the Gore Magala in the face, and without hesitation, jumped up and planted both his feet onto the monster’s outstretched leg.
The Gore Magala screeched in anger and flung its limb upwards in an attempt to dislodge the hunter. The hunter quickly bent his knees and jumped, using the momentum that the wyvern provided to rocket into the air. The hunter quickly aimed his weapon down at the beast, firing as he ascended. He reached the peak of his mighty leap and began to fall, loading his bowgun with a single round as he fell - one stamped with the shape of a knife. He landed gracefully on the wyvern’s back and planted the barrel of his bowgun against the beast’s neck, his finger tightening on the trigger. The bowgun discharged, and with a loud cracking, the shot punctured the Gore Magala’s tough scales. It let out an agonized roar before slumping to the ground, finally defeated.
The Gore Magala was dead. The hunter sighed, slung the bowgun over his shoulder and unsheathed a large carving knife. He plunged the knife into the wyvern’s carcass, and went about removing all the usable parts and materials from the beast.
As he finished looting the dead monster’s corpse, he stopped and looked to the sky as the trees began to shake, and an ever familiar broke through the silence of the forest. He looked down at the unmoving face of the dead Gore Magala before him, and chuckled.
“The hunt never ends…”