WINTER is his favorite time of the year for it is like a mirror compared to his soul; desolate, cold, harsh. Dark clouds loom above, stretching to reach the sun and destroy the earth’s chance at warm happiness. They threaten to unleash the snow that remains captured above, threaten to unleash another onslaught of cold amongst those who already suffer against it and reject such an idea. Malikye accepts it, embraces such a thing as the cold for he feels nothing. Icy tendrils attempt to find their way through his massive pelt, sliding along his flesh desperately seeking out a response. Not even a shiver. He stands there, welcoming the cold touch of the season and in anger the winds seem to pick up, twisting inside his pelt and slamming against his muscled frame. Still, he stands there, unwavering eyes remain upon the target below.
THE pale boy is skinny, a measly meal for such a beast as the blood king but he will have to do. As to why he has stayed so long within these lands is unknown even to the crazed beast. He is a rogue, a ruler of the underworld and nothing else, belonging to nowhere and nothing and that is how he likes it. Yet here the demon is, within the lines of this pathetic pack and staring at intruder as hunger seeps into his soul. Kissers curl back to reveal those murderous tools and he moves forward in a strange haste, power drifting off of him in waves. He does not conceal his advances, does not move quickly or stealthily. He likes to make his presence known, to see the fear drift upon their faces as he towers over them. They normally can’t manage to run, for fear freezes them in place. By the time they know what is happening, it is too late. It has been easy thus far, for few knew of the ravaging cannibal that lurks within the shadows of this world. But somehow, those who do not know can tell that something is off. Perhaps it is the way he looks at them, carrying imminent death plainly within an icy gaze. Or perhaps it is the stench of death and demise that leaks out of his very pores, falling onto them in waves. Somehow they always know when death is coming for them.
MALIKYE strides towards the boy as the very ground before him seems to morph away from his touch, bending and twisting in fear of his talons. Eyes lock, as muscles ripple with the effect as he draws near. The boy will not move, for his mere presence demands as such. If he moves, Malikye will move and his move will only heighten the inevitable and that will irritate the beast for his game will have to be cut short. He pauses a mere foot or two away, staring deeply at the boy before him and lifting that kisser in a sickening snarl once more. The clouds move over head as if to conceal the scene that threatens to unfold. The sun is snuffed out, light suffocated as Malikye lifts his head. ”Fool,” The word slides from his powerful jaws slowly, smoothly. His baritones shake over the earth, echoing in the quiet that only Winter can bring. A step is taken, his face morphing into something from nightmares.
ONLY…the wind shifts.
THE breeze trails over the boy, sliding into the ebony nose of the wraith and he inhales thickly, confusion splitting across his menacing features. He stares, eyes drifting to eyes as flashbacks of heat, desire, and blood seep into his consciousness. A shudder ripples across his body; Nezera. Pupils dilate as knowledge seeps in to break the craze. Head shakes slightly, a low growl emitting from gritted jaws as disgust strays into oceanic pools. This cannot be, this weak, pathetic thing before him cannot be. Head rears back, body coiling as if burned as ears flatten at the truthful idea. Another snarl and then he moves forward, circling the slender male before him. Noises fall from the beast, growls and snarls of disgust and irritation as crystals trail along his form. He moves around to the front once more, facing him and narrowing those shards once more. There is no doubt, and though he wishes it was not true, it is.
“Boy, do know of me?” Low chords drip with poisonous tension as ears perk in impatience. The wraith has found his protégé, and if he thought Jaidah needed work, he was severely wrong. “I am your creator.”
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