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"description": "but everyone's already been defeated. ",
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"writing": "A green-scaled hand clasped around the chipped, worn glass that felt as if it'd been worn by Strug's hand alone. Slivers of mellowed orange crushed yellows ignited dustmotes in the air with stark clarity in the deserted bar.\nA thick green-scaled hand gripped the neck of a bottle nearby and brought it down, the glass perilously tipped on the edge of its rounded base as liquid spilled both inside and outside of that glass.\nThe sting on those open cuts was anything but antiseptic... It was a fire Strug's fingers couldn't even feel as he mechanically lifted the shotglass to his mouth and tipped it back in one harsh jagged tilt before clapping the tumbler down to the bar counter.\nThe rasp of fire was wasted on a throat like the lizard's, calloused to so much more than vice.\nThe lizard didn't flinch when the door slammed with a thundering smash that shook the rafters and sent a million motes milling away in a flurry.\n\n\"STRUG!\"\n\nThe bottle slowly tilted again.\n\n\"STRUG YOU MISERABLE SON OF A BITCH LOOK AT ME WHEN IM TALKING TO YOU.\"\nTalos' jaw was set in a grim line as he picked his way through the dead bodies that littered the room, broken heaps of twisted bloodstained ivory and ruptured flesh.\n\nA horned shadow loomed over Strug's overfilled shotglass as his green-scaled hand lifted up to his lips and drank.\n\n\"I'M HERE FOR PAYBACK YA FUC-\"\n\nStrug's torso twisted around like a broken ankle and all too suddenly, the bull was shrieking as shards stuck out of the bridge of his bovine muzzle, hands raised in reflexive agony that had already started to curl and reach for his snout. Talos stumbled a half step back as the glassy eyes of his beefy brethren watched wordlessly from blood-drooled mouths and then a green-scaled hand jerked his arm out of his socket with brutal merciless force before another green-scaled hand, balled up like a viridian cinderblock meteored towards his face.\n\nStrug's eyes were cold silvered bullets, deep within the cavernous overhangs of his brows as he watched his fist twist and drive the broken smashed pulpy cartilage of the bull's muzzle like a pestle against a mortar, muffled scrunching like carnal static as Talos's confused shout thundered in equal parts fear and fury.\n\nA futile hand reached trembling fingers up to try and get in the way of Strug's next fist, his left arm rendered useless but for the torturous clench of muscle on bone that was no longer firmly secured in its socket.\n\nBut Strug's right fist bore no hesitation as he single-mindedly blasted those curling fingers against the hammering fist that pressed the back of the bull's hand to his ruined muzzle. Those digits never stood a chance and they ruptured to a chorus of broken gristle that backspattered blood against Talos' horrified eyes in wet splotches as the miserable effort only extended his torment.\nTalos' arm no longer obeyed the will of its master as strength left his arm to slack at his side where he could only stare in mortal ass clenching panic at the retreating fist that pistoned right back into his muzzle so hard it shunted teeth into the back of his throat, coughing and choking on his own skeletal failure for a couple of dizzying seconds. \n\nBut that green-scaled fist was an unstoppable tsunami and when it crashed against his snout once more, it made the bull go cross-eyed as the force shattered the bones with names he'd never bothered to learn about. Talos' face concaved so sharply it looked as someone had held a shotgun butt to his face and fired the trigger, torn skin helplessly ripped asunder to expose the tissues beneath.\n\nThere was blood. So much damn blood.\n\nAnd it flooded into the back of his throat to wash down teeth that had stuck in his throat as he gulped frantically, automatically, his body foolishly clinging to life in the grip of his executioner. The next hit made torn lips kiss the back of the already fading bovine as that blood red-scaled fist plunged so far deep it twisted its knuckles up against the vertebrae of the bull's spine and just like that, Talos was paralyzed, the jangle of ruined nerves flooding his brain with incomparable torment, eyes rolled up in his skull. The retreat of the lizardman's fist was only slowed by the vacuuming suction of that deepthroating fist, that gory mass reluctant to give up its invader until a surge of bicep wrenched it free with a loud sucking pop, those knees long since having given up holding weight as the bull hung slack of Strug's arm like a ragdoll.\n\nIt was then, and only then, that Strug stopped punching as he let go of the gurgling heap of hamburger's eyes barely came into focus for one last heralding vision of life, unable to even widen before the sight of that massive upraised green-scaled foot and with every last fiber of his ruined vocal chords a muffled scream fought to be heard and escaped out the sides of his throat before Strug's stomp smashed the roof of his skull into the bottom of his jaw, brains and shards of bone splattering out in a grim spectacular fashion that painted corpses, table legs, and hardwood floor a violent crimson speckled with chunks of pale pink yet red-streaked chunks of brain matter.\nStrug's calf lifted and brought up that bubbling husk up along with it before a powerfully casual flex of his knee sent the bull's cleaved skull flopping out gruesomely over the base of his horns like a particularly incompetent combover and then the floorboards creaked as a red-scaled foot sat back down at the base of his stool, a red-scaled hand smearing grease over the neck of the bottle that he tipped before setting it upright.\n\nAnd then a red-scaled hand tipped the glass back where it almost felt the flickers of something, only to be swallowed down with finality.\n",
"writing_bbcode_parsed": "A green-scaled hand clasped around the chipped, worn glass that felt as if it'd been worn by Strug's hand alone. Slivers of mellowed orange crushed yellows ignited dustmotes in the air with stark clarity in the deserted bar.
