#also lemme kno if there is ever a point that u are ready for abel to Finish Him™!! (but the alive version)

[sureabel]

If he were still man, this would be a fair fight. Perhaps, the beast tried to think, Clemens would even have an advantage. If he had proved nothing else throughout the night he had watched, he had stalked, it was that he was far more durable than your average man or mutant. And while Abel, the man, still had his shades of superhuman durability and stamina, it was not this advanced. And he was not filled with the same mortal rage of Clemens. Even upon nightfall, his rage was nothing but His will. The blood that spilled upon his handpaws, blood that was bound to mat his fur, was more than satisfying. The flesh the claws tore through when Clemens failed to protect his face was like... peeling wallpaper, perhaps. No, no -- skinning a deer. Now, that was all that Clemens was -- prey. Prey that was not complacent. He began shaking his head back and forth, an attempt at a non-violent solution to get Clemens to let go of his snout. Where Clemens stood, the inconvenience succeeded in a light trickle of blood, a light strike of pain. Where he stood, the inconvenience succeeded in nothing more than fueling the fire. He ripped his handpaw from the side of the man, hoping to see more blood flow as the block drifted away. Hoping to see vengeance for the semi-successful attempt at retaliation, he wrapped his arm around to dig his claws into the back of Clemens's neck -- to drag it down as far as he could without killing him.

There's no satisfying crunch, no crack of bone. Samson's rage spills over into a yell and guttural growls at the sheer frustration. His knuckles hit on a snout. His own knuckles don't split or bruise. Teeth dig into his wrist. The sharp slicing of fangs into flesh, the thin bones in his wrist cut and sliced. His growls turn into crying out: a kicked dog. Fear spikes through. Through his blind rage. He doesn't want it too. For a wild moment, Richard wishes he was nothing but the rageful beast he thought he was. Distracted, he's pulling his arm in the beast's maw, and reaching with his other to dig out the claws in his side. He doesn't see the next swipe. Doesn't even flinch until the claw's dragging through flesh. It catches the side of his neck, his jaw, narrowly missing his eye. The jagged scratches bleed heavily. Blood dripping into one eye leaving him half blinded. Like an animal in a bear trap: he begins to violent throw himself about. Samson bites down on the creature's nose, attempting to rip through and make him bleed nearly as much as he is. Even if he doesn't he holds on, terrified.