Write awesome killing intent moments

[AliceShiki]

The one when a guy see the most beautiful girl he had ever see in his life trying to sucide and save her. He slowly became a couple with her over time but she all time try to sucide and will every time send him a message before trying to do it and each time he come right before she could jump.
He sometime said that she never really look at him and he nerver see her smile, she said that she look most of the time at the reaper who appear to her.
He asked her how the reaper look like and she tell him that the reaper took the form of what she desire the most.
Time pass and she continue to try to sucide and one day the guy ask her why she send him message each time if she want to sucide, he had enough of it and he just want to die now.
At that moment she smile at him for the first time and he understand.
Following her to the roof of a batiment the two jump to their death.

(That more or less the story not 100% accurate but I can find you the real short story if you want it)

Oh... I remember once seeing a song about this one.

I didn't know the song was based on a short story~

 

[HellerFeed]

It was already late at night and I quietly crept inside the room slowly tip-toeing my way.
The place was dark but I could see the jar being illuminated by the moonlight through the windowsill.

I slowly went to the counter and grabbed the holy jar.
It was already late and by now everyone should be asleep.

Suddenly the wind changed direction and I smelt a familiar perfume.
A shiver suddenly ran down my spine as I knew that I screwed up!
I could feel someone staring at me from behind.

I slowly turned around and I saw a woman seated behind me at the table with her head resting on her arm.
Her two red eyes were looking at me as if I was nothing but filth who was caught in the act.

I don't know if it was the wind but I clearly saw her long hair almost standing like a demon, as she got up and approached me.

I backed away cornered as beads of sweat rolled down my brows,
"Um... I was just looking for... for co- for the water! I was thirsty!" I mumbled.

But the woman towering on me seemed to not buying my BS.
I finally got a closer look and what I saw was the face of a demon who was about to end my life.

With her big hand, she grabbed me by my ears,
"James, you mistook the cookie jar for the water bottle! Do you think your mom's a fool!"

"Demon! Save me!"

"How dare you call your mother a demon! You getting a good spanking!"

Then I was mercilessly spanked that at night I had to sleep on my chest instead of on my back.

(I think that's funny killing intent! Ps. this is fiction and not at all real-life experience!)

 

[Sleds]

Oh... I remember once seeing a song about this one.

I didn't know the song was based on a short story~

Yes, Yoasobi Racing into the night/Yoru kakeru is based on a japanese story named The temptation of Thanatos/Thanatos no Yūwaku.

 

[TheMonotonePuppet]

It was already late at night and I quietly crept inside the room slowly tip-toeing my way.
The place was dark but I could see the jar being illuminated by the moonlight through the windowsill.

I slowly went to the counter and grabbed the holy jar.
It was already late and by now everyone should be asleep.

Suddenly the wind changed direction and I smelt a familiar perfume.
A shiver suddenly ran down my spine as I knew that I screwed up!
I could feel someone staring at me from behind.

I slowly turned around and I saw a woman seated behind me at the table with her head resting on her arm.
Her two red eyes were looking at me as if I was nothing but filth who was caught in the act.

I don't know if it was the wind but I clearly saw her long hair almost standing like a demon, as she got up and approached me.

I backed away cornered as beads of sweat rolled down my brows,
"Um... I was just looking for... for co- for the water! I was thirsty!" I mumbled.

But the woman towering on me seemed to not buying my BS.
I finally got a closer look and what I saw was the face of a demon who was about to end my life.

With her big hand, she grabbed me by my ears,
"James, you mistook the cookie jar for the water bottle! Do you think your mom's a fool!"

"Demon! Save me!"

"How dare you call your mother a demon! You getting a good spanking!"

Then I was mercilessly spanked that at night I had to sleep on my chest instead of on my back.

(I think that's funny killing intent! Ps. this is fiction and not at all real-life experience!)

