Encounterlogs
Konstantins Odd Encounter Sr Rachel 240714
Konstantin's peaceful morning ritual on Elm Street is shattered when a seemingly ordinary dog, driven mad by magic, suddenly attacks him. At first, Konstantin attempts to fend off the animal using traditional methods, reaching for his concealed revolver only to find it stuck. As the dog's ferocious assault intensifies, Konstantin is forced to the ground, battling not just for dominance, but for his very life. In a desperate bid to save himself, Konstantin reveals a hidden power, employing hellish gifts to unleash a jet of flame towards the attacking beast. Despite the inferno, the magic-driven creature proves resilient, its frenzied attacks unrelenting.
As the battle reaches its climax, Konstantin's efforts to wield flame against the frenzied dog eventually take their toll, with the creature succumbing to its injuries in a grotesque display. With the morning peace shattered by the scent of charred flesh and the sound of distant sirens, Konstantin emerges victorious but visibly shaken by the encounter. The ordeal leaves him battling nausea and an injured arm, a grim reminder of the cost of his survival. As he limps back towards safety, the ordeal underlines the lurking dangers in seemingly quiet corners and the lengths one must go to when faced with forces beyond the ordinary, reflecting the harsh realities of a world touched by magic and darkness.
(Konstantin's odd encounter(SRRachel):SRRachel)
[Sat Jul 13 2024]
On Elm Street
It is morning, about 86F(30C) degrees, and there are a few grey clouds in the sky.
(Your target is attacked by an animal or small group of animals driven mad with magic, it is up to them to escape or fight them off for long enough for their allies to arrive and help deal with the threat.
)
Another morning outside the apartment, with the venerable walls of the nearby Institute just out of view. The morning sun casts gentle rays through wisps of morning mist, illuminating the - for now - tranquil street. A soft breeze carries the faint aroma of food from some nearby restaurant, mingling with the faint scent of flowers in full bloom. The trees provide a canopy of dappled sunlight, creating playful, mosaic patterns on the ground. There are the sounds of some distant footsteps, but otherwise, the distinct lack of the hustle and bustle found in a larger city.
A dog ambles onto the street from a nearby alley, its coat a mix of dark fur and patches of matted brown. It's far enough away that it's little more than an ambiguous shape in the distance. Ears perked, it sniffs eagerly at the ground, a distinct air of curiosity about its movements.
It appears to be on a quest, nose twitching as it investigates the base of a lamppost, perhaps in search of forgotten morsels left behind by morning passerby. Occasionally, it pauses to glance up, but as of yet, fails to note Konstantin.
The longer it remains, the more peculiar its demeanor becomes. There's an uncanny valley in the turn of its head. At first blush, it would have been easy to make the assumption that it was passively snuffling about for food - but no. The search is purposeful.
It moves in, closer and closer and closer.
All of a sudden, it halts.
Its eyes narrow.
A low rumble builds from deep within its throat. The fur bristles along its back, muscles bunching and tensing as it leans forward and in, toward the ground.
It takes a tentative step forward, lips curling back to reveal rows of sharp teeth. The growling intensifies into a series of low, menacing snarls.
The morning birdsong fades into an uneasy silence.
Time hangs in suspension.
With a swift and purposeful stride, it leaps, closing the distance between it and Konstantin within seconds.
Konstantin has some quick decisions to make. He could try to dart back into the apartment building, but with the angle the dog's coming at, it might just be quicker to the punch - and then he'd be giving the dog free access to his side.
An alternative is to cut and run into the trees. Whatever's in there might prefer the dog to him for its breakfast.
Or...
Lately, Konstantin's had the time to get back into the swing of the fight. He could test his progress now. Of course, fighting hand-to-hand is a world different from fighting hand-to-razor-sharp teeth.
It's time for Konstantin' morning ciggie. He stands at the roadside, chonging a bine at leisurely pace. (Yes that is real UK slang, sorry). It is just as well that Haven is such a small town; with everything else going on here Konstantin might be driven mad if he were to be forced to contend with the hustle and bustle of a major city centre. The soft sunlight, easy flowing breeze, and pleasant warmth of Massachusetts right now is a nourishing balm for the beleaguered Russian.
