From the darkness ahead came a sound—not a growl, but a wet, tearing noise. Like a butcher separating ribs.

Kael didn't wait. He charged, his boots splashing through puddles of coagulating fluid. He swung his sword in a wide arc, aiming for the creature's exposed neck.

In the world of music, the phrase takes on more rhythmic or lyrical connotations:

Kael spat blood. "Tough cut," he muttered.