Suuuure… we all believe you! My puppet masters believe you for suuuure…

 

[georgelee5786]

Spoiler

"Hm..." Octavian rumbled as he let pale white ash fall between the fingers of his gloved hand. The floor, walls, everything was scorched. There was burnt wooden floors, charred stone walls, incinerated skeletons trapped in blackened chainmail and leather, and ashes upon ashes. He rose from his kneel slowly, the onyx armor on his armor and the tip of his scabbard flecked with the gray powder. Octavian knew full well what had happened, after all, he was the one who ordered the building torched, but he had also commanded a force to garrison the ruins until a fortress could be constructed, yet there was no sign of the Legionnaires.

The burnt out building's silence was disturbed as Octavian drew his longsword, its ebony blade chipped and blooded. Nothing felt right. Octavian looked over his shoulder at a door in the wall far above the ground. Nigh palpable menace poured from it. Rather than take a step back, Octavian pressed forward, raising his sword and gribbing the lower part of its hilt with his left hand, the tip of its blade a straight line from his furrowed brow. The obsidian cape hanging from Octavian's shoulder swept at his booted feet. His enemy was at hand. He was sure of it.

But before Octavian could face his enemy, a shadow, a chill, a feeling of evil swept over his black. That wicked desire, a killing intent, spurred his mind into instinctive action. He released his left hand's grip on his sword, and transferred his body weight to his right, shifting his dominant foot and pivoting upon his it, bringing his sword around in a sweeping blow. A loud thud rang out as the metal of the blade met a wooden club. The force of the blow jarred Octavian's arm, but he did not relent, his biceps straining as he pushed against the makeshift weapon.

Squinted red eyes met yellow ones, partially shrouded by flaps of mottled skin. Octavian's lips were separated, exposing his gritted, human teeth, while his opponent's were jagged and broken. The overall piggish appearance of his enemy repulsed Octavian, its shriveled and beaten face, discolored and flabby, bled malice. Octavian grabbed its swelled, left forearm and forced it down, fighting against its monstrous strength, relying on his weight, might, and gravity to force the limb farther down, keeping his longsword between him and the beast's weapon. The monster growed and spat, trying to save its other arm by frantically beating against Octavian's armament with his wooden club. It jarred Octavian's bones, but his defense did not falter.

Finally, after agonizingly long seconds, bones began to creak, then crack. It recoiled with a howl, clutching its unnaturally bent arm, releasing its club. As it howled, Octavian straightened up, raising his sword above his head and gribbing it with both hands. With a single swing, he decapitated the beast, its corpse falling into the ash. Without losing a second, Octavian whirled around, looking up at the door. The malice pouring from it was gone. "Damn." Octavian spat, sheathing his sword, not even bothering to wipe the tar-like blood from it. Another second and he left the burnt out building, unsure of what to do now.

...idk

 

[TheMonotonePuppet]

Spoiler

"Hm..." Octavian rumbled as he let pale white ash fall between the fingers of his gloved hand. The floor, walls, everything was scorched. There was burnt wooden floors, charred stone walls, incinerated skeletons trapped in blackened chainmail and leather, and ashes upon ashes. He rose from his kneel slowly, the onyx armor on his armor and the tip of his scabbard flecked with the gray powder. Octavian knew full well what had happened, after all, he was the one who ordered the building torched, but he had also commanded a force to garrison the ruins until a fortress could be constructed, yet there was no sign of the Legionnaires.

The burnt out building's silence was disturbed as Octavian drew his longsword, its ebony blade chipped and blooded. Nothing felt right. Octavian looked over his shoulder at a door in the wall far above the ground. Nigh palpable menace poured from it. Rather than take a step back, Octavian pressed forward, raising his sword and gribbing the lower part of its hilt with his left hand, the tip of its blade a straight line from his furrowed brow. The obsidian cape hanging from Octavian's shoulder swept at his booted feet. His enemy was at hand. He was sure of it.

