...crud. Three of the delicious, delicious deer darted out of his path, and Czernobog missed the fourth, letting out a more annoyed than pained bellow at the feel of sharp tines digging into his side. The boar shook like a wet dog, twisting in place in an attempt to jerk the antlers away, lest they break deeper into meat and muscle. The vermin tongue-speech wouldn't help him now - this was what he lusted after, lived for, breathed deep every morning for: the rush of the fight.

Almost dancing, Czernobog hopped to the side, lowering his head again with a grin, thrusting forward and hoping for the sweet taste of deer blood in his mouth.

@Dragon

The deer let out a strange and honking squeal as it felt the tusks stab into it, the power of Czernobog's tossing head sending it right into the air. Blood slicked its coat almost at once, and as the enraged boar impaled him, he quickly stumbled back.

And away.

Fight or flight had quickly gone from fight to flight, and the stag turned, stumbling rapidly for the ferns. It could easily outpace the boar--for a few moments... but the injury was not minor. Czernobog might be able to easily keep up as the deer's strength faltered, or barring that, track the wounded buck down and finish him off.

@Czernobog

Czernobog bellowed in success at the feel of his tusks jamming into meat, sliding out as the sheer force of the charge sent the sorry excuse for a beast flying. Eyes aflame with the love of the brawl, the boar readied himself for another attack - and blinked in confusion as the deer turned to... flee. Black, beady eyes narrowed in disgust. "Cowaaaaaard!" Absolute trust in his own brutality made his voice strong and carrying, and the pig raked a hook across the ground, preparing to take off after the escaping prey.

A vicious squeal, and he was on the chase like a rocket, flinging dirt and debris in his wake, hooves digging into the ground like shovels. Czernobog caught up, slowly but surely, and edged only closer, breath raking over the deer's haunches as he grinned, bellowing - playing with his food, by now.

@Dragon

[Mature]

The buck let out another honking bleat of fear as the massive black bristling thing bore down on him and slammed into his haunch. It felt its hind end go skyward once more, and tumbled down into the muck near the stream, scrambling and struggling to get up.

Eyes rolled wide in terror, tongue dangling as the bloodied prey panted, gasping for breath. There were places in its haunch torn down through the flesh and muscle straight to bone, places where crimson liquid pooled and dripped as the muscles clenched, the buck trying--and failing--to stand again.

It was helpless where it stood. A pathetic toss of its head toward Czernobog's face would likely not even touch him, the twin antler tines having very little force behind them, even with the buck's desperation.

@Czernobog

Victory, victory, victory - it sung in his blood like a hymn, filled his mouth with sweet stag blood, made him belt out a squealing, cackling laugh at the sight of the deer flailing in the mud. Czernobog kept up his advancing, grinning all the while, chuffing as the previously so proud deer waved its tines at him, leaving a thin scratch on pale skin. It was almost disappointing that he wouldn't be able to eat the snivelling worm of a thing himself, but he'd rather drag the beast to Aquarian than disappoint his father.

Dad will be so pleased! Giddy with childish glee and a malicious lust for the feel of a heartbeat stilling under the force of his hooves, Czernobog reared back and aimed them to land on the stag's chest, hoping to break through bone and into the soft organs beneath.

@Dragon

[Mature]

Death was rarely pretty. This was no exception.

The stag cried out again, its bleating carrying through the trees, as Czernobog's tusks gored into it, flinging it again. He tumbled into the mud, going still bar his panting, his body slowly collapsing there.

His body was trying now simply to survive around the grievous wounds the boar had inflicted upon it.

It would fail.

All that remained was for the boar to lift his prize and somehow carry it home. Assuming no one stole it along the way.

Or, if he Czernobog was the merciful sort, he could deliver the coup de grâce first.

Or if he was not, perhaps he might play with his prize.

Or if he were greedy...

Some hundred yards upriver, silent and motionless as they stared, stood the three does. Their wide eyes watched the black boar, nostrils flaring, broad ears swung out to listen.

((You may emote for the buck from here on out!))

@Czernobog

Beautiful. There was no other describing it - red like rubies flooded from the stag with every beat of its pitiful, inferior heart. His own tusks were encrusted in it, a mark of pride that Czernobog wouldn't be washing away before his father could see just how well his son had learned. The boar was certain Dragon would be proud, that much was sure - but the question now was raised of how to get the thing back.

Then again, it didn't seem to want to die.

Czernobog huffed, puzzled, snout wrinkling in confusion as he trotted forward to loom over the deer. He'd won, fair and square - if the thing had any honor at all, it would accept death with open arms. Instead, it seemed to be clinging to the very threads of life, despite the massive wounds he'd caused. Snorting, the pig rolled his eyes in a rare expression of higher thought, raising a hoof to place it gently on the deer's jugular.

His massive, shaggy head lowered until his snout just barely brushed the downed worm's ear, grinning slow and easy at the ensuing flinch. "Mam zamiar uwielbiam oglądać umrzesz." With no warning but the whisper, the pig reared up and slammed the entirety of his weight onto the fragile neck below, splitting open flesh and flaying muscle, calculated not to snap the spine.

The thing barely had time to twitch, much less move out of the way, and all that issued from it were guttural bleats, choking on its own blood. Czernobog dipped down to drink, watched the pulses of blood get slower and slower. Huffing under his breath, the boar rose, red coating his maw and dripping down to his chest. The other three. They were there, watching.

Czernobog grinned, teeth stained dark, and reared up to come back down on the animal's belly, hooves digging straight into tender, unprotected organs, intestines peeking out of pinkened fat, the stench of a split stomach filling the air, body fluid slicking his legs up to the ankle. "Oglądać mnie! Oglądać Boga w pracy!"

He stood in the flood of bile and stomach acid, grinning, looking for all the world like a child with its favorite toy, and waited for them to run.

@Dragon

The three does stared, watching.

They trembled. They considered. Disparate instincts fought within them. But they were three; the boar was one.

Suddenly, they charged: first one, then the other two close behind, their hesitancy pushed aside by their leader's courage. Twelve hooved feet drove into the ground as they rushed along the riverbank, one of them snorting a challenge.

Would Czernobog stand his ground, or flee? Or perhaps charge to meet their rush?

@Czernobog

Czernobog watched, eyes narrowing but grin only strengthening, as one by one, the does chose to stand and fight. Impressive. But not enough to scare the boar. With a great, rattling bellow, he met their charge with his own, trampling the downed stag's body in his wake, head lowered and shoulders tucked in an attempt to simply match their inertia with his own.

With a squeal, the Black God slammed his eyes shut inches before impact or blank air, wanting to feel the result rattle in his bones. What would Dragon say, if he brought back not one, but two, three, or four offerings?

@Dragon

The boar charged into their midst. None were knocked airborne, but two of the does were shoved to the side, one tumbling down toward into the mud, the other stumbling and skidding down toward the river. The impact was powerful, enough to drive tusks through the flesh of one doe's flanks.

One doe turned and bolted off, tail flagged in alarm. The second lashed sharp hooves out at Czernobog. The third, the one who had fallen, stumbled up more slowly, an easy target.

The one fleeing, however, seemed to have been injured, and her flight was not as fast as it could be. The black boar could perhaps chase her, or gore the doe kicking uselessly in his vague direction... or kill or disable the downed one.

@Czernobog