His brain was falling apart. It wasn't falling apart in the style of a star going through a supernova, but slowly, piece by piece. The design inside his skull was rotting out, and before long, he'd been such a monster of the night. Distant screams in the dark would be a beacon to call him in, and he'd be sure to come in running. Thrill of the kill would be the greatest thing in his mind. Surges of adrenaline would fire him up, and the final sound of a skull cracking under his hoof would be his cocacine. When his drug of murder ended, then he'd go searching for more like they always do.
Tonight, either if it was day or night, the world was enclosed in permanent darkness, he'd gone to a place he once liked to lurk, and after the incident with the colt and Africa, the first member of the Aurora Basin he could find would become a bullseye target for a certain green eyed man. Lurking within the darkness, becoming a ghost worse than any Wendigo could dream to be, his footfalls were silent, breath slow and relaxed, one ear moving in every which direction looking for just one thing.
A horse with a horn.
Coming on tonight would sure to death or bad injury for the creature, for now he had the infamous bloodlust, Leaves rustled without a wind to move them, or either the wind was over there than here, playing peek-a-boo with the madman. They moved without the wind, and a deep sound in the dark alerted him of the presence of another creature within his home. He couldn't do anything but smile. Smile like he had a devious thought within the lands of his skull, gears inside turning. If you stare close enough and listen in the silent of endless night, you can see them move through a nonexistent transparent skin and skull. Their sound is screeching, 'they've never been oiled' is the only thought that you can think upon the sound of them.
Snow begans to fall in front of him, and from the rise he stands upon, surrounded by the trees and a single Scinfaxi, his green eyes can peer down in the world in a way that makes the world rip it's chest wide open, ribs breaking as it's fingers intwine in the gaps between them, the strength of their arms strong enough to tear bones. Once pried apart, he lingers inside, looking around like a surgeon with a well-trained eye. 'Looking more, are you?'
The voice inside his head doesn't phase him, his eyes have caught something gleaming in the darkness. Eyes well trained and focused, brought up to be a good form of sight when lurking in dark forests as he commonly did, remained glue upon the sight. A shimmer, one so faint he doubted the owner knew it was happening, but he knew full well what that probably meant.
Unicorn.
What smile is already motioned across his face, grows, ends almost curving in the most devilish grin of all, protraying one of those smiles the characters in the cartoons who are thought to be evil. He wore it perfectly, and with gleams of joy within his eyes, this is truly a sight to see.
Strands between insanity and sanity break and mend upon cue as if his disease knows to heal him. The brain given to him as a child does the work for him. Snowflakes get falling, and standing in the darknes, Scinfaxi's voice breaks through a barrier used to keep others well out. 'Shajake, he is our guest. Please, take your time. Play with your toy before you kill it, okay?' There is no reply either mentally or physically, just the stallion standing alone, staring down upon the horse below. What moment that comes from him is a flicker of a black tail, and the blinking of a pair of green eyes. Smile still intact.
One step foward and he listens for the sound of the snow making a crunch underneath his weight, but a slender frame and light weight work with him. No sound is made. The process repeating over and over again now, each step receiving a stop afterwards, that one floppy black ear on his head catching the noise. His eyes remain locked upon prey below, thoughts as of what he can do. This one, was simply for the revenge of Africa's lost wing, where as he was sure it was lost in her time in the Basin, where he could receive the faintest scents of her when the wind blew Basin smog over the Steppe. A growl already inside his throat, scratching and clawing at the inner linings of his neck, he refuses to release it. Toy is right, Scinfaxi, though guest? Polite him to death? No.
Scinfaxi, inside his head, rolls his eyes at the stallion's remark. 'Whatever you say.' The smile turns to a smirk with the words inside, and he glares down a path, having worked his way through the trees and snow while attempting to keep himself quiet. In these moments, he truthfully lacks a voice. These are the moments that turned what voice he has into a demonic, deep voice that strikes fear into the hearts of the greatest warriors, and a laughter one that haunts the nights so much like this one. The laugh breaks free now, macabre and sending chills even down his own spine, he has intentions to scare the Unicorn.
For if he runs, then his death certificate is surely just been signed by Shajake.
Cause of death: Murder in the 1st degree.



"talk talk talk"

OOC: Shajake is sort of hunting Crash Course for the moment, with intentions of scaring him. If he doesn't end up scaring him, he'll 'play' with him in a sort of aggressive manner he is known for.

The dark wasn't able to hold his appearance hidden for enough time as the sound burst through the area. His prey seemed frightened, and a dark chuckle falls from the dark depths of his throat. Eyes widen and he smiles a bit more before taking a few silent steps. Sight effected by not completely, he knows the position of the man in the dark. Laughter continues before coming to an abrupt halt, stopping the noise. The world hushes like a crowd who just heard a gunshot go off nearby. It looks for the source, though none are able to ever discover what it looks for.
His legs move forward, a slow walk keeping him to appear as if he was a true trained, natural-born predator in the dark. The snow crunches, that one ear lazily flopping about on his head without his needed use of it. The petite mare in the snow of the Steppe might of taken it from him, but the other works just fine for him. He can move on with just one of everything as far as he cares. That excepts the legs.
When the snort breaks out the Unicorn in front of him, the laugh isn't halted as much as it normally would be. Scinfaxi was right, and as the white figure stands beside the stallion stares onward with a lack of care, smirks with enjoyance. Shajake leaves the figure as it fades off, disease calling it slowly back to his brain as the stallion makes more of a move. The green eyes refuse to release their almost glowing ability in the dark as they linger over the creature's body. His movements are stopped as he comes upon beside the horse, nose taking in the first scents of what he's found in the darkness.
Ah, look. we found a Basin member. 'Forget your play, kill him now. Or just take the horn. He deserves to like in disgrace.' The dark chuckle that escapes him is matched with his eyes 'lighting up' and a dark smile across his face. He is very much amused with what he has found, yet the things his mental friend from the disease has spoken early still seems more fun than ever. The girl lives in his head, and the sad sight she was is still fresh. Fresh like a rotting corpse left in the sun. It takes a certain odor to it that makes others flee, yet to him, it attracts him like a moth in the dark. "Hell...... E-... Lo..... Hello, shhh..... shhhh...h it..... fa....ce.... Sha.....Ja....ake. Shajake."
Laughter is already bursting through the broken down gears and cobwebs inside his head, beating the walls of his inner skull like a man beating the walls, asking for release. He has enough will and sanity to not allow freedom of the virus completely. Insides of his skull may crack under it's weight, but who gave a shit?
His steps attempted to pull himself backwards, into the trees. Each step was as silent as earlier, his body lurking within the shadows while his green eyes burst with aggressive warnings that say 'Please, run away while you can still live.' Attempts to entice the horned stallion in the shadows where Shajake was sure he'd have the upper hand were fast to be ended by a voice. Just a voice, one that only the Madman that is going through withdrawal can hear. His head turns fast, and the once flopping ear perks up to a more alert postion.
'Shajake........ Shajake.......... Come........... Come...... slaughter with me.' Mad laughter that he knows as his own breaks through his head, this time belonging to The Unknown. He winces over the pain, headache burning the inner core of his brain, the part that might actually still be the child he was born as, seems to break out another piece. His steps to the darkness quicken, and slips into the shadows of dead trees, what light that should usually exist is not there to give out his positon. His body turns ghostly, and the black masses of hair fall in greased dreadlocks. Surely, he smells of the oncoming death now.

"talk talk talk"

OOC: Sorry for the delay!