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"