But before Octavian could face his enemy, a shadow, a chill, a feeling of evil swept over his black. That wicked desire, a killing intent, spurred his mind into instinctive action. He released his left hand's grip on his sword, and transferred his body weight to his right, shifting his dominant foot and pivoting upon his it, bringing his sword around in a sweeping blow. A loud thud rang out as the metal of the blade met a wooden club. The force of the blow jarred Octavian's arm, but he did not relent, his biceps straining as he pushed against the makeshift weapon.

Squinted red eyes met yellow ones, partially shrouded by flaps of mottled skin. Octavian's lips were separated, exposing his gritted, human teeth, while his opponent's were jagged and broken. The overall piggish appearance of his enemy repulsed Octavian, its shriveled and beaten face, discolored and flabby, bled malice. Octavian grabbed its swelled, left forearm and forced it down, fighting against its monstrous strength, relying on his weight, might, and gravity to force the limb farther down, keeping his longsword between him and the beast's weapon. The monster growed and spat, trying to save its other arm by frantically beating against Octavian's armament with his wooden club. It jarred Octavian's bones, but his defense did not falter.

Finally, after agonizingly long seconds, bones began to creak, then crack. It recoiled with a howl, clutching its unnaturally bent arm, releasing its club. As it howled, Octavian straightened up, raising his sword above his head and gribbing it with both hands. With a single swing, he decapitated the beast, its corpse falling into the ash. Without losing a second, Octavian whirled around, looking up at the door. The malice pouring from it was gone. "Damn." Octavian spat, sheathing his sword, not even bothering to wipe the tar-like blood from it. Another second and he left the burnt out building, unsure of what to do now.

...idk

Yeeeeeaaahhh!!! Killing intent, baby! Wonderful!
Evil!
Malice!
Destruction!
Fight, fight, fight!

 

[ToushiroYA]

Spoiler: Stolen Eggs

Hiding under the dark veil of the night sky, the monkey arrived at it's destination, the previously well hidden nest of another creature, which was now just a grown field awaiting to be harvested by it.

The hole dug in between two bushes, and beneath the shadow of a large dark tree, was naturally invisible from the outside, but the monkey's unexpected encounter with a large bird while jumping from tree branch to tree branch caused it to fall on top of a bush that just so happened to be the one covering this burrow.

It didn't know what to do about its newfound treasure, the unborn eggs resting inside, but it did know that attempting anything during the day would only result in being pursued by whatever birthed them. So, in a judgment unexpected from a mere monkey, it went back to its group before returning at night for the real opportunity.

Now, with only the moonlight to cast its shadow onto the burrow, it picked up one of the eggs, letting out a small groan as the weight differed quite a bit from what it expected, to say the least.

It guessed that carrying more than two eggs would be impossible for now and just walked away with one under each arm, not fearing any encounters on this completely silent night.

The trip back was smooth, and no one seemed to react to the monkey's arrival as it climbed the tree that it considered its own. Rather, they all seemed very silent, with not a single monkey of the group letting a snore escape.

By the time the monkey carried both eggs to its bed of large leaves, it realized that there was no sound aside from its own breath, and then climbed higher to check on its friends...

There was no one.

Had they left without it? Or had something happened to them? It did not know or thought about it at all, for something else occupied its thoughts immediately.

The dark. In the dark a pair of flames appeared, like those it had seen other species carry and threaten it with. They were floating and approaching very, very slowly from a distant and larger tree... it was the group leader's tree.

Under the watch of the moving flames it froze, the sense of danger it had developed couldn't even fathom its predicament, but its body instantly knew to give up, struggling would only bring a worse pain.

As the flames moved from tree to tree in a matter of seconds, it came to realize that they weren't real flames. As the pair approached, growing larger the closer they got, it noticed the black sharp line at the very center of those "flames".

They reminded the monkey of the sight of its mother when its brother died to the flame-holding species. They were the vengeful eyes of a beast who lost a precious one.

And the eyes of a predator in rage were now face to face with it. And it knew why. It knew why it was followed back here. It knew why it lost its group.

