Each step is a silent embrace of the earth beneath his obsidian paws, breath rising in ribbons of smoke within the chill of the morning air as he moves like death itself upon the last shadows of darkness before the rise of the sun comes to chase the one and only Demon King back into the confines of his earth citadel beneath Moladion’s hill. His form moves straight, forward, unhindered and unwavering in it’s destination as he strides over the border line of the Asteraia pack. Lines mean nothing, they mean nothing, for his mind does not comprehend that barriers of pack and confines of land. He cannot be contained anymore then he can be tamed and as such does not obey the laws of those whom exist beneath him. His mind simply does not comprehend such things, his actions not born of malice or desire to disobey nor bring the wrath of pack upon him. He simply does not see, does not think, cannot be barred from one land and allowed in another. His mind does not perceive time, just as it does perceive barriers and as such his obsidian form is merely given to glide upon silent wings atop the earth and within the depths of the field pack.

Though he does not hunt this dawn. No. His belly is filled, satisfied, what remains of his meal congealed and thickened upon his maw and pelt in globules of dried blood and strings of flesh cast askew in the frenzy of his feed, all that remains of his prey is the rib that hangs from his jaws, still fleshy, still tender- a meal to be consumed for later as he carries his prize across the open fields and towards the den and the darkness that calls. The scents of others linger thick and heady upon the air and yet those reptilian eyes so dead, so unblinking simply do not waver from the path ahead, the demons of his mind gone quiet in these moments as morning mist rolls and swirls and a more potent scent is given to find its way to his nares. His motion is halted, that blackened Prince paused atop a rise and crest within the landscape, deadened eyes rolling within his skull to rest upon the form of another whom wanders from the darkened mists.

The female stands before him, within his path and for some moments still that Nightmare merely stands, eyes held against her own- before he strides forward again. She is not prey, she is not weak, her form near as scared as his own perhaps and yet her flesh does not bleed and thus- for tonight at least she does not exist to his mind, long limbs pressed forward once more, hulking frame of blackened fur and rolling muscle pressed deeper into the fog and towards the female whom stands within his path. She will move- because he will not. She stands within his path and all flee before him, all bow before him, or all are consumed by him. He will not step around her, will not deviate from his path, head and tail lifted in a display of dominance now- one that does not offer room for argument as a growl rolls low within his throat and lips pull back from blooded jaws that still clutch his bone in a silent warning as he halts a mere stride from her- and waits for her move. The Black Prince does not deviate from his goal, he does not step around, his blood laced with a potency of dominance so entirely toxic that it would seem it has very near consumed his mind with need to possess and obsess and as such he waits for her to bow and step aside as all do, that darkened king within the mists and truest of evils to ever grace the lands of the living.