The Loki's cackling echoed the night. "DAMMIT!" David screamed as he fired his last bullet, narrowly missing his mark. He knew he should have brought someone along with him, why the hell did he come alone?! Not that it mattered. Right now, all that mattered was that he was out of ammo, with a Loki trying to take him down.
Of course, he should've seen this coming. The hunt was going so well at first, so easy, that he'd thought he could just take the thing down. Why call for help when he could do it himself? He'd already tagged the damned thing earlier, shot it right in the leg, or so he thought.
"Dammit."
David crawled slowly through the underbrush doing his best to hide himself. How did he get himself into this mess? How could he have been so stupid? For god's sake, the first thing they tell you when you learn to hunt is "don't go alone". Why the hell did he think he could take on something like this himself?!?
"DAMMIT!"
No more options. David had hit a wall, literally. He was left with only one choice: to face his mistakes. He'd have to fight the Loki. Gathering himself, David got up and ran back, knife in hand, to finish what he'd started.
"DAMN IT!"
The hunter felt the sting on his hand, the sudden wetness enveloping it. He dove out of the way just in time to dodge a second shot from the Loki's paintball gun. The bastard was taunting him! It could have made itself a real gun, sure, but that wouldn't carry the same humiliation as destroying a well-armed hunter with paintballs.
Taking cover behind a nearby tree, David quickly examined his hand. The green paint had sunk into his now-smooth skin, his elongated fingers connected to each other by a sort of webbing. Wonderful. He probably couldn't even hold a knife right with that damned frog hand. Looks like his only option is to try and run past the gun-toting Loki and to safety.
"Damn, it just isn't my night."