Kianzo

I loathe your prayer. I wallow in sin. Let the nightmare begin.

The colt was hurting. Not that he would admit it. No, instead of admitting it to himself or anyone else, he sank deeper into an angry, malicious mindset. Using his magic repeatedly (he now was unfortunately adept at it), he had frozen fawns and kits alike, allowing their mothers to see as Keusi gladly ripped their throats from their necks. Blood pulsed bright red against the snow, slowly darkening to black-brown as steam wispily rose from the hot carcasses while his hyena companion feasted. She was voracious, growing into her large paws and heavy jaw with alarming alacrity. Kianzo could tell she preferred younger meat by the satisfaction that pulsed through their bond whenever he caught her these neophyte meals.

Today, however, shrouded in the mists where he had found their companions’ eggs with Kiada and had found the unlikely friendship in Bellisma, his dark mask slipped. Kiada had replaced him with another colt—some ugly monstrosity—and Bellisma had simply disappeared, as if whatever strange bond they had shared meant nothing.

A small, dark hoof dug a trench in the snow as he pawed once, seeking to rid his mind of the lonely and painful thoughts that plagued it. Instead, he turned attention to the happy crunching of bones that emanated from his striped companion. The creature he had struck helpless with his magic was a strange one—he had made Si wait to kill it while he closely inspected it in its ash-frozen state. The Qilin was small creature, smaller than the colt, with golden scales and bronze antlers. The colt, drawn in by the gold, had almost set it free. Almost.

But, to Keusi’s delight, he had nodded brusquely once, allowing her to leap forward with bone-crushing jaws, cleaning tearing out its throat. The blood spread in a halo around the feasting hyena. The dark prince slowly shuffled forward, nostrils flared as he scented the gleaming, blood-spattered scales once again. His dark muzzle ruffled the bronze mane, seeking to distract his mind from his thoughts.

And then his masked head flew up, sharp blue eyes peering into the mists while his nostrils deeply breathed in the moisture-laden air. But only white met his gaze, and heavy wetness filled his nose.

“Who’s there?” His voice, growing deeper with his age, called boldly and demandingly into the Labyrinth’s mists.