Each muscle breaks from beneath his dark skin, dappled coat bursting with a fresh sign of life that comes, oddly, after the beginning of another life. The earth is taken from beneath his black hooves as he moves with a new found pace, The Unknown somehow proud and Scinfaxi confused and silent within a deep thought that Shajake cannot reach within. Laughter seems to be vacant from the lips of the stallion as his green eyes ingite the night. He has come across actions that leave him pleased, though the wound upon his neck is nothing but a reminder that life is not supposed to be created in such a harsh fashion.
Whoever the mare was, whatever her name happened to be, would need to be known later on to ensure that the child isn't as fucked up as the father. Scinfaxi was sure to teach this to the stallion as he walked away, leaving the mare who bolted off into the other direction to make off with his coming child. The deed was done, and he'd be back before she was aware of it. It left him in the sickening, spine shattering laughter that left no one with any sense of humour.
For when a madman creates life, there is nothing to be proud of.
Sands can leap upwards to sting his eyes and add to the strange appearance to him, instead it dares not to reach over his black knees. There is not a sound of breathing, no sign of life. He may appear as a zombie, becoming a part of one of the creations he used to attempt to dramble in as a young colt. What happened in those days exists within a part of his brain that may still be mental. A living, breathing part of the stallion. Works of machinery had left him to this point of taboo, but what machine makes the mind go to the point of insanity?
Something speaks, a sound within the gears and cobwebs that lack a purpose enclosed by transparent brick walls. 'Shajake..... Shajake..... Are you awake? Where are your thoughts? Have you no care as of your past actions? What do you think the girl feels about what you did?' Nothing. His reply is a stretch of sanity that lives only within those walls. The strength of transparency keeps them from breaking out into the open, where they can breed with themselves and make him partially normal again. Over time, there had been thin chips broken from the walls, yet the disease he faces on the inside takes quick note, and an even faster action, and goes about fixing it without words. The Unknown seems to take part in that job, having done everything to make the green eyed man more insane.
"LIFE." 'He hears you.' "LIFE. KILL IT." Yes.
The presence of new life remains The Unknown that Shajake had to be created for the job of killing those that needed to be killed. It is a sick style that he works with, taking more pleasure with letting his victim look as if it had defeated him, only to their bloodied skull beneath his might within the seconds that follow their sadist idea of victory. The wound from the mother was on his neck, thin towards the top and opening up as it slid south, exposing something that could make a medic who had seen everything vomit. Yet, in a weird way, the madman takes no note as of his wound. It is there, it bleeds as he keeps a fast pace, it should create pain that travels to a diseased brain, but instead, the brain cannot take in the pain and accept it like expected.
Life, in a shortened form, has only to turn it's head at the idea of Shajake feeling pain. Nothing wants the man to know that he is alive, that there is blood in his veins, thoughts in his skull, a sane section of him that can be brought forth with the right treatment, and a breath to fill his lungs.
That there, was the reason when he breathed, there was no sound. In order for the sound to arise, he must accept his life.
Scinfaxi, The Unknown, nor Shajake, lost in a deep veil of sweeping darkness that held no depth, but fell endlessly, wanted to accept that one thought.
An eye takes note of the life The Unknown has clearly picked out to be killed on this night of darkness. The crescent moon above is surrounded by billions of twinkling sparks, adding light to the area. Both bodies are dark, one residing on land and the other within water. Something about this place could jump start the stallion to remember a fight with a young Unicorn colt, one who expected himself to rescue a girl that Shajake thought he knew. One that liked to believe that Daisies could be spies, and that they needed to be taken home to mother to be beaten for its unkown crimes. How sad, how lacking of a good body that could of been used to make a beautiful spy.
How sick.
His single ear, it's mate long lost, ripped away when he happened to lash out at Scinfaxi in blind anger. The idiot that painted girl had been that night.
Yet, what was lost was never missed. He never took note as of the fact that he only had one ear now. The remaining one worked with a speed that claimed unnatural, lifeless yet hearing the sounds of his prey's breath over the waves. The ocean claws upon his hooves as he stands tall, darkening smile sweeping over an endless pity of insanity that cannot claim its depth just yet. Shajake is still falling, but while his sanity runs its fingers over the cliff walls, the rocks that crumble away and fall faster than him breathe clinks that sound like screws falling from his gears to the base of the transparent walls. You're almost there, they say. Each and every day, they always tell him 'You're almost there,' when he never reacts the bottom.
The prey seems almost as lifeless as the madman until it moves, reaching into a bag mounted upon its shoulder and pulls out a plant, chewing upon it. It slips out to a distant place, he can almost feel it go there when the night whispers the truth to him. Instead of going in, he stands upon the beach. Salt water would burn his wound into awakening his brain to a nanosecond of sanity, letting him feel the pain that screams upon him.
'Take time. Take your time with this one. Remember a child is something within a warmth we cannot feel, who waits each day to know that you exist.'
Everyone must find a reason to live at some point, regardless of how long it takes, and how insane you might be. .

"talk talk talk"

OOC: Sorry for the delay! Shajake is a character you can't just sit down and expect to write out because you want to. He needs muse to get done the way he is supposed to.

