I love the fog

N/A · 06-12-2013, 08:58 PM

The blood, the torture, the guts, the screams of agonizing pain, Demyan was craving it all. He lived for it. He loved it. It was the best entertainment in the world and he would never get tired of it. It was his favorite past time. Just knowing that his victim was going to suffer more before they died, wishing that he would just end it right then and there made it that much more thrilling. He had control over their lives. But he was not a merciful hellion. He choose to torture, to prolong the suffering as long as he could, to make them remember how painful it is to live when someone like him roamed the earth. He was worse than satan himself and he was proud of that. He was a sick twisted bastard and there was really no other way for him.

His powerful limbs had carried him to a new place today, one far more suited to his particular likings than any other place in Alacritis. It was a dark place, muggy and foggy with all kinds of dangerous vegetation littering the sodden earth. Thorns decorated the roots that protruded from the mucky dirt, brambles enticing anything stupid enough to get trapped within it to lead to a slow death. Oh what a fun little place. It would be the perfect torture chamber for Demyan. So many things to use to heighten the pain, intensify it. Perfect. Cyan pools were alert as they soaked up the darkening landscape, made that much more foreboding with the chilling bite of winter. Not only could a helpless victim be stuck in this place, dying from its injuries caused by the colorful vegetation, but it would also freeze to death, becoming emaciated and dehydrated until hypothermia set in and stole their last breaths. A cynical grin twisted his pale lips as an intriguing scent caught his nostrils. Another wolf, a female at that. What was a little dove doing in such a place? Demyan would certainly love to find out.

The grey drake tracked the scent of the little maiden, finding her perched on top a branch, a paw swinging freely, eyes the color of amethyst gazing about her surroundings. She was much smaller than him, everyone was, her build fragile in appearance. His blood boiled beneath his skin. She was the perfect target to torture. Now how to get her down from the branch...Demyan hid himself among the vegetation, frame crouched low to the muggy earth, cyan gaze intent on his potential target. He could already feel his canines digging into her pliable flesh, splitting it from her carcass, shattering bones. He shivered, anticipation coursing through his gargantuan frame.

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