They say that to stay idle is to invite only wickedness, that to remain as such is to deliver oneself into sin. Perhaps then this is what happened when the gods created Maugrim. Maybe they let him sit too long, or perhaps they knew as gods were often blamed for doing. It is here then that we can see what lies ahead for the future, that there are beasts in this world the gods hesitated to create, and that they will - for this hesitance - eventually rule over all. This is not a creature such as you and I, no, he could never understand such things as we do. He could never properly function in the typical settings. Everything is food, everything. There is no descrepancy, no leniency, no mercy. He does not give others a chance to redeem themselves for he does not understand the concept of forgiveness. How could he? How could one so perfect understand what it is like to forgive if he has never asked forgiveness? He is nonrepentant, there is no remorse in him for all he has done, there is no sorrow. He sated a need, he did what so many others could not. Down to his core this beast is a survivor, he has committed horrors only the gods could admire, done things even they would turn away from. His cruelty was once a famed thing, his eyes the last thing any wolf ever saw as he watched the last vestige of light leave their eyes.
Occassionally, his hunger was simply too great to ignore for that long. He did not often let one die before he began to strip them, piece by moist piece, apart. Their screams echoedin distant memory, yes this monster keeps the souls he takes locked up tight in an air-sealed tomb within his mind, only to come out when he wishes them to, when he wants to look back and see the carnage. The gods have not taken this from the beast for it is his ultimate joy, his pleasure to see their pain when he closes his limelit eyes, his refuge when this world weighs on him. And it does, every now and then he feels the urge to purge a nation free of its inhabitants, to strike down those who walk in the light and take the reigns from those who sit too idle. Some may call him murderer, others an odd salvation, tonight he is simply hungry. Sickly yellow-green eyes cast over the form of a young female, she seems healthy enough, her bright tan form resting so peacefully in sleep as he slips silently from the shadows at her side. He stirs nothing, not the grass nor the air, no insects dared to move from his massive paws and he is made to stand directly in front of her nose. His ears pricked forward aggressively and his lips peeling back over his fangs to reveal the glistening white of them.
No, he is no demon. He is no angel of death. He is simply Maugrim, there to do what he will to survive, even at the price of another's. He cares not for her, truly there is not room in his mutilated heart for such weakness. For love is truly that, a display of weakness to another wolf. He knows only that he hungers, and the young female will supply what he needs to nourish himself. Cannibalism is common in the natural world, it serves to wipe out the weak in a species. Wickedness is in the air and Maugrim has taken the biggest gulp he can. His lungs expand with oxygen, and his vocal cords snap and vibrate with a deep rolling growl. The tan female's eyes snap open and she lets out a horrified scream as they catch the fangs coming down to mangle her face, their dull points seizing the thin skin of her muzzle and shredding it, ripping it off in massive strips. He has perfected this art, tearing, learning just how the skin peels away from the muscle and bone. She struggles, thrashing hard as she tries to get away, blood splattering in the autumn grasses as he laughs. Her struggles aiding him in delivering her into the arms of pain and ultimately Death. Does he wish to end his game? Not at the moment. He will not give up until he can see every muscle.
She tries to run, to get away from the darkness that seeks to envelope her, to escape these gnashing fangs and snarling vocals of a sudden threat. Too weak to escape him, too slow to have that chance. He whips her head around, making her dizzy nauseous with fear, the scent of it hitting him the way heroine hits an addict's addled mind. Maugrim grins as she tries desperately to crawl away, his dark cackle echoing out into the night and carrying on the breeze. Maybe the gods will take the sound from the air, perhaps they will let it carry. Truly it matters not to the black beast.
Stepping forward, over the girl's back, Maugrim snaps his fangs into her scruff, whipping his head savagely back and forth and holding her pinned beneath his massive paws as he rends her skin from her body. She lets out a most harmonious screech of pain and horror, his carnage not stopping at her neck. He wants more, needs more of her screaming as he consumes her, loving the sound of pain she gives each time. He left her eyes in tact for every single attempt she made to look at him brought a sick pleasure to his soul - if he had one of those. What a wonderful scene this must be for who ever will walk up on this. He would not stop, and he does not share. Be warned and beware, Maugrim will feast on this night.
"Speech!"