Right until the hound shows up. It goes unnoticed at first, free to approach the solitary smoker, until it closes and looses its rumbling growl.
At first, Konstantin looks about with a frown of annoyance as though seeking the owner of whichever badly trained mutt was making all the noise, along with the dog in question,t just as it raises the volume an
It's time for Konstantin' morning ciggie. He stands at the roadside, chonging a bine at leisurely pace. (Yes that is real UK slang, sorry). It is just as well that Haven is such a small town; with everything else going on here Konstantin might be driven mad if he were to be forced to contend with the hustle and bustle of a major city centre. The soft sunlight, easy flowing breeze, and pleasant warmth of Massachusetts right now is a nourishing balm for the beleaguered Russian.
Right until the hound shows up. It goes unnoticed at first, free to approach the solitary smoker, until it closes and looses its rumbling growl.
At first, Konstantin looks about with a frown of annoyance as though seeking the owner of whichever badly trained mutt was making all the noise, along with the dog in question. Just as Konstantin sets his eyes on it, the canine makes its charge, and he wheels quickly to face it. Fight or flight kicks in, and he reaches into the right side pocket of his pants for something hidden within. Sadly, the bottom of his revolver's grip, the object he reaches for reflexively, becomes stuck. He hisses a curse, stepping back and raising his left hand.
Well shit. That's not great. As the pooch proceeds, he balls his left fist and grits his teeth preemptively, tugging this way and that at the handle of his weapon, desperately trying to free the conveniently noisy firearm from its hiding place.
Now, this dog is hefty, but aggression drives it forward with startling agility. Its muscles propel it into the air with a blur of motion, jaws gaping open with primal intent.
It aims squarely for Konstantin's arm - the very same one that had been going for the gun, unfortunately for him. With swift calculation, it tackles him into the ground, with the pavement hard against his back. The weight of its body presses down heavily.
The impact jars Konstantin's body, and its breath rankles. The stink is sulfurous, like something has rotted and been left out in the sweltering heat of summer.
Its jaws clamp shut just inches away from the arm, snapping with such ferocity that it can be felt as much as heard. Growling reverberates in Konstantin's ears, no doubt louder to him than any sound other than the thud of his own heart.
Its paws grapple for purchase on Konstantin's shoulders, the better to anchor him in place.
Up close, it'd be easy to pity this dog if it weren't in the middle of trying to remove Konstantin's flesh from his bone. It doesn't seem to have had an owner in years, if ever. Its fur is matted, its claws only filed down by dint of friction while running. There's a lankiness to its form, with its ribs prominent and dirt clinging to every visible inch of fur. There's yellow crusting the teeth, with plaque that has become one with the enamel.
Hopefully, Konstantin isn't particularly attached to this set of clothing, or his jewelry. Spittle is flying everywhere, and it's not judicious about what it aims to ruin, whether that's Konstantin's pants (its claws can be felt through the fabric) or the chain (which it might just get tangled in as it vies for dominance).
This would be a good time for someone to intervene.
Unluckily, the only person who seems to have noticed anything is someone overhead, at the window several stories up. A little girl, by the looks of it, no older than ten or eleven years old. Far away, she's in no danger, and in fact doesn't seem to have registered that there's a problem at all. Her nose presses against the glass, squashing flat. From her vantage point, it probably looks like Konstantin's having a bit of play-fighting fun with his dog.
She disappears some thirty seconds later, bored.
Kids, these days. They need instant gratification, and Konstantin's not dying quite fast enough for her.
HIS BLING?!! NOT A CHANCE!
Konstantin growls, hooking his left hand's thumb and shoving at the someone' head after falling to the ground, trying to gouge its eye to distract it. As he struggles, Konstantin loses grip on the weapon in his pocket, the pain of the savaging on his forearm enough to distrupt his attempts to wrench the revolver from his pocket. Kicking and kneeing at the hound's hind legs and haunches, Konstantin draws his right arm back into his side to give it some much needed reprieve from the gnawing and shoves with his left, trying to maintain just a little precious distance between him and the hound lest it go for his throat next.
Konstantin sniffs. Wait. Sulphur.. Hold on! I can do that too!!
