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The Raptors were freaking. They could be seen, and that was something the leader hadn't counted on. They swarmed in and around each other in a crazy, unformulated pattern, knocking into each other left and right.
Clif lifted his Ruger once more, dropping the paint nozzel to the ground. His eyes trained on a target, emptying shell after shell into each dripping red body, until they were all dead. Their teeth protruded at odd angles from their strange flesh-like beaks, much like how a cat's tounge jabs from it's mouth when it dies.
There was a sour odor as the Shadow carcasses began to decompose, melting away and vaporizing before Clif's very eyes. He knelt down and reached his his hand into the mouth of the first, grasped the teeth of the upper jaw tightly, then wrenched them out. With a sucking, poping noise, the now feeble gums gave way to his will, gunk from the inner workings of the beast spraying forth and coating his clothes as he clutched a line of teeth in his hand. He quickly repeated the process until every line of teeth was recovered, and he was drenched in the splatter that was, essentially, whatever Shadows were made of.

Clif decided not to stay in the warehouse. Four pairs of Raptor teeth would be more than enoough to pay for the weeks food, and besides, running across another swarm of Raptors was not in his health plan.
He quickly ducked out of the building, running through the narrow alleys in the array of the automotive district. He could see now that the weyrs were much more full than when he had come. The darkness of the Shadows was nearly physical, whisping out of every opening, while the loud calls of the beasts could be heard, screams terrible enough to cauterize a wound into a decaying mass.
Clif was nearly out of the complex when he heard a growl behind him. It was terrible, loud, and, most of all, hungry. He turned sowly, going around to face a Burlap.
The name sounds funny, but the creature is nothing to mess with. It was dubbed a Burlap because of the retractable hood over it's head. By casting it wide and far enough, the Burlap ensnared it's prey, like kidnappers and a burlap sack. The hood was the fleshy equivalent of an Isolation Chamber, cutting off everything from the outside world. You were disoriented, and therefore panicky, causing you to asphixiate. That was when it ate you.

The creature padded it's way toward Clif, it's tails swinging in a soft rythum, like it was happy. Like it wanted to play with him before it ate. It must have come from one of those over crowded Shadow weyrs, because it's dark evergies were charged so much that it nearly shone black. It was definantly visible, and it's teeth were definantly bared. It looked like a panther, for the most part. An eyeless, hooded panther with three tails. Okay, retrospect, it looked nothing like a panther. But, it's claws were drawn, and it was closing the gap, slowly, as if waiting for him to do something. Clif was scared stiff, couldn't move. The Burlap had a solution for that.
It screamed.
Then, he was off, running full on down the alley, as fast as he could, with the Burlap loping along right behind him.

Clif ran down the alley, unaware that he was being observed. He ran blindly for a while before he realized that Burlaps were much faster than any normal human could ever hope to be. He realized that, unless he did something, he was going to die. So, he did the only thing he could do. He turned to face the beast.
It seemed as though the creature sensed that the game was over, as the lopeing gait faded away completly. It stopped roughly six feet from where Clif stood, less visible than it had been a few minutes ago, but the teeth still glinted, silver in a swath of darkness. It's tail twitched rythmically, it's hood beginning to flap in a phantom wind. It was preparing to strike.
Clif removed his red-brown hat and slid his coat down his arms, letting it collapse on the pavement behind him. Now he wore all black, with the exception of the brown holster strapped to his chest. On the small of his back, there was a knot of looping cords. A pewter block could be seen within, or not really a block, more like a handle. His hand hovered inches from it, his knees bent and ready, his eyes agile.

((Bump, eh, so when is it going to be the next day?))

Clif's hunter's watch beeped a bit. It was past midnight, the next day, and he was still stalemated with the Burlap. It had been a tough couple of hours, circling and watching. So far, both of them had given up excellent defenses, neither presenting any holes to the other. The tension was building; it had to happen soon.
Saliva was dripping from the now translucent creature. It's silver teeth were still clearly visible, and it mawed it's jaws hungrily. It padded left, diagonally. Clif responded in the same fashion, a soft step to the left. Circling, circling, endless circling.
Then, the tension snapped. It wasn't the big thing, just a subtle change. The Burlap's tails stopped moving and dropped down straight. The calm before the storm.
Suddenly, it struck, throwing it's weight forward, casting to hood forward, ready to envelope Clif in a shroud of darkness. But, Clif was faster still. His hovering, threatening hand snatched at the handle, then snapped upward. The bullwhip cracked open the translucent skin of the Burlap, spliting the hood and spraying him with the darkling blood.

The beast screamed once again, jumping backward, before attempting to attack Clif again. Another crack of the bullwhip across it's eyeless face, and it ran off into the night, intent on seeking less dangerous prey before noon. Clif let out a long sigh of relief, and relaxed himself. With a quick jerk of his hand, he coiled the whip into his palm before placing it back in the holster on the small of his back.