He was exactly what he was meant to be. The universe had decided to create a creature, one whose mind is not tainted with the problem of emotion. No, emotion did not hinder the blackened soul that walked within the shadows on this earth. Yet, some would think he is a problem, a glitch in the system of mental progress, but really, what was progress? Who defined what was meant to be, who defined what a sound mind was? He was not like others. He was different. He was driven by instinct, an instinct so strong and pungent it was his mind. Yes, his mind and soul were meant to be different from the others. He was special, hand picked by evolution or the gods, to survive, and nothing was going to stand in his way. All weakness was pruned from him, and emotion can only bring weakness. He was a well oiled machine, designed to purge the world of weakness that was never in his soul to begin with.
Yet this comes at a price. In order to be death, to be what the universe needed and desired, his perception was altered from the typical wolf. He does not connect to those around them, he cannot feel or truly understand, for that would only be weakness within him. He operates to feed the hunger, the hunger that torments him and drives him to eat. It was the mechanism that drove him, one that did not allow him to distinguish food from kin. Kin did not exist, not in his world. Blood was not a connect made in his mind, for such a connection would be weakness. All who are weak will be devoured. Everything else is irrelevant.
Though his mind is a thing of wonder to others, something so mystical and devoid that others wish to understand him, his body requires what all other bodies require. Water. He hungers and he thirsts. It is primal, it is the desires of his body, given to him through generations, given to him by the gods. He was a carnivore, one who devoured and ate, consumed and destroyed. It is said he was a demon, a black thing of evil that should have never roamed the earth. He does not understand such accusations, for he cannot perceive them, his mind does not revolve around the extra thoughts that other wolves are cursed with. He does not need such thoughts, he is a creature of efficiency, strength, and violence, the purger of the weak souls if he was aware of it or not.
He pushes forward, his path fixed and never diverting. He does not look around, his eyes do not wander and gaze at the wonders around him. His emerald eyes stared forward with each step, barren and void, seemingly lifeless from an outside view....yet Tobias was not lifeless. He is life, he is living and breathing, blood runs through his veins just like any another. It is others that try to push Tobias into another definition, another thing that isn't life, but maybe it is because they fear their true nature...maybe it is because they see themselves in the instinctual Tobias and fear their own nature. They call him a demon, they try to say he is not like them but he is, he is flesh and blood and he came from a mother and father just like anyone else. He is what they could be and that instills fear in the weak of mind. Tobias does not know this though, as his powerful form makes way towards where his mind remembers water is. He is fixated on his primal needs, the need to drink and then maybe he would satisfy the itch in his head. The need to feast was a constant one, something that was always there lingering within him.
The need to drink burned within him, interrupted his day of staring blankly in the darkest of shadows. The sun was high in the sky, shimming with beauty and giving life to all below, but Tobias could not think of this beauty, he could not know and part of him knew the shadows made him more deadly, made him less distinguishable so his prey could not run by the time they realize he was upon them. He slithers out of the blanket of shadows, with no hesitation he steps to the liquid running before him. Drool had pooled up within his mouth and lips, dripping down and combining into the water below, as he drank until his body told him he needed no more. He stood, head only inches above the water, unflinching and unwavering as he stared ahead. He stared and he stared, his eyes fixated on nothing and yet there seemed to be only blank darkness behind his emerald eyes. For moments he stood and stared, water brushing against his paws but getting no reaction out of the black male. His mind was working like clockwork, a constant pattern that repeated over and over, and in this moment there was nothing so thus he did nothing. It wasn't until a howl came to his ears that something triggered inside of him. From the outside, no one would know of the actions playing inside his head, the past memories from other howls replying, for he held in an eternal stillness. He held so still until he turned, he turned and instinctively traveled directly towards the howl. It was close, yes it was real close and the scent fell into his nose. Judila. It was a scent that was in the land that was once his, the land of his rive and his den. His impressive form finally coming upon the scent that violated his nostrils.
Female. Weak.
Before him lay a girl of white and black, her paws dangle in the water but this brings nothing to Tobias' mind, he stands before her with his hackles rippling and rising. She was a fragment of a time long ago, but this time was meaningless, time did not register to him as it did for others. He existed in the world as no other did, a mind functioning with chemicals mixed in special ways that made him the specimen he was today. She lays and Tobias is above. He is the one in power and she is weak, yet she triggers a loop in his mind as he stares at her in his impressive stillness.
"Judila," he says, the words dripping from his mouth like the drool the hits the rocks below him. He continues his stare, and it was hard to tell if he was staring at her or through her.
"Judila," he says again, in the same exact manner, like a robot repeating a prerecorded message.
"Judila. Mine," he says, feeling a possessiveness trigger by her scent. Judila and her scent were connected, and his mind can only process that Judila was his river, his den, her scent was there and thus she is his. She is his and she would not argue. She would stay below to him, he will dominate over her for he dominates over all. None can control him and none ever will. An aura of power emanates from his shadowed form with his stare that never ended, he seemingly never blinked and he definitely did not flinch as he held his tail high, his large form impressive and well muscled. It was not easy to tell if he was waiting for a reaction, for his face was static, like a painting it never changed as he stared at what was his. Yes....she was his.
TOBIAS
"This is Lz for Kite" 