Konstantin draws in his breath deep, adding his own far stronger flavour of sulphurous stench to the fragrant melange afflicting the pooch, preparing to employ his hellish gifts to seer and melt away the dog's face until all that remains is a torso with a charred stump for a neck.. and then he spots the child's face above peering down. Shit. The means to extinguish the threat but too much risk of discovery if he uses it. Who knows who else is watching. Konstantin employs it just a little however, pursing his lips and exhaling a small jet of flame that licks at the dog's face for just a moment, burning away half of its whiskers and searing a line across its jowl without producing enough of a flash to be too visible from afar or on camera.
He rolls slightly onto his right side again, renewing his search for his firearm. He doesn't have to KILL the hound; he just has to fire off the pistol. The sound alone might be enough to convince it of the merits of seeking an easier meal, assuming the brimstone-fueled near-charbroiling he gave it doesn't already.
HIS BLING?!! NOT A CHANCE!
Konstantin growls, hooking his left hand's thumb and shoving at the dog's head after falling to the ground, trying to gouge its eye to distract it. As he struggles, Konstantin loses grip on the weapon in his pocket, the pain of the savaging on his forearm enough to distrupt his attempts to wrench the revolver from his pocket. Kicking and kneeing at the hound's hind legs and haunches, Konstantin draws his right arm back into his side to give it some much needed reprieve from the gnawing and shoves with his left, trying to maintain just a little precious distance between him and the hound lest it go for his throat next.
Konstantin sniffs. Wait. Sulphur.. Hold on! I can do that too!!
Konstantin draws in his breath deep, adding his own far stronger flavour of sulphurous stench to the fragrant melange afflicting the pooch, preparing to employ his hellish gifts to seer and melt away the dog's face until all that remains is a torso with a charred stump for a neck.. and then he spots the child's face above peering down. Shit. The means to extinguish the threat but too much risk of discovery if he uses it. Who knows who else is watching. Konstantin employs it just a little however, pursing his lips and exhaling a small jet of flame that licks at the dog's face for just a moment, burning away half of its whiskers and searing a line across its jowl without producing enough of a flash to be too visible from afar or on camera.
He rolls slightly onto his right side again, renewing his search for his firearm. He doesn't have to KILL the hound; he just has to fire off the pistol. The sound alone might be enough to convince it of the merits of seeking an easier meal, assuming the brimstone-fueled near-charbroiling he gave it doesn't already.
Konstantin succeeds in squishing the dog's eye into its socket. There's a sickening resistance, and the sound and feel of squelching.
A momentary reprieve.
An animal howl tears through the air. What's left of the beast is a ghastly, bloody thing: this is some hellhound out of a gristly comic book. It means that when the fire vanishes all the whiskers on one side of its face, that's nothing. It whines, letting up as it shakes its head back and forth, before shoving back down with even greater force.
The dog isn't just undeterred by the brief searing heat on its face. It's angrier, responding with renewed vigor.
This isn't a normal dog.
Of course it isn't. It can never be so easy.
Ignoring the momentary distraction caused by Konstantin's hellfire, it snaps its jaws again. A line of spittle drags from its maw, beading, and drips onto Konstantin's bare skin. Its teeth graze the same spot afterward, nicking him.
That's just a taste. As Konstantin reaches for the pistol, the hound almost seems to sense desperation. It lunges forward again, this time aiming not just to wound, but to incapacitate. Its teeth clamp down with force - although somehow, they miss the meat of the arm, and instead drag surface level cuts in his skin. Still, the intent is clear; it means to inflict serious harm and to end the struggle on its own terms, not Konstantin's.
Konstantin might want to revisit his 'no animal cruelty' line of thought. It seems like this dog isn't playing by the same rules, and would have no qualms with removing some limbs.
At this point, what's happening might be clear. Someone's tampered. No dog - perhaps not even one thrown regularly into a fighting ring - would respond like this. It's likely going to keep at it until Konstantin's out of reach, or one of the two of them is dead.
Gritting his teeth, Konstantin suppresses a howl of his own, the canines of the canine dragging ragged rents through the skin of his forearm. "BLYAT!", he roars as his forearm is gripped again and prevented from reaching for his weapon. What IS this thing?!
