He waits, within that misty gloom, eyes of reptilian green aglow within the darkened confines of the shadowed plains that surround them, his bloodied meal held between those red-stained daggers as the reek of flesh and blood permeate from his grizzly prize. He waits, that towering creature of blackened oblivion, the nightmare to whom all whisper off within the dark, tales to keep children within their dens at night for fear the Black Prince would lie in wait to steal the souls of those whom linger after dark. For years he has removed the vile weakness from this land, taken the aged, the sick, they dying and those children to foolish to stay beside their parents. For years he has plagued them, taken weakness from them and still they do not thank him, the Demon King, the true Angel of Death whom has followed behind these wolves of Moladion of blackened wings to consume what they allow to fall behind. Still they hunt him, still they fear him and perhaps well they should….for they seek to oppose him, seek to drive him from their lands like a blighted plague whom ravages their fields. His mind dislikes to be opposed- yet such is the cruelty of nature perhaps, to bless a creature so with a blood so potent, so dominant that he desires nothing but to lead and yet such blood is bladed as a double edged sword. He cannot bow. Cannot be made to bow- cannot see sense within his mind so ravaged and torn by demons, a mind hidden and concealed beneath the utter perfection of his form. So perfect, so beautiful, a form so powerful and strong- for he is perfection in all regards, the most divine of males- yet cursed with a mind so worn, so ravaged, so broken. A wolf of instinct alone, a creature untouched by emotion. He desires to feed and to breed and to exist. Time has no hold upon the blackened demon, for it does not exists, his thoughts do not connect nor contain or continue. He lives only within the moment before him, driven only by the desires of nature and no else- and his nature demands sub-ordinance from the one whom stands before him.

Lips pull back to expose the fangs beneath, fangs whom have taken the lives of so very many and drip now with the blood if a victim long taken, a flash of white against the blackened embrace of his features as each movement demands she bow else flee, each muscle rigid and taught beneath his ebony pelt, tail lifted high in this silent command for the obedience he has come to expect from those whom rise before him. To bow is to live and it would seem the female has chosen otherwise. Blackened heckles rise once more, arching like fingered knives of obsidian against the sky as his chosen prizes falls readily from his lips to fall against the frosted earth as the tail of the female lifts in turn to defy his command and a shrieking roar is drawn from within his ravaged throat. It is a hideous sound, a violent, shrieking roar his damaged vocal chords alone are capable of emitting as each muscle coils and tightens and the darkened creature’s lunges on silent wings.

Jaws part to seek purchase upon her, teeth slicing into the flesh and fur of her ruff, biting down and upon her, seeking to force her down and beneath him else throw her like the useless creature that she is as the first droplets of blood spatter against his throat and tongue and seek only to further insight his rage in response to that glorious rush of taste upon him- until he stops. His release is near as violent as his attack, the female spat from his jaws like bile, head tossed and shaken in a manner crazed as darkened paws scramble from her and his mind revolts violently against this release. It is a feeling that has not existed for many years, a tether to which he has been free for so long- that single, fractured and delicate portion of his soul that still exists somewhere within the blackened hellion having passed from his care….to her own- and how his mind rebels it. He cannot understand as others do, cannot perceive this connection, knows only that he desires her blood, desires her flesh like no other and yet…cannot…is prevented…halted.

Another roar is forced from within the depths of his chest, darkened claws parting the earth beneath in his second lunge, intent only upon her destruction and yet once more those jaws part, seeking her throat, seeking to free himself of this oppression placed upon him and still it is to no avail, as if he collides against a shield he cannot see, form forced to turn, head wrenched away until merely his side collides with her own in this desperately sought touch- that enrages him as it does soothe. Once more that handsome head swings, teeth desperate to find purchase upon her, upon anything, his madness ensured in these moments as he bites down upon all he can reach in his desperate desire for blood, teeth sinking into his own right forelimb before releasing mere moments later to allow a rivulet of blood to flow freely upon the earth- unaware it would seem he has attacked himself within his own madness, oblivious to the pain as he turns from her again, pacing, circling as that vile growling rolls and coils within his throat, chest heaving with the effort of his assault and the scream of demons within his mind as each and every fibre within his being contorts about a single and new understanding- obsession.

She has become an obsession within that moment, a perfect prize to be consumed and yet protected…guarded…just for him, just for him, yes, yes. She is his thing alone, to be eaten but not. If she is strong, perhaps, if her strength can be proven to be like him then perhaps the creature can be soothed, for now however he desires only her submission, only her blood- the scents of winter only adding to his fury as he halts once more- deadened eyes true and upon her with reptilian cold as saliva pools and runs from those gaping jaws in his last and final assault, form lunging a final time in a last and desperate bid to tear the life from her before his head and frame and wrenched sideways once more and he is left against her, chest to chest, head upon her shoulders as his breathing comes in desperate rasps and chest heaves against her. He desires her touch, craves it and yet this craving, this need is contorted, confused with a desire to feed and breed that results in a powerlessness he cannot accept as he rests against her for this single moment- head lain upon her back in some effort to find his breath once more as that toned, hard, powerful frame of raw muscle shudders barely a moment and a final growl rumbles within his chest.

He does not desire her touch, yet he will not release her, any attempt to move from the embrace within which he holds met with a snarl of sorts as his mind rebels. She is for eating- but not, it is winter and her scent is clear within the air, driving his need to remain close and yet his very nature would have him consume her- there is nothing left but to rest as he does.

His thing she will be and his thing alone.

“Mine.”




((The powerplay used in the early part of this post was discussed and allowed by the player of Tick Tock))