05-04-2015, 11:10 AM
Martin watched as Dorian tensed up, every movement he saw of his friend spoke of danger. Martin was always armed, but a gun was not his tool of use much these days, though it was a hard habit to break. Martin turned around in the direction that Dorian was watching. It seemed that moments later the man in the trench started screaming. He was crawling like crab towards the wall to get away from whatever was in front of him.
Everything slowed. Martin stood up slowly, it felt slow to him, but he was sure that it was as fast as he could, but there was nothing in front of the man, but Martin saw the leather cushion rip into three course ribbons with stuffing sticking out of it. The smell of rotten eggs was much stronger. Sulfer...
Dorian was on his feet next to him his gun and badge out as if it were something he could stop. There was nothing to shoot. The man screamed and crawled away hitting his back against the wall and then forcing himself to slide up the wall into standing position.
A large crash and the table splintered as a huge force pushed forward. Martin had never seen a Hellhound. Never been this close to one, and he prayed to the heavens that he never did see one. The look of abject horror on the man's face meant that Martin was certain he did not want to meet his death in this way.
There were frantic screams from everywhere as Martin watched, he could vaguely remember Dorian starting to usher people out of the restaurant. It was his duty to make this less of a scene.
The man stood, seconds, minutes, it wasn't long before his blood curtling scream raked Martin's ears as three jagged marks appeared on his abdomen his intestines falling from their place of entrapment. The man crumbled to his knees and Martin watched as a chunk of his flesh on his neck was spirited away. The man fell limp on the floor and there was absolutely nothing Martin could have done to save the man. Even if Martin could have saved him, the hell hound or another would have found him. No one has ever survived a Hellhound once it had been sent after you.
Everything slowed. Martin stood up slowly, it felt slow to him, but he was sure that it was as fast as he could, but there was nothing in front of the man, but Martin saw the leather cushion rip into three course ribbons with stuffing sticking out of it. The smell of rotten eggs was much stronger. Sulfer...
Dorian was on his feet next to him his gun and badge out as if it were something he could stop. There was nothing to shoot. The man screamed and crawled away hitting his back against the wall and then forcing himself to slide up the wall into standing position.
A large crash and the table splintered as a huge force pushed forward. Martin had never seen a Hellhound. Never been this close to one, and he prayed to the heavens that he never did see one. The look of abject horror on the man's face meant that Martin was certain he did not want to meet his death in this way.
There were frantic screams from everywhere as Martin watched, he could vaguely remember Dorian starting to usher people out of the restaurant. It was his duty to make this less of a scene.
The man stood, seconds, minutes, it wasn't long before his blood curtling scream raked Martin's ears as three jagged marks appeared on his abdomen his intestines falling from their place of entrapment. The man crumbled to his knees and Martin watched as a chunk of his flesh on his neck was spirited away. The man fell limp on the floor and there was absolutely nothing Martin could have done to save the man. Even if Martin could have saved him, the hell hound or another would have found him. No one has ever survived a Hellhound once it had been sent after you.