It, now, knew why it was dead.

...Under the silence of the night, the trail left by a large sliding creature marked the end of another greedy species.

Forgive my grammar and lackluster end.

 

[Cortavar]

OK, I'm going to try to play it straight.

Lost in his own thoughts, Mark was walking home. It wasn't really late, barely past midnight. If he had lived in a big city, the streets would have been bustling with people going on and about with their lives. Here, he was the last soul still awake since he'd closed his dinner, the only attraction in town, about half an hour ago and everyone had retreated to the comfort of their homes.

Mark didn't mind the walk, nor the brisk wind caressing his face, a true relief after the hours spent in the heat of his kitchen. He didn't mind the walk, he even cherished it. It was his time to cool down, a welcome transition from work to home. He knew the way back and forth so well he could have traveled it with his eyes closed. Well, mostly. He had attempted it once or twice and always ended bumping into a parked car or a surprising dumpster.

Still, it was his time, his way, his quaint little town. It was probably why it took him so long to notice the unusual feeling that had crept up his spine. He knew everyone here, there was virtually no crime, so he felt perfectly safe. And yet something in him kept nagging him, telling him that there was danger around.

He'd dismissed the feeling as a side effect of being overworked and continued walking, but instead of passing, the feeling of danger only grew, telling him to flee or to fight. Some ancient part of his brain, inherited from when humans were at the mercy of things that prowled and slithered in the night, had been awakened and was desperately trying to catch the attention of his human brain.

Something was out there. Something that had decided he was prey. Mark finally listened to his screaming instincts and turned around to check if he was being followed. He couldn't see that well in the darkness of the private gardens, but he knew, in his bones, that something wasn't right. He couldn't tell what was wrong, until he turned around to face the vague form of a shrubbery.

That was when he knew he was going to die. Whatever was hiding there had decided that he would be their meal, their prey, their sacrifice. Without even seeing what hated him so much and sent shivers down his spine, he could feel that it was over for him. That thing wanted him dead, and he was powerless to resist. He felt its will, its hate, its hunger from afar.

 

[TheKillingAlice]

Hm, don't know if that counts as a scene with killing intent, I don't even know if it's good or not. Nevertheless, it's fairly new, so it came to mind.

Spoiler: Jack Skellington*

Locking on to the target the noble daughter assumed to be straight ahead, she charged at it the same time as a shiver ran down her spine without prior warning. Her feet were frozen in place by the sudden feeling hitting her senses and breaking her stance.

Her breath hitched and goose bumps crawled down her arms, starting from her shoulders and neck. A rush of panic made her heart skip a beat; adrenaline started pumping through her veins. As her mind went into overload, she turned point blank, shifting her blade and spinning it once out of the passive blocking position she had just put it in.

While turning around, she swung, blindly but surely, as the shattering impact of one sword against another numbed her arm and nearly sent her blade flying. 'Ridiculous,' she thought, putting more effort into holding on.

But the thing that perplexed her even more than the sudden strike itself was the "who". The "who would attack me from behind," as she realized it was none other than Jack Skellington.

She jumped back a few steps, for the sword the undead wielded was strong, yet not very precise. "Sorry, I didn't mean to bother you earlier," she said, her thin voice somewhere between amusement and fear.

Amusement, because this was ludicrous. It wasn't in her job description.

Fear... because there was no way this was a Visitor. Visitors hated the dead.

*nah, no FanFiction or something, just a stupid reference from a few lines before this part. Don't mind me.

 

[TheMonotonePuppet]

OK, I'm going to try to play it straight.

Lost in his own thoughts, Mark was walking home. It wasn't really late, barely past midnight. If he had lived in a big city, the streets would have been bustling with people going on and about with their lives. Here, he was the last soul still awake since he'd closed his dinner, the only attraction in town, about half an hour ago and everyone had retreated to the comfort of their homes.