The gravity of the situation really sets is as he sees the ruined eye of the dog oozing blood mixed with the viscous vitreous humor of its deflated eyeball. How's that for no animal cruelty? Not shooting the dog was not a concern so much as not having to go to the trouble of freeing his weapon and getting a clear shot on it.. but that doesn't seem to be as much of a concern anymore, all of a sudden. He abandons the gun; what is to say this dog wont just ignore the gunshot like it did the destruction of its eye? Infact, it almost definitely would.
A deep breath again, chest swelling, and wisps of smoke begin to escape the corners of his mouth and his nostrils. Time for a little canine brulee.
Pursing his lips, Konstantin exhales sharply and projects a jet of flame rather than a belching gout; a dagger of crimson maybe a foot in length, sitting up to bore directly into the side of the hounds face for a full five seconds. If it doesn't withdraw and relinquish him; it'll be enduring heat that bubbles skin and chars bone as the flesh liquifies and sloughs free. Sadly, that'll probably end up with his clothing being a little singed too. Oh the HUMANITY.
The dog's snarl becomes guttural. As the jet of flame scorches and sizzles, it thrashes violently. The fur closest to the point of impact ignites swiftly, smoke wisping into the air. As the flames spread, they sear through its pelt and expose flesh, with patches of fur crisping and curling away under intense heat. The skin beneath blisters and bubbles. If the smell were horrid before, now it's unbearable.
It singes the nose, acrid, and with a bitter tang that won't soon disappear.
Its eyes cloud with pain, and with fury. The dog is probably on its last legs - but creatures are most dangerous, then. The instinct to survive overrides anything else.
It remains a formidable opponent, and in a last, desperate burst of strength, clamps its jaws even tighter around Konstantin's arm, refusing to release its grip.
The longer it holds, the more it chars. The squealing is terrible. He's going to remember this in his nightmares.
The iron grip it has on Konstantin lessens.
Its weight before was oppressive, when it had been trying to pin him down, but without any amount of control over its body, it now becomes like a boulder upon Konstantin's chest.
A high-pitched keening begins, then falters. The poor thing - how could you, Konstantin - fails, little by little. And then there's nothing more.
Its teeth remain caught on Konstantin, but it ceases to move.
There's quiet again: peace, pretty birdsong, the sound of cars rolling on by.
Perhaps it's a deep irony that in that moment, red-and-blue lights flash around the corner, some cop poorly doing his duty failing to notice that Konstantin's doing the work of animal control for them.
All that's left is to deal with the body, if Konstantin is so inclined. Otherwise, he can leave this here for his neighbors. Maybe that ten year old girl will come back out. She can learn some quick lessons about life and death.
Konstantin freezes as the red and blues turn up. He doesn't bear much love for the police; specifically the mundane natural variety rather than Haven's own strange brand of 'special deputy'. How dare society exert resistance against his desire to bleed money from those less inclined to violence than himself with the wealth to be worth targetting.
He lets them go by, and then starts to wriggle free, planting his feet and arching his back upwards, rolling to his right, attempting to first bump the weight of the massive canine upwards and then deposit it off to his right in a tangle of charred flesh, seared skin, and blackened exposed bone. A little bit of liquified dog-brain leaks out of its eyesocket onto his trouser leg. Gross.
Planting his palms on the dog's side, Konstantin finally manages to roll it off of himself, the mutt's limbs flicking over as it rolls like the spokes of a wheel.
Finally able to rise from the ground, Konstantin comes to his hands and knees.. before gagging. He seals his lips, screwing his eyes shut, fighting against the nausea.
Fuck. Fuck. Nope. Come on. Keep it together. You've done worse.#
In the distance, the walls of the town stand in indifferent witness. It's still early in the day, and yet, Konstantin has seen more than his share of blood and fire.
He can get a good glimpse of the dog now, if he wants to let go and upend his stomach's contents. They say you feel better if you vomit.
The dog's face is a grotesque mask of charred tissue and raw, exposed muscle. Smoke still rises from its wounds, as if ghostly fingers come to claim another victim.
