Brom felt his blade hit with a wet thud as he ran the preacher through, the tremble coursing up his arm. Whether it had been practiced instinct or opportune cruelty, the barbarian placed his giant hand upon his victim's shoulder and gave his blade a savage wrench. Only once he looked into the priest's dying eyes, did Brom feel a sense of grim satisfaction begin to fill him. It was the same feeling every warrior craved to be wetted with blood upon the battlefield. The kill.
The priest struggled to hold onto him, frail fingers searching for purchase as he moved his lips like a fish out of water trying to find the words for such a brutal ending. When the words finally did come, Brom wasn't listening. With his bloodlust only beginning to be sated and vision clouded with red, the only thing the barbarian could hear above the blood welling in his ears was the crash of thunder from overhead.
Brom pulled his steel from the preacher's gut with a sudden jerk, a rasp escaping his victim's lips before he crumpled to the ground.
With the scent of spilled blood driving him wild, Brom turned to the others who looked upon him with horror and gave a mirthless grin. The Salvarian watched as most of the strange, little creatures turned and ran for cover, the bear beginning to recover, and another smaller bear running to the aid of the priest. Though, what Brom didn't see in the midst of the chaos would probably be his fatal mistake.
The monster wrapped in a metal with a name the barbarian couldn't even begin to pronounce lunged from his blind spot as he began to turn, his eyes wild with rage. In a step above his very own name, the creature crashed into the barbarian and tore into his groin with sharp, metal teeth. It was one of the few spots Brom hadn't had any armor for, because after all, how many opportunities would somebody get to strike him there?
As his back met the wet ground beneath him, Brom felt an emasculating, inhuman scream erupt from his own lips. The raw, sharp pain caused him to drop his sword with a metallic clang as he felt every tear, scrape, bite, and chew upon his manhood. Pinned to the ground, the barbarian smashed his fists down upon the creature, feeling desperation well up within him.
Try as he might, Brom just couldn't get his attacker off of him. Whatever hide the creature bore was stronger than anything he had ever witnessed before, not even denting against his great strength. It was a situation the warrior never thought he'd be placed in, and therefore acting as all men would do, he tried to get his attacker off of him, no matter the damage.
Punching, elbowing, pushing, jabbing, pulling, smacking. Brom tried everything as the monster tore deeper and deeper inside of him, the barbarian no longer able to feel his legs or anything below his waist for that matter, but nothing seemed to work. All Brom could do now was listen to the crude, sickening chewing as the monster ate as he struggled, trying desperately to get away from that sound.
Brom had almost given into his fate when the creature stole a glance upward at him, it's small, piggish metal face drenched in gore, and for whatever reason the barbarian would never know. Seeing the opportunity, the dying warrior popped the creature square in the nose.
Losing its grip from surprise, the creature tumbled backwards and took more of the barbarian with him.
Setting himself up against a rock, Brom dared a glance downward and saw the red, ugly gore that had once been his groin and much of his abdomen. Whether it had been through sheer endurance or some sort of sick cosmic joke the barbarian had stayed conscious through it all just as his attacker had ripped out his intestines and split open his stomach, the acid spilling onto parts of his body he could no longer feel.
Cradling his guts in his arms as he stared at bone, blood and torn up organs, Brom began to go into shock. The giant warrior had the pallor of a corpse tarnished with blood, his hands growing clammy as the numbness continued to ascend upward.
As his eyes began to glaze over, the barbarian's confusion never washed away. Never for another moment would Brom consider why he was here, who these people were, or what this place even was. No, the last thought the giant warrior had besides the morbid curiosity of what kind of rubbery taste his own intestines might have had was grim, animalistic fear. As his killer rolled back onto his feet and looked at him with crazed, hungry eyes, Brom feared that he wouldn't have met his maker fast enough before the monster was upon him again.
As the monster fell to all fours and made another pounce, the barbarian's vision washed away with black. Only the sound of crude, profane chewing remained.
(Summary: Brom kills the priest. Anklebiter sneaks up on him and pounces. Unable to tear him off in time, the barbarian is ripped apart and it becomes a race to see whether sepsis, shock, or organ failure will kill him.)
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