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"Dionysian Hunger" -- Kerry's Path

Morgan Says: This is a part of the Choose-Your-Own-Character (CYOC) storyline. Do not read unless you've read the first post in this chain.


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the tops of trees


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Clothing ripped away to nothingness as Kerry flung himself through the rushing crowd, bolting around Thompson's smiling face and into the chilling woods without a second thought. This was his home, his domain, where Kerry Puneuk's heart and legs soared to at every spare moment of every day.

Behind him by inches he heard the familiar howling of his Stead-mates, and wondered which one of them was his Sarah. But it passed as he ducked past the first mortal-stung branch, the male's scent clinging to the leaves that he snatched in his hands as he flew past.

He was around thirty, hadn't bathed in weeks, and he was terrified.

It sent the final spasms of his change over his spine, tumbling through the air as his legs lengthened and snapped, joints reassembling into a thorned beast of power, the hidden life sucker, the chupacabra that had been inside of him since the moment he'd first opened his eyes on the pulsating world.

Moonlight was nice but unnecessary as another tree snapped behind him, the sheer joy of running slipping through his spine, spurting up and out of his lips in a wild shrieking howl at the joy of finding and taking life.

There was another human near-by, a woman, one that his ears had been tracking through each exchanged words with another, but Kerry didn't want her. Too easy, and he was a hunter, always testing himself, enjoying the world through the destruction of it.

Maple leaves slashed aside, crinkling deliciously under his feet as he hurried forward, path jolting sharply to the right as the scent twisted, turned, brought him through the labyrinthine maze of trees and scents and howling bursts of pleasure from the pack around him.

His man was rotting -- his teeth, probably. That was fine-- Kerry never liked licking the flesh from the skulls, anyways. That was Sarah's job, to clean the skulls he brought home to her, display them or mold them into a bowl of triumph to be given to the Stead's shrine to the great Wild One, to Dionysos, to the god that showered his loving ecstasy among each member of the Stead, truly in touch with his own savagery.

He accepted it, and lifted his enhanced nose to the air as a burst of frozen September air licked at him, sending it's tendrils of knowledge through him, keeping the air bursting in his lungs and pummeling forward, twisting into a cove of smaller trees and rocketing into the opening in their filth.

His creature was lying there, shaking, back to the trees, clutching the guns that Thompson gave them, for fun, to keep up the sport -- they even had copper inside of them, the light of the sun blistering a mark on Kerry's shoulder that he proudly wore, and which burned in his eyes as he shone onto the man who's fingers fumbled with the gun's safety.

His brown hair shone in the moonlight, unclothed and free for Kerry to kill.

A barking laugh echoed through Kerry as he lunged out, jaws snapping the gun away and falling frantically on the neck of his creature, snapping it with a hard jerk of his jaws, the blood lust and orgasmic joy upon him as he engorged on his find's fluids, their blood pummeling his face in a spray of devotion to the world.


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"Honey From a Thorn" - - ((by Morgan O'Friel))
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"Life is ever
Since man was born,
Licking honey
From a thorn."

- Lois Ginsberg

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