If he hop, jump, skips a few feet away, he can slide right into the apartment building, and no one would be the wiser. He can blame this mess on the local riffraff.
Steeling himself, Konstantin shoves himself up. Not today, contents of my own stomach. You're staying RIGHT where you are.
Konstantin rises to his feet and walks back towards the entrance of the building, limping slightly and dripping blood from his mangled arm, stinking like charred meat.
As the battle reaches its climax, Konstantin's efforts to wield flame against the frenzied dog eventually take their toll, with the creature succumbing to its injuries in a grotesque display. With the morning peace shattered by the scent of charred flesh and the sound of distant sirens, Konstantin emerges victorious but visibly shaken by the encounter. The ordeal leaves him battling nausea and an injured arm, a grim reminder of the cost of his survival. As he limps back towards safety, the ordeal underlines the lurking dangers in seemingly quiet corners and the lengths one must go to when faced with forces beyond the ordinary, reflecting the harsh realities of a world touched by magic and darkness.
(Konstantin's odd encounter(SRRachel):SRRachel)
[Sat Jul 13 2024]
On Elm Street
It is morning, about 86F(30C) degrees, and there are a few grey clouds in the sky.
(Your target is attacked by an animal or small group of animals driven mad with magic, it is up to them to escape or fight them off for long enough for their allies to arrive and help deal with the threat.
)
Another morning outside the apartment, with the venerable walls of the nearby Institute just out of view. The morning sun casts gentle rays through wisps of morning mist, illuminating the - for now - tranquil street. A soft breeze carries the faint aroma of food from some nearby restaurant, mingling with the faint scent of flowers in full bloom. The trees provide a canopy of dappled sunlight, creating playful, mosaic patterns on the ground. There are the sounds of some distant footsteps, but otherwise, the distinct lack of the hustle and bustle found in a larger city.
A dog ambles onto the street from a nearby alley, its coat a mix of dark fur and patches of matted brown. It's far enough away that it's little more than an ambiguous shape in the distance. Ears perked, it sniffs eagerly at the ground, a distinct air of curiosity about its movements.
It appears to be on a quest, nose twitching as it investigates the base of a lamppost, perhaps in search of forgotten morsels left behind by morning passerby. Occasionally, it pauses to glance up, but as of yet, fails to note Konstantin.
The longer it remains, the more peculiar its demeanor becomes. There's an uncanny valley in the turn of its head. At first blush, it would have been easy to make the assumption that it was passively snuffling about for food - but no. The search is purposeful.
It moves in, closer and closer and closer.
All of a sudden, it halts.
Its eyes narrow.
A low rumble builds from deep within its throat. The fur bristles along its back, muscles bunching and tensing as it leans forward and in, toward the ground.
It takes a tentative step forward, lips curling back to reveal rows of sharp teeth. The growling intensifies into a series of low, menacing snarls.
The morning birdsong fades into an uneasy silence.
Time hangs in suspension.
With a swift and purposeful stride, it leaps, closing the distance between it and Konstantin within seconds.
Konstantin has some quick decisions to make. He could try to dart back into the apartment building, but with the angle the dog's coming at, it might just be quicker to the punch - and then he'd be giving the dog free access to his side.
An alternative is to cut and run into the trees. Whatever's in there might prefer the dog to him for its breakfast.
Or...
Lately, Konstantin's had the time to get back into the swing of the fight. He could test his progress now. Of course, fighting hand-to-hand is a world different from fighting hand-to-razor-sharp teeth.
It's time for Konstantin' morning ciggie. He stands at the roadside, chonging a bine at leisurely pace. (Yes that is real UK slang, sorry). It is just as well that Haven is such a small town; with everything else going on here Konstantin might be driven mad if he were to be forced to contend with the hustle and bustle of a major city centre. The soft sunlight, easy flowing breeze, and pleasant warmth of Massachusetts right now is a nourishing balm for the beleaguered Russian.
Right until the hound shows up. It goes unnoticed at first, free to approach the solitary smoker, until it closes and looses its rumbling growl.