Mark didn't mind the walk, nor the brisk wind caressing his face, a true relief after the hours spent in the heat of his kitchen. He didn't mind the walk, he even cherished it. It was his time to cool down, a welcome transition from work to home. He knew the way back and forth so well he could have traveled it with his eyes closed. Well, mostly. He had attempted it once or twice and always ended bumping into a parked car or a surprising dumpster.

Still, it was his time, his way, his quaint little town. It was probably why it took him so long to notice the unusual feeling that had crept up his spine. He knew everyone here, there was virtually no crime, so he felt perfectly safe. And yet something in him kept nagging him, telling him that there was danger around.

He'd dismissed the feeling as a side effect of being overworked and continued walking, but instead of passing, the feeling of danger only grew, telling him to flee or to fight. Some ancient part of his brain, inherited from when humans were at the mercy of things that prowled and slithered in the night, had been awakened and was desperately trying to catch the attention of his human brain.

Something was out there. Something that had decided he was prey. Mark finally listened to his screaming instincts and turned around to check if he was being followed. He couldn't see that well in the darkness of the private gardens, but he knew, in his bones, that something wasn't right. He couldn't tell what was wrong, until he turned around to face the vague form of a shrubbery.

That was when he knew he was going to die. Whatever was hiding there had decided that he would be their meal, their prey, their sacrifice. Without even seeing what hated him so much and sent shivers down his spine, he could feel that it was over for him. That thing wanted him dead, and he was powerless to resist. He felt its will, its hate, its hunger from afar.

WHOO! Killing intent! Serial killer style! Feel the terror trickle up your oh so bony spine as the threat of said bone-white vertebrae being exposed to the open air hangs o’er you head like the Sword of Damocles!!’

Hm, don't know if that counts as a scene with killing intent, I don't even know if it's good or not. Nevertheless, it's fairly new, so it came to mind.

Spoiler: Jack Skellington*

Locking on to the target the noble daughter assumed to be straight ahead, she charged at it the same time as a shiver ran down her spine without prior warning. Her feet were frozen in place by the sudden feeling hitting her senses and breaking her stance.

Her breath hitched and goose bumps crawled down her arms, starting from her shoulders and neck. A rush of panic made her heart skip a beat; adrenaline started pumping through her veins. As her mind went into overload, she turned point blank, shifting her blade and spinning it once out of the passive blocking position she had just put it in.

While turning around, she swung, blindly but surely, as the shattering impact of one sword against another numbed her arm and nearly sent her blade flying. 'Ridiculous,' she thought, putting more effort into holding on.

But the thing that perplexed her even more than the sudden strike itself was the "who". The "who would attack me from behind," as she realized it was none other than Jack Skellington.

She jumped back a few steps, for the sword the undead wielded was strong, yet not very precise. "Sorry, I didn't mean to bother you earlier," she said, her thin voice somewhere between amusement and fear.

Amusement, because this was ludicrous. It wasn't in her job description.

Fear... because there was no way this was a Visitor. Visitors hated the dead.

*nah, no FanFiction or something, just a stupid reference from a few lines before this part. Don't mind me.

@TheKillingAlice Definitely counts to me! The specter of a ghastly creature and it’s horrid gaze promising a death much like its own life.

 

[Sola-sama]

Spoiler: Spoiler

"You dare touch my childhood friend, the #1 fairy of the Green Jade Sect? Courting death!"

It's something.

 

[RepresentingEnvy]

Spoiler: Killing intent

Ellie skipped school for the third time that month. She stayed home playing her games. Today it was Halo. Yesterday it was the weekend, and Call of Duty was on the menu. Her mother worked late, like always.

Ellie’s mother worked long days, usually clocking in at the Dialysis Center around 5 AM. She would work until late in the evening, and everytime Ellie skipped school she got an earful. Not only that, but the look in her mother’s eyes became like a serial killer’s. Every time Ellie saw those narrowed eyes, and the smile that came straight from Hell she knew it was over. Ellie’s heart would pound, and she would swell with remorse.

