His tongue slithered with serpentine likeness from the corner of his blackened lips, sweeping at blood and sinew that congealed and grew dry upon his upper lip, lathering the knives hidden beneath this shaded canvas with a new layer of bloodied glory before it fell hot and rich down his throat in some deranged attempt to sate the hunger that burned and stung with want and desire in his veins until they singed and scorched and the demons of his mind hissed their displeasure and brandished the claws of their blackened existence against the inner side of his skull. His head lowers once more, the obsidian swathed creature remaining in the shadows of his existence, the darkened forms moving to shield their King within a kingdom his own making, keeping his ebony cape free from any touch of the sun or light that may see fit to penetrate the darkened place he has created as he feeds. Lips part once more to bury into flesh so hot, the nightmare whom has plagued Moladion for so long, for so many years since the night of his birth within Judila, towers above his fallen victim, muscle and power rippling beneath the thickened blanket of his midnight pelt, the perfection f his form evident to nay who look upon it. He is as all should be, perfect, flawless in his height and power, the undisputed ruler of the darkness of the bowls of Moladion in which he lives and yet at what cost has come such perfection, a form that offers him the appearance of the darkest of angels? His mind was never there, his body no more then that which attracts them, lures them before the emotionless thing within is given to state it’s need to feed- as it does not.
He does not exist, he is not real, he simply plays at the facets of life with meaningless mimicry in some vague attempt to perceive the notions of his existence and nothing more. He feels only hunger and yet with the coming of winter and the absence of his mate, still hidden from him inside the walls of Diveen, the city of Angels he cannot walk upon he finds himself given to other desires. He cannot perceive time any more then he can perceive self, he is a creature born of instinct and instinct demands from him other things, other basal needs and desires that perhaps drive him from the bloodied carcass of a young female and towards the scent of one still living. Saliva continues to stream from his bloodied jaws, dead, devoid gaze given to stare ahead, unmoving, unblinking as he simply strides with the silent and deathly grace his blood has gifted him and yet, perhaps it is the only gift such has allowed. He cannot feel, he cannot perceive and yet within this nightmarish creature the fates have placed the blood of the most dominate of creatures, the blood of Alphas, of Jaidah and Demetri, of Jaye and Bahamut, Apollymi and Wotai, Alpha after Alpha swimming within the depravity of his veins and yet no way to understand this, no way to control his need to consume the weakness he sees and dominate all who exist. He does not understand, he cannot control it, understands only the most basic of desires and fractions and it is with this need that he slips from the shadows to stride toward the blackened pair with deadened emerald eyes.
His powerful form lifts only further to allow heckles to raise like ebony knives, his form increasing in size as the thickness of his fur seems to rise and offer a true view of the perfection that he is, muscle and power coiling and gleaming beneath, head and tail lifted in the obvious signs of dominance, of mastery and indeed only the most foolish choose to challenge this, only the weakest of mind and body dare to attempt and it has been some time since another has dared to challenge Tobias. All let him pass, all simply bow before him and go on their way, their submission a reason to allow their continued existence. Lilith may call herself Demon, she may call her Ishtar her Queen, yet there is only one King amongst those of darkened depravity, the boy who tore apart his infant brother before the age of one, the one who has consumed the weak of Moladion for years, who has endeared the title of the true Demon King- the one the Angels fear above all else. She should be privileged, this Lilith, to have his attention, those creatures within his mind driving forth a different form of hunger as he moves towards her, growl coiled in the hollows of his throat, the scars upon which still gleam as he moves, proof of his immortality, of the Angel Kings attempts to destroy him those years ago. Yes, how privileged little Lilith is to have his attention, the one creature Baphomet had tried and failed to recruit.
He simply moves towards her, the male ignored for now, his mind unable to perceive the presence of another in these moments as he pauses before her, head tilting and turning before his muzzle reaches towards her in a mimicked gesture of greeting, for he has no understanding of it’s meaning, not true ability to perceive it as such, he merely acts as he has seen others, his approach…seemingly gentle in this moment and yet as to what he desires from her she shall soon be given to note. As for the male, if he is fortunate, Tobias will continue to ignore him, yet his dominate stance is clear, of Maugrim is wise he will accept it as all others simply do.