Baby's Got A Black Soul

His eyes hardened at her statement on his father’s mental health, his jaw clenching. The circumstances of his conception had been flung at both himself and his father too often as of late in particular by those that had little understanding of the role the demons played. His mother continued to speak, his heart pounding with adrenaline and rage. “Why can’t she just be proud of me?!” His thoughts roared and his fur began to stand on end. As she stepped closer to him he stepped away, outraged tears prickling at his eyes.

“That won’t happen because my family is with me!” He said tightly, his jaws clenched through each word. “The Praetors are with me! My father is with me!” He began to shout, his ears turning back and his lip raised in a vicious snarl.

“I am a Praetor because I have never been a Wreckage! You should have known that all along!” He roared, his tail standing raised like a war banner. He panted as though he had just ran a stretch of miles his hot breath clouding on the winter wind.

“I am a great leader because I am a Praetor.” He spat, tears running unabashedly from his eyes as he flung callous words that he knew would injure his mother far worse any bite or maim ever could. She just didn’t understand, no one understood but his father, and Legion, he would make them see, make them understand, and when they did he would stand beside the Apollyon as his rightful heir.

Speaking  Thinking You