He can never go long without being unnoticed. His eyes glint with bloodlust, watching with a sweeping darkness that lacks the ability to fade their glow. The form standing in the water takes notice to him, bringing the mad laughter to the stallion. He cares enough to know that if he can lure that soul out of the water, things would an interesting thing that would soothe the bloodlust. Yet, he remains falling, fingers that come from a maybe human form created along the way through a distant set of eyes that see him differently while he doesn't know what a human is, those fingers are cut with the sharp edges of stones that cover the walls. Scinfaxi extends a hand towards his falling form, the glowing white light in the canyon breaking apart as a pair of glowing red eyes grab a lifeless body and drag it further down. There is water down there, because maybe he can hear the sounds it makes when the walls beat it.
It always rebels, and always wins.
The question is offered, it will not receive an answer. His silence in the Moon's sway is a falling shell of insanity that craves the taking of another soul. It always needs to move on, and this patient is getting a dim light while the disease eats his mind. Hope could be a crack inside those transparent walls, a sliver pealed away through the desperate tries for a breath. The single ear upon his head moves forward, the locks of black strands moving with a rough wind that sends the waves hurling backwards. Couldn't the man in the water see that this was a demon, that inside those glowing eyes were thoughts of bathing within his blood for a glorious baptism?
The child he has created would be perfect, brought forth to live in his shadow that darkens in the cold air, and goes about strangling any creature it may get black crystal fingers upon.
His skull breaks their lack of movement, moving down towards his neck that bleeds fresh blood with each passing second. There is pain, the nerves can feel it and shot their screams to the brain. It does not intercept, it does not accept. The Unknown takes them within jaws filled with teeth, each tooth a blade from a scalp, and lets the body's tries of survival to bleed to death inside his clutch. "NO." It's voice breaks the quiet veil that falls over the area of the mind centered for thought. Shajake cannot find a thought between the cobwebs that are now stained with his blood to reply. Now, he exists as movement, using all of its will to coax in an unknowing to its death.
'Shajake, let him come on his own. He will not spend that much time out there.' Whether Scinfaxi is correct or not, it cannot jump start his sanity to claw those walls and scream for freedom. 'Difficult task, is it not?' The tides turn, and patientence slips away like the Sun had in the past. 'Good-bye,' it says without much more to go about. A limb is extended, met with a wave that says the ocean doesn't want him inside it.
Please, no blood, comes an useless cry to him. Blood is always split, it breaks from his wound without a care in the world. It flows when they are slaughtered, when skulls are cracked beneath a black hoof with a dreadful cry. It comes as both a lullaby, and a shot of heroin. Or, is murder his normal fix? Does he go to the corner in that dark part of town we all know of, to the man who stands there smiling as you approach him. "The usual?" he asks, while you nod. A drug will be handed over as you exchange your money. Instead, for the greene eyed man, it is not the drug of choice. What is pulled from a dark shadow is a corpse, still fresh and dripping blood.
Inside the corpse's eyes, he see's the last thought that passes through the brain before death, and the expression upon the face is a scream that makes anyone's blood run cold. Except, sadly, Shajake lacks blood flowing in his body. It falls from his wound with each movement, but the mental will not accept the idea. It's at the top of the canyon, but now he slams into cold water at the bottom.
Though in reality, the water is hitting him, coming up to meet his form and accepting his presence finally even though it doesn't want to. He goes for what he wants, blood that lives within the man in the ocean. It won't be that difficult to receive it.
"talk talk talk"

Hello, fresh useless threat. His eyes cloud, staring with curiousity that breaks inbetween madness. It crawls apart the glass walls, wanting out of it's shell enough that it'd kill just to reach the goals. Clearly, insanity is an impatient bitch that is wanting her way right now. He gives it to her without much complaint, cradling the sounds of a black heart trying to beat. THUMP. thump. THUMP. Finally, silence. Everything falls silent within him, preparing for that weak threat to be taken down to action. What's this idiot's name? Scinfaxi asks him a question, but he can't hear it. Right now, he wants to know if he is alive or dead. About time that he got that whole plan figured out, because waiting isn't that much fun.
The response is more laughter, black stocked legs standing knee deep in water that burns at the joints. Madness overtakes reality, he continues his free fall while smiling manically. So much fun that for once he is enjoying himself. Sick.
"H... H.... Hit... Me." Pain isn't something he wants to fear right now, coming as something he is craving with bloodlust. There's a heartbeat within the large stallion standing there, drooling all over the place like he'd been shot in the ass with a tranq. dart. Even Scinfaxi laughs at the sight of that. It's sad, like Shajake, Everyone has got to get around to laugh about it before their heart gets ripped from their chest and eaten with a side of bloody liver.
What he has to be fear into the stallion is more of something he would do to anything. Unicorns existed at the bottom of the food chain for him, his hatred fuelled by a friendship he doesn't even knows even exists anymore. That body and soul is dead, decaying with the maggots inside it's skull, chewing away the matter that doesn't move anymore. He wants to ask them how it tastes, if it's enjoyable to eat the body of another. With this one, he could try that out.
He steps forward, head high and body made of broken parts, trying to be a new toy when in reality he's an antique that no one wants anymore. Teeth within his mouth are stained red after recently shoving his face into a dead animal (and then throwing at his child's mother, offering her a gift), flashed with a grin let's them be bared fully. He wants to let this draft know he's more than willing to add more blood those pearly whites.
Their bodies come close enough to touch when he gets to his point of stopping. Whatever this idiot's name is, he's got his head lowered enough that Shajake would more than be willing to raise a single hoof to slam into it. That thought alone crosses his mind repeatly, The Unknown asking him to do it as filters about it. Occasionally, the clawing madness see's the thought and acts it, bloodlust and the want of death overtaking to the point that anything that moves is easy prey. He doesn't wince, he doesn't frown, he remains void of emotion only because he wants to enjoy this sick fancy of his.
His head falls to meet that of this residental screw up, eyes wild and showing exactly what is going on within his head about this time. "Wanna die?" No one would ever know it, but it's The Unknown speaking it, asking the very question that seems so worth-wild at this point. He wants to kill, to loathe in a bloody corpse. It's a drug, the same sort of drug that this brute is using with his plant.
It'll get you to that exact place you want to be, and right now, all he wants to do is get there in a rush.
"talk talk talk"