Overture Downs I smell your fear, I smell your fear

The deranged storm felt ivories start to dig into him, his pulse thrumming against the teeth of the other. He slowly lost motion, staring up at the one who held him so. Sharp pinpricks tingled the soft skin, almost bare for lack of fur. He groaned softly -- no, grumbled -- then kicked up, twisting with ferocity and panicked shouts emitted from him like a coyote caught by a hunter.

 

He strained to release the stranger's grip, as tight as it was. It made him feel a bit light headed and his breaths came in short heaves. Paws flailing, he hit upwards again, trying to scramble from beneath the earth-man. When he finally succeeded, he threw himself onto all fours with a heave and a grunt. He turned to bare fangs at the man, disappointed that he wanted to kill him. 
"I appreciate the generosity of nature but I am made and cannot be unmade!"
He didn't know what nonsense he was hollering but somewhere, in the throws of his mind, something between the earth-man and the nature of his character connected. And concluded that the one who birthed him was trying to unmake him.

With his final shout, he bolted, a stormcloud ignited on land and made to wreak the world and tear it apart. Tear apart the inhabitants.
One at a time.
That is if he himself doesn't get shredded first.

Just say if this is too much PP!