Snippet #1522586

Finch wasn't entirely certain what had happened. One moment he was just about to sink his claws into the statue's body (more or less). The next moment: pain. Mind-numbing pain shooting up through his arm. The wolf let out a sharp yelp, clearly not expecting that kind of strength from his smaller opponent. It felt as though the bones in his forearm could snap at any moment. It took him a moment to realize: he couldn't move without running the risk of causing himself more pain. He was completely at the mercy of the cement and resin psychopath.

He was helpless.

Frozen by this realization, Finch listened numbly to Karl's taunts, barely listening to them, really. The concept of being so trapped, so helpless... it scared him. He was a predator, a warrior. It shouldn't be possible for someone to stop him, especially not this easily. The beast winced pitifully as the grip on his arm strengthened, and he found himself being flung across the stadium once more. And least he didn't hit the wall, this time, tumbling across the dirt before finally skidding to a half.

For a moment, he lay still, motionless except for his breathing. Then, slowly, he rose back to his feet, favoring his other arm over the one that had been grabbed. Yes, he was sore. Yes, he was humiliated. No, he was not going to quit. If he went down, he was going down fighting. Growling, he moved toward Karl once more, picking up speed until he was charging at the older immortal. A head on attack probably wasn't the best idea, but he wasn't really going for strategy. Just results.