#12 quickly got up before Franklin could close in on him and he hobbled as he tried to put some weight on his broken toe. He still held the dildo in his right hand and waved it in front of him like a sword, trying to ward off his opponent.
Franklin wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing blood up his cheek and into his ear. The coppery taste of blood, it filled his senses at once – sight, taste, and smell. The adrenaline was kicking in now for Franklin and his eyes told everyone in the room that he had the taste for blood – that the primeval act of self-preservation had clicked in for him and his swine-like eyes were wild with the excitement of the fight.
Blood-lust.
Killer instinct.
KILL! KILL! KILL!
Derek could feel it welling up in the room too – he knew that Zoran’s blood would be boiling at the thought of killing someone. That familiar welling of adrenaline and tension – yet another drug Zoran could not kick.
Derek hoped Zoran managed to keep himself together.
Franklin roared, like a bear about to chase a hunter. His teeth flashed through a blood-smeared mouth. His saliva and blood sprayed out in front of him like fire from a dragon as he charged at #12. Franklin’s bulk took a third blow from the dildo but it barely registered – let alone had any effect.
He was on top of #12 before the skinny addict knew what to do. #12 was thrown backwards with Franklin’s blubbery bulk on top of him. The back of #12’s head smacked against the concrete, not hard enough to knock him out, but with a crack that stunned him none-the-less. The dildo spilled free and landed at Stephen’s useless feet.