He dislikes this motion, dislikes the turning of the other dark male whose sinewy muscle bunches and gleams beneath his pelt as that body is forced to twist and turn to meet the shadowy demons motion as he seeks to encircle his victim and the burn within his veins grows ever deeper, seeking blood, always blood, so hot and rich and thick, yet driven indeed by the rains of spring and the wash of new life that baths the earth with a thick and heady scent of need and hunger. Flare’s need to consume has come to match his own and so his own form is driven upon this instinct to provide for she who follows and shares within his den and darkness. He permits her, allows her, for she obeys as commanded, she speaks a language his ears may decipher and as such the nightmare that has so long plagued Moladion has found a peace within the storm of his existence- yet a peace that will not be found this night. The other male is neither weak, nor injured and yet the fractured creature perceives only a curiosity, a desire to test and tease, to see if he can be made to bleed, to see if his weakness may be spilt from his flesh and such flesh consumed in turn. This is the purpose of Tobias, the reason he exists, to feed and prey upon the weak, to remove their vileness from this earth and provide for his own strength. He is wolf as others are not, he is the scourge of this earth who remains unbound by laws of pack. Nature alone binds him and yet I turn has gifted him with a force of unconquerable measures, a form large and powerful, muscular and swift, health, resilience and a need to dominate that runs thick as vile poison within his blood. Such is his curse.
Alpha and Alpha may combine only so many times before such blood becomes entirely to rich, before it becomes entirely to dark and thick and such is the result that lingers within the rain this day as dregs of water recoil from his pelt as if the mere shade is sin itself. Generation upon generation rests within his veins, King after King, Queen after Queen until it was that he could contain such need no longer. He turned upon them, his siblings, one by one, chewing through the broken bodies of his brothers first, for he understands only competition, understands only a need to eliminate those who threatened his position within the gaze of the demoness who bore him. Jaidah. To destroy the lives of others saw her attention upon him alone, saw the meals she brought feed him again and again, the child born runt, the child her emotion had not allowed her to kill and the one who repaid this favour with death and bloodshed before those dead eyes turned upon Moladion and the packs coiled in fear and each turned against him, driving him from their midst when it was they found he would not serve, could not be tamed, could not be made to bow.
The rumble within the belly of the other does not go unheard, one ear rotating at this sound as paws squelch and slide upon the thickness of the earth, the posture and form the male viewed within the depths of those devoid, unblinking eyes. The other neither seeks to dominate or recoil, his form neutral and indeed the blackened creature takes this only as sign of uncertainty, a weakness of a sorts, a chance to assert his own authority over another and indeed, perhaps allow him to live, for he is not for eating, no, not yet, no. He continues to pace, continues to search, those eyes roving the frame and pelt of the other, seeking weakness, seeking imperfection, seeking reason to feed before the vile words spill into the darkness and bring a savage snarl to his lips, paws pivoting upon the earth with sudden aggression, form flashing inward as bloodied knives snap at the flanks of the other. He detests words, detests voice, the sound grating against him. He is capable of speech, capable of understanding and yet it riles him still, pains him, seeks only to anger him and as such he lashes violently at this other before withdrawing, saliva leaking from his jaws to the earth below as he stands, lips falling at last back across his fangs as a growl hisses once more and he resumes his pacing. He does not understand the words spoken, cannot perceive there meaning for he cannot respond to that which he has not heard before, his mind capable of only set reactions and indeed that which the other offers are meaningless to him, sound and nothing more though his mind seizes upon one or two words with ravenous discord.
“Tobias.”
The sound is gravelly, deep, a ravaged growl that he may well not understand as it parts from that torn throat. He has not spoken his name in years, he does not need to, it is known. All tremble before it though indeed many have long forgotten it, remembering him indeed as only the true Demon King, the Nightmare, the Black Prince of Judila who would not ascend his throne. It does not matter. He does not answer to it. He cannot be summoned. He comes only when he desires. His motion ceases abruptly, paws silent upon the earth as he twists and comes forward now, strides long and slow as he moves, head arching high and tail moving to follow suit like a black flag waving high. It is a demand for submission, a silent order and nothing more as he comes forward, jaws parting once more in veiled threat. He seeks to ascertain his position, seeks to have this other understand the law of nature and indeed, should he be compliant….perhaps he will live, perhaps he will be invited to run for a night beside the wolf who stalks the nightmares of children and brings cold shivers to the darkest hearts of Iromar. This other is not weak, this he knows, this he may use…but only if the other understands that there is but one King of the shadows.
“Play with me.”
The words of a child and yet, so very much darker.