It feels fiercely cold at first, a fear that makes your heart pump, but the blood that surges is lava hot and anger takes over. The fangs and claws that emerge, unbidden are sharp and double edged.

Cutting deep, the blood that spews forth is bright red and it doesn’t do a thing to relieve the angry hurts still coursing through blue veins.

The damage is vulgar, gaping wounds with jagged edges. The sight subdues the beast. The impact of what has been done sears a scar over the heart. Quickly, regret and sorrow retract the claws and fangs as well as cause the now exhausted and limp body to sink low on its haunches.

What to say, or do? Nothing, but to walk away, slowly, tears running unchecked, cooling still warm cheeks.

Will the opponent attack back? Doesn’t matter now, as the beast deserves whatever retribution it gets.

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