At first, Konstantin looks about with a frown of annoyance as though seeking the owner of whichever badly trained mutt was making all the noise, along with the dog in question,t just as it raises the volume an
It's time for Konstantin' morning ciggie. He stands at the roadside, chonging a bine at leisurely pace. (Yes that is real UK slang, sorry). It is just as well that Haven is such a small town; with everything else going on here Konstantin might be driven mad if he were to be forced to contend with the hustle and bustle of a major city centre. The soft sunlight, easy flowing breeze, and pleasant warmth of Massachusetts right now is a nourishing balm for the beleaguered Russian.
Right until the hound shows up. It goes unnoticed at first, free to approach the solitary smoker, until it closes and looses its rumbling growl.
At first, Konstantin looks about with a frown of annoyance as though seeking the owner of whichever badly trained mutt was making all the noise, along with the dog in question. Just as Konstantin sets his eyes on it, the canine makes its charge, and he wheels quickly to face it. Fight or flight kicks in, and he reaches into the right side pocket of his pants for something hidden within. Sadly, the bottom of his revolver's grip, the object he reaches for reflexively, becomes stuck. He hisses a curse, stepping back and raising his left hand.
Well shit. That's not great. As the pooch proceeds, he balls his left fist and grits his teeth preemptively, tugging this way and that at the handle of his weapon, desperately trying to free the conveniently noisy firearm from its hiding place.
Now, this dog is hefty, but aggression drives it forward with startling agility. Its muscles propel it into the air with a blur of motion, jaws gaping open with primal intent.
It aims squarely for Konstantin's arm - the very same one that had been going for the gun, unfortunately for him. With swift calculation, it tackles him into the ground, with the pavement hard against his back. The weight of its body presses down heavily.
The impact jars Konstantin's body, and its breath rankles. The stink is sulfurous, like something has rotted and been left out in the sweltering heat of summer.
Its jaws clamp shut just inches away from the arm, snapping with such ferocity that it can be felt as much as heard. Growling reverberates in Konstantin's ears, no doubt louder to him than any sound other than the thud of his own heart.
Its paws grapple for purchase on Konstantin's shoulders, the better to anchor him in place.
Up close, it'd be easy to pity this dog if it weren't in the middle of trying to remove Konstantin's flesh from his bone. It doesn't seem to have had an owner in years, if ever. Its fur is matted, its claws only filed down by dint of friction while running. There's a lankiness to its form, with its ribs prominent and dirt clinging to every visible inch of fur. There's yellow crusting the teeth, with plaque that has become one with the enamel.
Hopefully, Konstantin isn't particularly attached to this set of clothing, or his jewelry. Spittle is flying everywhere, and it's not judicious about what it aims to ruin, whether that's Konstantin's pants (its claws can be felt through the fabric) or the chain (which it might just get tangled in as it vies for dominance).
This would be a good time for someone to intervene.
Unluckily, the only person who seems to have noticed anything is someone overhead, at the window several stories up. A little girl, by the looks of it, no older than ten or eleven years old. Far away, she's in no danger, and in fact doesn't seem to have registered that there's a problem at all. Her nose presses against the glass, squashing flat. From her vantage point, it probably looks like Konstantin's having a bit of play-fighting fun with his dog.
She disappears some thirty seconds later, bored.
Kids, these days. They need instant gratification, and Konstantin's not dying quite fast enough for her.
HIS BLING?!! NOT A CHANCE!
Konstantin growls, hooking his left hand's thumb and shoving at the someone' head after falling to the ground, trying to gouge its eye to distract it. As he struggles, Konstantin loses grip on the weapon in his pocket, the pain of the savaging on his forearm enough to distrupt his attempts to wrench the revolver from his pocket. Kicking and kneeing at the hound's hind legs and haunches, Konstantin draws his right arm back into his side to give it some much needed reprieve from the gnawing and shoves with his left, trying to maintain just a little precious distance between him and the hound lest it go for his throat next.
Konstantin sniffs. Wait. Sulphur.. Hold on! I can do that too!!
Konstantin draws in his breath deep, adding his own far stronger flavour of sulphurous stench to the fragrant melange afflicting the pooch, preparing to employ his hellish gifts to seer and melt away the dog's face until all that remains is a torso with a charred stump for a neck.. and then he spots the child's face above peering down. Shit. The means to extinguish the threat but too much risk of discovery if he uses it. Who knows who else is watching. Konstantin employs it just a little however, pursing his lips and exhaling a small jet of flame that licks at the dog's face for just a moment, burning away half of its whiskers and searing a line across its jowl without producing enough of a flash to be too visible from afar or on camera.
