The words from the boy meant nothing, were nothing as they came scratching into his ears. He hated to hear his puny little voice. How small and worthless his very own son could be, a son he would only acknowledge to the point that he shouldn't exist and should die. Oh, how he wished his Rogue was here with him, his Lillith, both woman to join in on ripping the worthless boy to shred limb by limb. But it wasn't to be. Both of them had abandoned him, left him, alone on this world.

In his insanity his jaws did not grasp the scruff of the boy as he aimed for, instead getting a mouth full of useless pelt. He knew it immediately not feeling the warm tug of flesh and the taste of fresh blood. His mouth simply opened, allowing it to fall to the ground as he did not hesitate to continue chasing the boy with a determination unmatched by any other.

"Come here, I won't make you scream like your mother," he threatened, his words spaced as he allowed for breath, as he did not slow his pace to allow words to flow from him clearly. There was raspisness to his voice, dark and vicious with each and every word. He meant every word, meant his actions as he gave chase.

How could he have created something so small and cowardly? He looked as if he wanted to tremble and fall apart as he ran. Yet Andras did not give away. His muscles were rushing him forth, his stride significantly longer than the shorter boy. He did have potential to catch up to him, considering the amount of running Andras did on a daily basis. His fangs were lifted, yellowed in his coming age, lips cracked and scars littered upon his face. He saw a potential moment, pushing himself to attempt a greater burst of speed, with his jaws then snapping out at the boy's rump, hoping to hit the spot right before where the tail connects to the body. Quite honestly though, he just wanted any part of him in his mouth, so he can bite down and attempt to rip out fur or flesh.

His mind was twisted, his eyes reflected the unending rage that lingered within him. She was gone and he could feel her being ripped from him. It was a wound that would never heal. It was a wound that was to be rubbed with salt and doused in vinegar for all eternity. He cannot control his most primal and inner desires any longer. He was unleashed from Lillith, his dearest Lillith, and her control over him kept him in check. Yet, her throat was ripped out in his very own land, his throat obliterated and the scents around her confusing him. He was nothing without her, and he could only do as his most prominent emotion allowed...and that, is the anger and rage that this boy still lived.