Drip
Drip
Drip
The resonating sounds of blood echoed about the pond along with the heartful screams of Son.
Mikey's teeth sank in—not into bone, not into something rigid or unyielding, but into skin. Soft. Supple. Sickeningly human. His jaws clenched on instinct alone, a primal reflex uncoiling from somewhere deep in his core.
And then came the taste—coppery, warm, unmistakable. Blood. It coated his tongue like a bitter syrup, metallic and thick, flooding his mouth as if the body beneath his bite had burst like fruit.
Then came the sound.
"AHHHHHHH!!!"
A scream—high and sharp, raw enough to cut. It split the air like a knife dragged over glass, echoing through the field in jagged waves. Not just pain.
Horror. Disbelief. The kind of scream that didn't sound rehearsed or expected, but torn out of someone's throat like it didn't belong there in the first place.
