He can scent her, the youth within her blood a siren that seeks to draw him from the blackened shadows in which he resides with the whitened demon he calls his own. Her perfume is thick and strong, reeking of health and life and Diveen, the very things the darkened creature of oblivion seeks to destroy as heavy pause carry his hulking form with silent grace atop the earth, pelt of untouched obsidian as black as the shadows in which he cloaks himself- the true Demon King. Emerald eyes rest upon the girl of smoke and shadow, jaws parting to allow heated breath to slide atop his pointed knives that for so long as soaked within the blood of the wolves of Moladion. One after one he has slaughtered them, the son of Demetri, favoured child of Jaidah and a creature whom searches still for the whitened female whose scent he has not found sin some years now. Just as Aaliyah, she has gone, escaped him, though he understands not how, seeks her presence once more though indeed perhaps both will remain elusive until the day fate has the kindness to strip the earth of a creature so deranged, so horrific and cruel. He hunts for weakness, for disease, for any incapable of fighting for the right to live, a plague upon this earth, a black pelted death to so many and indeed it is the spring that drives him from the caves.

He can smell birth, he can smell life and the creatures within his mind rage and claw with desire for the heated liquid that runs within the veins of pups newborn, so tender, so fragile. Yet the own he comes upon this day is not a child so small, not a pup of weakened skin and tendered flesh, she is older, yet a child still, her frame small compared to he, slight, weak against the power and rolling muscle of his own scared, worn form. Ten years he has lived, ten years he has killed and his thickened, ebony pelt shows the marks of a life hard won. He slides from the shadows of his kingdom, the truest of the Demons, yet shunned by even they for he cannot be controlled, cannot be tamed….will not bow to any. They flee before him, for well they should. He is hell upon this earth and it seems he has found a new prize. Each stride carries him closer and closer still to the shadow and snow of the girl who sits within the woods, his form silent and yet he does not hide, he comes towards her on whispered blackened wings, thick claws pressing into the depth of the damp soil as he simply comes on long limbs from the mist of the morning.

His gaze remains unblinking, features blank and devoid as he draws nearer, silent as always as his comes to a halt, deadened eyes turned upon her as his muzzle extends forward, nostrils inhaling her scent, though he does not attack, no saliva leaks from his jaws. It is her scent that has drawn him and yet it would seem he hungers not this day, that he searches not for this child as those fractured, emotionless eyes simply stare into her own- before he passes, like a living shadow he moves to brush past her, as if she simply does not exist, moving into the shadow of the trees before lowering his hulking form to the earth. Waiting….waiting…..though for what, cannot be said. The girl-child is beneath him, subordinate- and as such she is ignored, her health indicating that she is not a meal, at least, not in this moment as he stares into the dark of the forest once more. Yet perhaps, should she choose to linger his mind may be given to change, his is volatile after all, darkly dangerous and his hunger may well flare at any time...