Foot of The Cross

Power was his natural inclination, the master held it with perfection, was a mesmerizing king of night, a god of war. He indulged in little more than the devilish snap of bones and the crack they made when ivory fangs latched around them and dared to squeeze the life away. He loves the feeling of pulling through something, loved the lifeless look only he could deliver them. He wanted to get them out of their world, and in his own curious way; he was their salvation. They should have fallen on their knees before him, should have kissed him, and he would lock them in an eternal embrace of slumber, peaceful pleasure. Such was the gift he was so willing to give. He was the only one that could make death erotic.

He did not need to be aware of the golden goddess, did not need to think of her, for fear did not suit him well, did not pain the palette by which he was so perfectly crafted, and so she could not surprise him. And while, her beauty was evident, and most men would feel the fire in their loins to just reach out and touch her, taste her, he was so horridly indifferent to her. His physical want for her was as strong as his want to let her live. Nonexistent. When he wanted to see her scream beneath him it was from the rigorous ideals that he could rock the life out of her. What a way to die.

His tongue would sponge across inky jowls, saliva falling from slavering jaws. How hungry he appeared to be, and how hungry he indeed was, and so he would draw forward, the salacious marksman only a facade. He did not want bliss or pleasure from her, he wanted to hold her heart and wrap his metaphorical fingers around it, to feel it beat, to feel it fail, "You shouldn't put yourself out there, sweetheart," the hiss was almost vehement as he attempted to move forward, to wrap his head over the dip of her back. I want to swallow you whole.

OOC: <'3 It's okay, I'm in love with Karmen <333 Cepheus just wants to mount her...head on a wall. XD