He rolls slightly onto his right side again, renewing his search for his firearm. He doesn't have to KILL the hound; he just has to fire off the pistol. The sound alone might be enough to convince it of the merits of seeking an easier meal, assuming the brimstone-fueled near-charbroiling he gave it doesn't already.
HIS BLING?!! NOT A CHANCE!
Konstantin growls, hooking his left hand's thumb and shoving at the dog's head after falling to the ground, trying to gouge its eye to distract it. As he struggles, Konstantin loses grip on the weapon in his pocket, the pain of the savaging on his forearm enough to distrupt his attempts to wrench the revolver from his pocket. Kicking and kneeing at the hound's hind legs and haunches, Konstantin draws his right arm back into his side to give it some much needed reprieve from the gnawing and shoves with his left, trying to maintain just a little precious distance between him and the hound lest it go for his throat next.
Konstantin sniffs. Wait. Sulphur.. Hold on! I can do that too!!
Konstantin draws in his breath deep, adding his own far stronger flavour of sulphurous stench to the fragrant melange afflicting the pooch, preparing to employ his hellish gifts to seer and melt away the dog's face until all that remains is a torso with a charred stump for a neck.. and then he spots the child's face above peering down. Shit. The means to extinguish the threat but too much risk of discovery if he uses it. Who knows who else is watching. Konstantin employs it just a little however, pursing his lips and exhaling a small jet of flame that licks at the dog's face for just a moment, burning away half of its whiskers and searing a line across its jowl without producing enough of a flash to be too visible from afar or on camera.
He rolls slightly onto his right side again, renewing his search for his firearm. He doesn't have to KILL the hound; he just has to fire off the pistol. The sound alone might be enough to convince it of the merits of seeking an easier meal, assuming the brimstone-fueled near-charbroiling he gave it doesn't already.
Konstantin succeeds in squishing the dog's eye into its socket. There's a sickening resistance, and the sound and feel of squelching.
A momentary reprieve.
An animal howl tears through the air. What's left of the beast is a ghastly, bloody thing: this is some hellhound out of a gristly comic book. It means that when the fire vanishes all the whiskers on one side of its face, that's nothing. It whines, letting up as it shakes its head back and forth, before shoving back down with even greater force.
The dog isn't just undeterred by the brief searing heat on its face. It's angrier, responding with renewed vigor.
This isn't a normal dog.
Of course it isn't. It can never be so easy.
Ignoring the momentary distraction caused by Konstantin's hellfire, it snaps its jaws again. A line of spittle drags from its maw, beading, and drips onto Konstantin's bare skin. Its teeth graze the same spot afterward, nicking him.
That's just a taste. As Konstantin reaches for the pistol, the hound almost seems to sense desperation. It lunges forward again, this time aiming not just to wound, but to incapacitate. Its teeth clamp down with force - although somehow, they miss the meat of the arm, and instead drag surface level cuts in his skin. Still, the intent is clear; it means to inflict serious harm and to end the struggle on its own terms, not Konstantin's.
Konstantin might want to revisit his 'no animal cruelty' line of thought. It seems like this dog isn't playing by the same rules, and would have no qualms with removing some limbs.
At this point, what's happening might be clear. Someone's tampered. No dog - perhaps not even one thrown regularly into a fighting ring - would respond like this. It's likely going to keep at it until Konstantin's out of reach, or one of the two of them is dead.
Gritting his teeth, Konstantin suppresses a howl of his own, the canines of the canine dragging ragged rents through the skin of his forearm. "BLYAT!", he roars as his forearm is gripped again and prevented from reaching for his weapon. What IS this thing?!
The gravity of the situation really sets is as he sees the ruined eye of the dog oozing blood mixed with the viscous vitreous humor of its deflated eyeball. How's that for no animal cruelty? Not shooting the dog was not a concern so much as not having to go to the trouble of freeing his weapon and getting a clear shot on it.. but that doesn't seem to be as much of a concern anymore, all of a sudden. He abandons the gun; what is to say this dog wont just ignore the gunshot like it did the destruction of its eye? Infact, it almost definitely would.
