MALiKYE
It is within the deep dark of the woods that they charcoaled beast resides, hidden within the shadows of the dead and dwelling within the grasp of the invisible graves that line the soil. All die eventually, and it is within that death that one can truly find life. Or perhaps not, perhaps they simply find more blackness, more dark within the afterlife. Everything dies, everything rots and it is either by the hand of destiny herself or the hand of those who play god; those like Malikye, the wraith of the world. Shadows leap across his already dark form, lingering within his thick pelt and twirling unseen fingers into his locks. They cling to him like desperate females that cling to the thick musk of a male. They cling to him like the scent of a skunk upon its prey. The beast feels confined, destined to cover up his lustful desires for the sake of a name, the sake of the demon king himself. This lust is not sexual though, for it is blood the ravager seeks. The crimson liquid is the only thing upon his mind right now, the only thing he can focus upon.
And the beast thirsts.
He had feasted, and feasted and yet nothing has satiated such a burning desire within him. Blood drips from his maw, falling to the pure soil and tainting it like poison. It is a drug to him, this metallic drink. He craves more, constantly he craves more for mere deer and hare do not fill his needs. He needs to feel another, needs to feel the flesh of his own within his grasp and then, only then, will he finally allow sanity to seep into his being. It is within a circle of remains that the beast lay, the minor scraps of a infant deer that never stood a chance. Like a halo, it surrounds him, the aftermath of his hunt, and he seems to bask in it, glowing from the shine of gore upon his pelt. He is such a ragged beast from before, the moment in Iromar of pure fury and confusion ripping him into an uncontrollable fit. He shudders, thick muscles spasm under his massive pelt as tongue slides out from between powerful jaws to drag along soiled kissers.
It is in this moment that the vampire realizes he is not alone.
He becomes acutely aware of a presence mixed with the infinitely addictive aroma of another kill not too far off. Pupils dilate as nostrils flare and an ear flicks back. His head seems to tilt, lifting slightly as he inhales ever so deeply. Perfume slithers into his nares, sliding along his inner nostrils and flooding his senses. Another shudder erupts from the beast and he finds himself curling his lips back subtly. He knows this scent, knows of the demoness who walks with such an air. She was the only one who could make the king bow. “"My, my Malikye.. What has gotten a hold of you?" Ears flatten against such alluring tones, pressing against his thick cranium as the muscles in his powerful jaws twitch when he clenches. Still they seep into his ears, those musical infections making their way into him and forcing him to turn and face reality. Icy shards find themselves locking upon the lightest of pink gems, stoic face masking the shock and instant desire to attack him.
For once, the beast wanted more than blood.
"You…" The confirmation is growled out within the shell of husky tones. His voice seems grave, as if he realizes his fate is sealed and there was no escaping the temptress before him. The word falls from his bloody mouth, mixing with his saliva until it falls upon the earth as the beast rises from his throne of debris and turns fully to face her now. Eyes drag along her body, every curve and inch of her just as he remembers which was utterly horrible. His face looks unreadable as ears flick forward casually, head lifting as he peers down upon her. "What are you dong here, Nezera?"
"hear the demon creep"
IROMAR male . casanova . demon . |
