Fangs of Fury

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smell the creature from hell, the low growl from its throat��flailing around him with his fists��c

here death waits in the shadows. A land where the hybrid now walks

on nothing can disturb the creation��nothing can go wrong but if you are in Darkest Africa, no one can hear you s

ntle soul breed from the womb of a chimpanzee��the

e undergrowth, that is spreading its wings over Africa, to put an end to the kill

y greed��the oth

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hammers down on the parched soil of Africa. The creature sits on its haunches as it takes refuge in a shallow gully as night covers the valley lik

ithin its massive chest, exposing its killing fangs in a snarl, its hairs rise on its back and rage surges through its body. Its muscles tense and it makes ready to attack�� to kill��

from the trees slapping at its hideous form, but it pays Mother Nature no heed. The scent has whipped all thought o

it. A cluster of mud huts, the scent of the hated human stronger now, but no visual source of the smell that offends it. It sits back on its hau

ecomes the watcher as it sits and waits for it knows the humans are safe in their lairs, but soon they will emerge to be greeted, not only by the calls of the wild bu

t of one of the villagers, its bark of rage filling the villager's ears as they run, only to be brought down and killed, tossed aside as another victim catches the killers attention, a

finally, the creature feeds, its hands and fangs tearing flesh from the b