This time was different, Ellie’s mother came home at 8PM. She looked at Ellie with those same eyes as always, but she was tired. Her mother sighed, and then she left the house.

Ellie’s mother didn’t come back that day; in fact, she never came back again.

Everyday after that, Ellie pleaded to anyone for her mother. She pleaded to the police. She pleaded to God. She pleaded to have those eyes of killing intent looking down at her. But alas, her mother was gone… Forever.

 

[Sola-sama]

Spoiler: Killing intent

Ellie skipped school for the third time that month. She stayed home playing her games. Today it was Halo. Yesterday it was the weekend, and Call of Duty was on the menu. Her mother worked late, like always.

Ellie’s mother worked long days, usually clocking in at the Dialysis Center around 5 AM. She would work until late in the evening, and everytime Ellie skipped school she got an earful. Not only that, but the look in her mother’s eyes became like a serial killer’s. Every time Ellie saw those narrowed eyes, and the smile that came straight from Hell she knew it was over. Ellie’s heart would pound, and she would swell with remorse.

This time was different, Ellie’s mother came home at 8PM. She looked at Ellie with those same eyes as always, but she was tired. Her mother sighed, and then she left the house.

Ellie’s mother didn’t come back that day; in fact, she never came back again.

Everyday after that, Ellie pleaded to anyone for her mother. She pleaded to the police. She pleaded to God. She pleaded to have those eyes of killing intent looking down at her. But alas, her mother was gone… Forever.

I genuinely thought Ellie would forgot taking out the chicken from the fridge, or forgot to wash the dishes before her mother came back home. Then the mother would hold the most dangerous weapon known to mankind: slippers, to threaten punish her.

My disappointment is immeasurable and my day is ruined.

 

[RepresentingEnvy]

I genuinely thought Ellie would forgot taking out the chicken from the fridge, or forgot to wash the dishes before her mother came back home. Then the mother would hold the most dangerous weapon known to mankind: slippers, to threaten punish her.

My disappointment is immeasurable and my day is ruined.

That's the point.

I genuinely thought Ellie would forgot taking out the chicken from the fridge, or forgot to wash the dishes before her mother came back home. Then the mother would hold the most dangerous weapon known to mankind: slippers, to threaten punish her.

My disappointment is immeasurable and my day is ruined.

Also Chanclas are too obvious.

 

[TheMonotonePuppet]

Spoiler: Killing intent

Ellie skipped school for the third time that month. She stayed home playing her games. Today it was Halo. Yesterday it was the weekend, and Call of Duty was on the menu. Her mother worked late, like always.

Ellie’s mother worked long days, usually clocking in at the Dialysis Center around 5 AM. She would work until late in the evening, and everytime Ellie skipped school she got an earful. Not only that, but the look in her mother’s eyes became like a serial killer’s. Every time Ellie saw those narrowed eyes, and the smile that came straight from Hell she knew it was over. Ellie’s heart would pound, and she would swell with remorse.

This time was different, Ellie’s mother came home at 8PM. She looked at Ellie with those same eyes as always, but she was tired. Her mother sighed, and then she left the house.

Ellie’s mother didn’t come back that day; in fact, she never came back again.

Everyday after that, Ellie pleaded to anyone for her mother. She pleaded to the police. She pleaded to God. She pleaded to have those eyes of killing intent looking down at her. But alas, her mother was gone… Forever.

I genuinely don’t know whether to absolutely love this and have that humorous killing intent that I like or be all mopey and sad for the missing parent…
Bring back those eyes of killing intent!!!

 

[Hasu_Riri]

As I trudge my way home, the lateness of the hour hangs heavy in the air. Overtime's grip has left me drained, every step feeling like a struggle against invisible chains dragging me down.

When I finally reach my doorstep, a familiar pair of emerald eyes glints in the dim light. My heart skips a beat as I freeze in place. Dread creeps in as I realize my grave mistake – I've forgotten to bring her favorite treat.

