There is one lesson one should learn in life, and that is: Death is inevitable. When one becomes so warped as to understand this perfectly, they no longer mind the idea of dying, they embrace the idea. To the dark minded male before us, Death is but a constant companion, threatening him from the darkness. Too afraid is death to ever hope to touch the deadly heathen of Hell. Self-assured is he that dwells within the night, completely blank of mind as he sits perfectly still upon a rock in the midst of the river's rapids. The rushing waters have all but faded to dull static in the confines of his ears, the noise only sinking him further into his meditation as he seeks within himself. He had found a rather sticky plant, and the effect had given him a nice relaxing cloud of nothing within his mind. This is not the first time this black savage has partaken of this plant, his habits always leading him around in circles, and he continues to come back to it. The whites of his eyes are bloodshot, contrasting sharply with the dark sapphire lining his iris as he opens his eyes. The moon casts a weak glow this night, her face loosing the once round fullness she possessed but two nights ago.

Jinx is not unused to the cycles of the moon, having watched it for some one hundred twenty months as she spun around the earthen face of this planet. He has grown quite fond of her silvery dial, knowing by her position what the hour was. The sky already had begun the lightening process, black giving away to blue as the sun kills the moon's light, stealing his gift back from her. Each evening, the sun bestows a gift upon the silver lady, and every morning, he takes it away. Such a ritual of give and take should be a lesson to the rest of us. Fate brought our souls to the bodies we have come to inhabit, and at any moment she can grow fickle with her gift of life, taking the very breath she gave you away. One does not get as old as he without loosing close friends to the hands of fate herself. He has seen famine strike fear into the hearts of the fearless, their cries lifting up from the depths of Hell to ring and grate against the sensitive drums of his ears. He has seen starvation strike a nation down to its knees. He watched as fire rained down on a distant land, remembering now that he had thought they must have done something really horrible to deserve such a hard hand.

Some say that everything happens for a reason, that suffering is a trial. Well, there can be no trial without some sort of prize at the end, correct? So what if death is our reward? What if death is fate's way of saying, 'Job well done,' and we simply don't understand that sort of thing. Jinx imagines death, he lives it in his mind every day as he sleeps, his subconscious chock full of deadly instances. Rewarded over and over with the peaceful blackness of nothing, held no longer by ropes of muscle or ties of tendon. Bound not to the earth, but to nothing instead, not having limits. It is this thinking that gives the black brute before us his freedom. His dark tenancies nothing more than him playing the hand of fate, choosing himself which are to die and which will live on to breed. He is a creator of life and a bringer of death, the dark nightmare of Hell. He fought his way up from the very dregs of the Legion, moving slowly up in rank until he stood with the best of them, his current target had been one of those. So what is it that brings the nightmare down from his roost in the extinct volcanic range of Hell? He has been sent to do a job, once more the hand of death is sent to sweep through the valley.

His early sunrise gaze flits about the river, hoping to catch one of the many sent here who were donned in red and black as he was. He searches for the all too familiar red jaw and throat of Ishtar, once his greatest competitor for the coveted title of Elder, if not for reputation alone. The others had sent Haedes to check on the affairs of this little outpost, wondering if they had indeed lost Baphomet - one of the greatest leaders in Hell. Honestly, Jinx couldn't believe the massive brute was gone from the world. His passing had caused quite the stir back home, many not wishing to believe their leader gone, at the jaws of a reptile no doubt. New travels in the Demonic realm, or did you think it was the angels who got to hear everything through the grape vine? Jinx looks out over the river, his blood-tipped ears moving about to catch the early morning buzz of crickets and katydids, the harmonic chime of cicadas tied the symphony together, and Jinx found himself once again closing his eyes.

Today is a decidedly lazy day for the beast.