So it ever was. So will it always be. Such is the nature of evil.
Once he had accused Eden of being too soft on family. What did it matter whose blood was whose? Underidge had went out these past few weeks and found the sunken creature that was his mother. The way the age and the flies seemed to hang around her - it had stirred the god within him. Even if the Shade had not moved against Banshee, her son surely would have. So he had, creeping up to her with the downward tilt of his maw in a gesture of childhood, as if he was seeking solace. When instead he was seeking her throat. She had thrashed - how could she not? - but he had been fast and rigid. An unstoppable force. Many looked upon him, if they were so clever enough to spy him, and thought him a weak wolf. Indeed he looked odd; sinew and bone and a lean body that seemed skeletal at times. But he was muscle and death and all things besides.
He smells her before he arrives at the place of fire and rebirth. Sidriel, sister to Paravana. None would realize that though, not even her sister. He had made sure and would continue to make sure of that. Eerie eyes flick to her in an approving manner before he slinks around a dune, listening to Eden's hypnotic voice as he maneuvers Abel into position. That leg, that
offensive thing is right before his eyes and Underidge's lips pull back in a silent snarl. Yellowed canines appear as he slinks forward, his body much like a jackal in movement, side to side and disjointed. But silent. Oh so very quiet.
My pain is nothing compared to making you proud. He would have to hold those words fast in his mouth before this day was done.
"Then do not fight it," Underidge hisses. Before Abel has a chance to spin upon this new arrival the Thorn of Glorall is upon him. He is a cobra, striking with precision, teeth latching onto the fatty part of the leg and digging in. He bites down hard, solid, granite, and he begins to shake in such a vicious manner that it would likely pull Abel off his feet. Blood fills his maw, runs over and drips into the sand. Blood and fire and renewal.
His soul rejoices in this moment, teeth releasing for a half of a second before he is upon the boy again, lean paws reaching out to push against the boy's body as he rips and tears through muscle, crunches on bone, silent except for the breath that splatters out saliva and blood all around them. It cakes his face and neck, splatters across his eyes, but he does not relent.
He will not. Not until the moment that the last tendon is snapped, the last bone is torn, and the leg is no longer attached.
UNDERIDGE
FIVE - MALE - NO HEART - STARSHADE'S SOUL
OF GLORALL - ENDERLY X BANSHEE - KILL COUNT (III)