A thick green-scaled hand gripped the neck of a bottle nearby and brought it down, the glass perilously tipped on the edge of its rounded base as liquid spilled both inside and outside of that glass.
The sting on those open cuts was anything but antiseptic... It was a fire Strug's fingers couldn't even feel as he mechanically lifted the shotglass to his mouth and tipped it back in one harsh jagged tilt before clapping the tumbler down to the bar counter.
The rasp of fire was wasted on a throat like the lizard's, calloused to so much more than vice.
The lizard didn't flinch when the door slammed with a thundering smash that shook the rafters and sent a million motes milling away in a flurry.
"STRUG!"
The bottle slowly tilted again.
"STRUG YOU MISERABLE SON OF A BITCH LOOK AT ME WHEN IM TALKING TO YOU."
Talos' jaw was set in a grim line as he picked his way through the dead bodies that littered the room, broken heaps of twisted bloodstained ivory and ruptured flesh.
A horned shadow loomed over Strug's overfilled shotglass as his green-scaled hand lifted up to his lips and drank.
"I'M HERE FOR PAYBACK YA FUC-"
Strug's torso twisted around like a broken ankle and all too suddenly, the bull was shrieking as shards stuck out of the bridge of his bovine muzzle, hands raised in reflexive agony that had already started to curl and reach for his snout. Talos stumbled a half step back as the glassy eyes of his beefy brethren watched wordlessly from blood-drooled mouths and then a green-scaled hand jerked his arm out of his socket with brutal merciless force before another green-scaled hand, balled up like a viridian cinderblock meteored towards his face.
Strug's eyes were cold silvered bullets, deep within the cavernous overhangs of his brows as he watched his fist twist and drive the broken smashed pulpy cartilage of the bull's muzzle like a pestle against a mortar, muffled scrunching like carnal static as Talos's confused shout thundered in equal parts fear and fury.
A futile hand reached trembling fingers up to try and get in the way of Strug's next fist, his left arm rendered useless but for the torturous clench of muscle on bone that was no longer firmly secured in its socket.
But Strug's right fist bore no hesitation as he single-mindedly blasted those curling fingers against the hammering fist that pressed the back of the bull's hand to his ruined muzzle. Those digits never stood a chance and they ruptured to a chorus of broken gristle that backspattered blood against Talos' horrified eyes in wet splotches as the miserable effort only extended his torment.
Talos' arm no longer obeyed the will of its master as strength left his arm to slack at his side where he could only stare in mortal ass clenching panic at the retreating fist that pistoned right back into his muzzle so hard it shunted teeth into the back of his throat, coughing and choking on his own skeletal failure for a couple of dizzying seconds.
But that green-scaled fist was an unstoppable tsunami and when it crashed against his snout once more, it made the bull go cross-eyed as the force shattered the bones with names he'd never bothered to learn about. Talos' face concaved so sharply it looked as someone had held a shotgun butt to his face and fired the trigger, torn skin helplessly ripped asunder to expose the tissues beneath.
There was blood. So much damn blood.
And it flooded into the back of his throat to wash down teeth that had stuck in his throat as he gulped frantically, automatically, his body foolishly clinging to life in the grip of his executioner. The next hit made torn lips kiss the back of the already fading bovine as that blood red-scaled fist plunged so far deep it twisted its knuckles up against the vertebrae of the bull's spine and just like that, Talos was paralyzed, the jangle of ruined nerves flooding his brain with incomparable torment, eyes rolled up in his skull. The retreat of the lizardman's fist was only slowed by the vacuuming suction of that deepthroating fist, that gory mass reluctant to give up its invader until a surge of bicep wrenched it free with a loud sucking pop, those knees long since having given up holding weight as the bull hung slack of Strug's arm like a ragdoll.
It was then, and only then, that Strug stopped punching as he let go of the gurgling heap of hamburger's eyes barely came into focus for one last heralding vision of life, unable to even widen before the sight of that massive upraised green-scaled foot and with every last fiber of his ruined vocal chords a muffled scream fought to be heard and escaped out the sides of his throat before Strug's stomp smashed the roof of his skull into the bottom of his jaw, brains and shards of bone splattering out in a grim spectacular fashion that painted corpses, table legs, and hardwood floor a violent crimson speckled with chunks of pale pink yet red-streaked chunks of brain matter.
Strug's calf lifted and brought up that bubbling husk up along with it before a powerfully casual flex of his knee sent the bull's cleaved skull flopping out gruesomely over the base of his horns like a particularly incompetent combover and then the floorboards creaked as a red-scaled foot sat back down at the base of his stool, a red-scaled hand smearing grease over the neck of the bottle that he tipped before setting it upright.
And then a red-scaled hand tipped the glass back where it almost felt the flickers of something, only to be swallowed down with finality.
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