Prey
A predator feasting on fear. A hunter without any. Only one will make it out of this alive. Rengar smelled the blood before he saw the dead humans. Six or so, he estimated, but it was tough to get an exact count thanks to the number of pieces they'd been torn into. Their swords were strewn about the meadow, as useful as dulled cutlery. He knelt, licking blood from the ground. Cold to the tongue. Still sweet, yet bitter with the taste of iron. It had been spilled less than an hour ago. Turning o...