With a shaky breath, I inch closer, my anticipation heavy in the air. She retreats a step, her disappointment palpable. The truth dawns on me – my tardiness has denied her the joy of her anticipated feast. Summoning every ounce of resolve, I turn the doorknob and step inside.

There she stands, casting a cold, unwavering gaze my way. I can feel the weight of my failure as she watches me, her silent reproach echoing in the air. She lets out a disapproving meow, a sound that pierces through me, as if to underline my negligence.

The tension lingers, and a chill runs down my spine. The consequence of my blunder is clear – her trust, her closeness, all hanging in the balance. The specter of her aloofness looms over me, a reminder of my inadequacy.

But amidst the heavy atmosphere, a glimmer of hope emerges. A flicker of relief courses through me as I witness her interest in the fried fish I've prepared as an impromptu peace offering. It's a small victory, a chance to mend the damage I've done.

In the end, my feline companion is more forgiving than I anticipated. As I offer her the fish, her wary eyes soften, a faint purr emanating from her. And so, amidst the weight of my guilt, a bond remains unbroken

 

[BouncyCactus]

An old prompt, but I just wanted to do some writing exercises. And I need to write a fight scene soon, so this is a perfect warm-up!

Spoiler: Intent

The tension was palpable. It hung taut between us, so tight that even the dull polymer knife between my fingers could cut it with as much as a flick of my wrist. The air was cold, and tasted of iron, strangely enough. And it too, was heavy, as if I was diving two dozen feet below the ocean waves.

My throat was dry, and my hand was clammy. A bead of sweat rolled down my cheeks. Phlegm and mucus gathered within my throat, and even swallowing it took away too much of my concentration, that I nearly missed the slightest of the Old Monster’s stance shift.

Like willow in the wind, he gracefully, and inhumanly graceful, his sauntering posture shifted to that of predator in the prowl. Instinctively, I shifted my leg half a step back, leaning away from him, even though neither of us was within striking distance of one another.

His eyes weren’t laughing anymore. There was a glint of something long slumbered, now awakened beneath those cold, steady glare. I shuttered. They trained on my forward presenting hand, shaking. It was minutes, yet, the clipped tip of the training blade never regained its steadiness.

Then, he smirked, showing his crooked, and decaying teeth. It was the smile of pure confidence, of sure-kill. My back grew cold, and I struggled to keep my eye on him. The air grew ten times heavier, and a hundred times colder, as my eyes dashed around, looking for any open, way out.

Yes, I have completely forgotten that this is merely a spar. It doesn’t feel like one. No, I feel like I am fighting against an apex predator, prowling, taunting, and playing with its prey. I am fighting for my life.

“Ready….Fight!”

 

[AYM]

It is not my craft, but it belongs here.

 

[BouncyCactus]

It is not my craft, but it belongs here.

View attachment 23822

Is this...fucking cultivation HP?

This is cursed...why?

 

[Deleted member 133647]

Fiiiiine
I'll make it ontopic:

Spoiler: Still A Bit Risque

The curves of her body were sculpted to be align perfectly with an idle fantasy of women's bodies I had sometimes accidentally let bubble to the surface of my mind when around her... a thin waist, a full chest, wide hips... it seemed she had designed herself perfectly to fit a few of my fantasies... but despite her having shaped her body to appeal to me, and her suggestive clothing, her neutral pose and expression gave no sign of seduction. Indeed, her placid mask of a face gave off no sign of any emotion whatsoever. There was a slight smile, but it had no depth. The only real sign of her emotions were her pupils, which were the smallest I had ever seen them as she stared down at the sword, fixated.

Each of the veils concealed nothing of her slow, deliberate movements.... carefully controlled, as the nearly transparent veils shifted over her statuesque body. She could move fast enough to kill us both in an instant... but instead she was deliberately stroking the sword's handle, her fingers tracing against the handle of the weapon, like a soft promise of something that would soon be granted, be it slowly or quickly....

She keeps stroking that damn hilt.