I woke up once with a scorpion in my bed.
I woke up and ran my hand across something. I was in a sleepy daze and confused as to what it was, thinking it may be one of my dog's toys that I was unfamiliar with. I then gazed upon the black beast, the scorpion. I grabbed one of my dog's chew bones and I slammed down on the scorpion. Thinking it dead, I lifted my weapon and checked to see if it was real or a dream.
It was a nightmare, its tail wrapped in a mortal coil, black heart still beating.
The beast was not slain.
It scurried off, desperate to find shelter, uncoiled tail lashing black death at its unseen attacker. I knew I had to strike again, failure here meant a spurned beast yearning for vengeance beneath my hearth and home. Never again would sweet sleep carass me gently into the night while this abomination lurked in the shadows.
STRIKE! STRIKE! STRIKE! Still it moved! STRIKE! Still but not dazed, it scurries more! STRIKE! Its impenetrable shell curses my every move, the black obsidan absorbing each blow into its dark abyss. Its freedom, my doom, lay inches before it. In an act of desperation I lunged, all of my might flowing through the chew-bone, and I pressed forth on the black demon.
I put all of my power, the weight of the world, into breaking the blackened armor of the beast. I held still, never relenting the force, keeping constant, crushing power and holding my entire weight on top of the bone.
*snap*
The armor had broken.
The needle tail lay still.
The beast did not stir.
I was victorious.
