Foot of The Cross

He was like a legend, the eviscerating truth setting those free of their eternal damnation, a monstrosity wrought of pain and of incomplete emotion. Still, he does not lack ambition, holding it between his limbs, a flame ever living, ever flickering. Power and prowess, hunger for him is not unexpected, thirst of the heart that beats in his breast is not misunderstood, for how strong is he, how righteous. Like the tongue of a serpent, his own tongue would leave the confines of his inky lips, scraping, dragging, across his muzzle. Slavering jowls, parted, salivating, hungering for release. For life.

He is a conundrum, a craft of unparalleled genetics, and yet he is the ultimate failure. Every mother's worst nightmare. Where most kids, were held to a fear of falling down, for him there is the fear of success. It is unbeknownst when he came to be so twisted, still, he thrives in his hedonistic ways, his hungering savagery, and his beastial elegance.