Never had there been a ripple along his movements, but now he could not help it. It drove into him like a stake through flesh. A dagger through the very bone – that feeling of need, that hunger and want. Want for what was unclear, only that he knew he needed it, and he needed it now. The way it made his back arch, claws click against the stone he was upon as he rose his eyes to the sky. He did not yet incline his head, though, for he felt wary of the moon above. As if maybe the light shining from it would snuff out his dark presence. Ah, dark, the very being he sought to conquer over, yet the very being he knew to fear the most. Was this fear instinctual, he wondered? Was it the animal inside of him that drove him to keep away, and yet the human in his mind that strove for his very touch that was not so much unlike his own? The thought, the same hunger and drive made him watch his now gnarled fingers and the…claws, those daggered and sharpened weapons of death, those which has seen blood and ripped through skin… The gaze, ever wary of the light that shone upon the surface it looked upon, traveled along thinned arms. Heralding no body fat in the very least. Malnourished, or transformed was he?
This darkness that wandered upon the mind of the feral was welcoming, and though it no longer existed – for its task and drive had been completed, it rested where he did not – he could still feel its strings through his mind. Fierce possessiveness! He would never, ever be let go, this being of darkness to another just as he. Older or stronger was his desire? The feral rose his head, eyes meeting into the moons glow and he laughed. Was it laugh of amusement, or of hysterical pain? He wanted to live, and he would forever, for death had already met his now milky gaze, but that energy, the very source for which he strived to survive was gone. As had been the past source, so many, many, many years ago. Time, was it, and that time had come. Time had betrayed him, death was…
"Nothing…." Nothing just as the whisper in his mind, the metallic sound that made him scream at the sky, scream at the moon for its eerie glow. That which portrayed light; to scratch its way into his darkness, his domain of no light, but peace, peace in no memory, but want.
Skill to live? No. Heavens above or dark city below – no. Skill was lacking, unneeded. It was instinct, only instinct. It drove him, like the very knife that had been drawn, the very blood that seeped as his thoughts switched. End, end now! Time is no more and he shall not keep it so. O! Join the darkness, to not be such shade in the moons glow… To scream out his glory and be justified to join the hellish place of the shadows… The domain of peace you so seek among the end of time; that which is no more…
Dominating Psychoshipper…join your mate in eternal rest…