Your broken body rises, smoking, blood spilling from a hundred wounds as your flesh transforms. Your attacker rushes you, desperate to end this fight before the transformation is complete, but you're too quick: you twist, drop low, and slash with your sickle-claws, ripping into thick flesh the consistency of rotting wood. But your attacker ignores its heinous wounds and grabs you, lifting your massive bulk off the ground and pulling you into a bear hug. You bite and snarl, but your attacker won't let you go. You still can't even see the thing—only smell its caustic breath and feel its monstrous, leathery hide, like crocodile skin except burning hot.
I can't strike a killing blow trapped in this thing's arms: I use all my speed and skill to out-wrestle the monster and gain the upper hand.
This thing wants to test its strength against me? Fine. I grab hold and rip it apart.
I roar right in its face, terrifying my enemy with my ferocity and Rage.
I can't fight what I can't see. I twist out of my attacker's grip, then flee as quickly as I can.
Next