A deep breath again, chest swelling, and wisps of smoke begin to escape the corners of his mouth and his nostrils. Time for a little canine brulee.
Pursing his lips, Konstantin exhales sharply and projects a jet of flame rather than a belching gout; a dagger of crimson maybe a foot in length, sitting up to bore directly into the side of the hounds face for a full five seconds. If it doesn't withdraw and relinquish him; it'll be enduring heat that bubbles skin and chars bone as the flesh liquifies and sloughs free. Sadly, that'll probably end up with his clothing being a little singed too. Oh the HUMANITY.
The dog's snarl becomes guttural. As the jet of flame scorches and sizzles, it thrashes violently. The fur closest to the point of impact ignites swiftly, smoke wisping into the air. As the flames spread, they sear through its pelt and expose flesh, with patches of fur crisping and curling away under intense heat. The skin beneath blisters and bubbles. If the smell were horrid before, now it's unbearable.
It singes the nose, acrid, and with a bitter tang that won't soon disappear.
Its eyes cloud with pain, and with fury. The dog is probably on its last legs - but creatures are most dangerous, then. The instinct to survive overrides anything else.
It remains a formidable opponent, and in a last, desperate burst of strength, clamps its jaws even tighter around Konstantin's arm, refusing to release its grip.
The longer it holds, the more it chars. The squealing is terrible. He's going to remember this in his nightmares.
The iron grip it has on Konstantin lessens.
Its weight before was oppressive, when it had been trying to pin him down, but without any amount of control over its body, it now becomes like a boulder upon Konstantin's chest.
A high-pitched keening begins, then falters. The poor thing - how could you, Konstantin - fails, little by little. And then there's nothing more.
Its teeth remain caught on Konstantin, but it ceases to move.
There's quiet again: peace, pretty birdsong, the sound of cars rolling on by.
Perhaps it's a deep irony that in that moment, red-and-blue lights flash around the corner, some cop poorly doing his duty failing to notice that Konstantin's doing the work of animal control for them.
All that's left is to deal with the body, if Konstantin is so inclined. Otherwise, he can leave this here for his neighbors. Maybe that ten year old girl will come back out. She can learn some quick lessons about life and death.
Konstantin freezes as the red and blues turn up. He doesn't bear much love for the police; specifically the mundane natural variety rather than Haven's own strange brand of 'special deputy'. How dare society exert resistance against his desire to bleed money from those less inclined to violence than himself with the wealth to be worth targetting.
He lets them go by, and then starts to wriggle free, planting his feet and arching his back upwards, rolling to his right, attempting to first bump the weight of the massive canine upwards and then deposit it off to his right in a tangle of charred flesh, seared skin, and blackened exposed bone. A little bit of liquified dog-brain leaks out of its eyesocket onto his trouser leg. Gross.
Planting his palms on the dog's side, Konstantin finally manages to roll it off of himself, the mutt's limbs flicking over as it rolls like the spokes of a wheel.
Finally able to rise from the ground, Konstantin comes to his hands and knees.. before gagging. He seals his lips, screwing his eyes shut, fighting against the nausea.
Fuck. Fuck. Nope. Come on. Keep it together. You've done worse.#
In the distance, the walls of the town stand in indifferent witness. It's still early in the day, and yet, Konstantin has seen more than his share of blood and fire.
He can get a good glimpse of the dog now, if he wants to let go and upend his stomach's contents. They say you feel better if you vomit.
The dog's face is a grotesque mask of charred tissue and raw, exposed muscle. Smoke still rises from its wounds, as if ghostly fingers come to claim another victim.
If he hop, jump, skips a few feet away, he can slide right into the apartment building, and no one would be the wiser. He can blame this mess on the local riffraff.
Steeling himself, Konstantin shoves himself up. Not today, contents of my own stomach. You're staying RIGHT where you are.
Konstantin rises to his feet and walks back towards the entrance of the building, limping slightly and dripping blood from his mangled arm, stinking like charred meat.