Squelch
Crunch
Bang Bang Bang
Thwackzzzzzzzt
A myriad of different sounds filled the darkness of his slowly waking mind, each note crying and screaming as an orchestra of mayhem. The croc man’s abdomen twitched, elbows sinking into the mud as he arduously slung himself forward, almost allowing himself to sit before the blurred sight of bloody flesh and fur crystallized in his cold, green eyes, ending the motion in a guarded crouch. Kant’s claws spread, tail curved at the perfect strike angle, body slowly rotating with hissing jaws agape.
Throughout his intense threat assessment of the area, he took a headcount of four strangers, and instantly regarded them as one would a band of reckless outsiders. Was it any wonder they were being attacked by the indigenous wildlife? Was it any wonder that the reptile felt an internal sense of pride at the fact that he was the only one not being treated as prey? Then again, such mindless beasts could easily try to pounce on him, and yet they did not, bringing a vague sense of duty, and obligation to his conscience that tempered his arrogance. He was alive for a reason, and life–irrespective of its origin–was not something to be taken for granted, thus he resolved himself to right his pride and seek out a solution to level the playing field.
Kant did not like taking sides. The bugs were hungry and required food to survive, and the others, whether he found them harmonious or hazardous to nature, possessed a higher chance of aiding him in his quest to resolve the strange feeling that beset them. Therefore, it fell upon him to ensure their survival, at least until he knew who among them were worthy of becoming his long-term allies.
The debonair man appeared to be in the most immediate need of aid, and the young lady with the magic lightning rod gave him an idea.
Water rose through the mud, spreading across the ground at one foot per three seconds. Soon the bugs would become less mobile, unable to pounce due to becoming boyant and having no solid earth with which to stand on, though nothing could be said in relation to their tree climbing skills. Spotting a sickly tree that appeared to be nearing the end of its life, Kant dove into the rapidly growing swamp and swam as fast as he could, splitting water with open jaws as his tail propelled him through the murk. Clamping his jaws around its stem, several long strenuous moments passed before he heard the bark crack and splinter, finishing the job with a swift tail swipe that sent the tree falling against another.
By this point the water level had reached twelve feet in depth, and the croc was busying himself scaling one of the healthier trees, whilst banking on the intelligence of the oddly dressed man, and thunder girl to take advantage of the opening he had given them.
Crunch
Bang Bang Bang
Thwackzzzzzzzt
A myriad of different sounds filled the darkness of his slowly waking mind, each note crying and screaming as an orchestra of mayhem. The croc man’s abdomen twitched, elbows sinking into the mud as he arduously slung himself forward, almost allowing himself to sit before the blurred sight of bloody flesh and fur crystallized in his cold, green eyes, ending the motion in a guarded crouch. Kant’s claws spread, tail curved at the perfect strike angle, body slowly rotating with hissing jaws agape.
Throughout his intense threat assessment of the area, he took a headcount of four strangers, and instantly regarded them as one would a band of reckless outsiders. Was it any wonder they were being attacked by the indigenous wildlife? Was it any wonder that the reptile felt an internal sense of pride at the fact that he was the only one not being treated as prey? Then again, such mindless beasts could easily try to pounce on him, and yet they did not, bringing a vague sense of duty, and obligation to his conscience that tempered his arrogance. He was alive for a reason, and life–irrespective of its origin–was not something to be taken for granted, thus he resolved himself to right his pride and seek out a solution to level the playing field.
Kant did not like taking sides. The bugs were hungry and required food to survive, and the others, whether he found them harmonious or hazardous to nature, possessed a higher chance of aiding him in his quest to resolve the strange feeling that beset them. Therefore, it fell upon him to ensure their survival, at least until he knew who among them were worthy of becoming his long-term allies.
The debonair man appeared to be in the most immediate need of aid, and the young lady with the magic lightning rod gave him an idea.
Water rose through the mud, spreading across the ground at one foot per three seconds. Soon the bugs would become less mobile, unable to pounce due to becoming boyant and having no solid earth with which to stand on, though nothing could be said in relation to their tree climbing skills. Spotting a sickly tree that appeared to be nearing the end of its life, Kant dove into the rapidly growing swamp and swam as fast as he could, splitting water with open jaws as his tail propelled him through the murk. Clamping his jaws around its stem, several long strenuous moments passed before he heard the bark crack and splinter, finishing the job with a swift tail swipe that sent the tree falling against another.
By this point the water level had reached twelve feet in depth, and the croc was busying himself scaling one of the healthier trees, whilst banking on the intelligence of the oddly dressed man, and thunder girl to take advantage of the opening he had given them.