Meadowlark Prairie Oh Lord, Heaven Knows We Belong Way Down Below [Pack Hunt]

they ran, they drew blood. it was the lore of the wolf; the stink of the bison rising high and rank in his nostrils. merrick was reminded, as he snapped and wove between the other nightwalkers, of the stag hunt he had led in the hollow
nunataq
no!
dead to him, dead as any of them, dead as they must be and must stay
merrick coursed silently, jaws smeared with crimson and ears filled with the pound of his own beating heart.

As the beast grew weak, pack members started to take their shots, bites to the neck and side as the creature billowed and tried to shake them, but its death was inevitable at this rate. As Vanity claimed down at the neck, Alice would aim to sink her teeth into the front leg hoping to buckle the creature so the pack could land the death blow. Blood coated her tongue only reminding her of the hunger that pressed at her stomach and encouraged her to tighten her jaw. It wouldn't take long for the beast to fall for the pack to ravage.

Closing this out upon Serem's request!

They were all upon him now, and several deadly blows had been dealt. Watching the bull panic, hearing his pained bellows, tasting the lifeblood that leaked from his veins... it was a reality check to Black Hat that was too tangible to deny. So fragile was the bison, he could be felled by mere mortals.

Even the mighty bison was just as mortal as them.

The beast was brought to his knees as his strength was sapped by the ever-persistent dogs. Though it was a team effort, Black Hat felt unmatched power surge through him. In that moment, finite as his existence was, he was unstoppable. He was... immortal. Of all the suffering he'd wreaked and all the lives he'd taken, none of it could compare to how he felt in this moment.

The fight would soon be over. As much as he would've loved to deliver a show-stopping final blow, his head hadn't unscrewed itself that far. He achieved his magnum opus high, there was no need to push it. Coming back down to Earth, he gave one last instruction: Let him bleed, he will die in due time. Don't push your luck. His voice was cool and collected, yet it carried far. He needn't yell to be heard through the still air of the waning battle.

With patience came their reward. The behemoth became too weak to protest the entry of the Nightwalkers' teeth into his flesh. Sometime in the midst of their primal feasting, he finally passed.

Nightwalkers, God-killers; they were one in the same.