[private] hunt or be hunted; cellar

[Sinner]

there is but one rule
hunt or be hunted

His creators made him an omen. Others had called him a monster. One would call him a lover (if that was the right word for their relationship). A few would call him father. These names meant nothing to him. Only names that tethered and bounded him to others. He simply was none of those. He was a hunter. It was simpler that way. Just the hunt and it’s prey. The adrenaline running through your veins. The sound of ripping flesh and breaking bones. The taste of blood, with every bite there was a high. The hound wanted more of it. He needed it. Needed it more. Always more. More. More. He wanted more! He can smell their sweetness. The life that beats heavily in their chest. It ignites him in ways that only a predator could understand. Not even a prey could sympathize with the addiction that fueled every predator. They would have called it a sickness, but it wasn’t that at all. It was completely different. It was life—simply living itself. There was power in every death. Every victory with every life that was taken. He won every time—winning a feast to devour. Sinner licks his lips again. The edges of his lips lightly dripping with drops of saliva as he continues to watch the dotted bodies across the meadow. Carefully, he studies each one of them. His thoughts are messy, the hunger within him disrupts every stable thought that comes to his mind. There was too many to choose. He couldn’t decide. Weak or strong? Did he want a challenge? The hound’s eyes glance back and forth. Suddenly, a faint, yet familiar scent enters his nostrils. Sinner’s eyes light up. His mind quickly locks onto that sent. The hunger grabs it and clinches it firmly. The decision was made. His red-yellow gaze finds the source of the scent coming his way. The hellhound traces along the edges and crevices of the familiar gray mare. A sly smile creeps slowly across his face, but it turns into something warm and pleasant as the familiar face comes closer (he masks his intentions perfectly now). “@[cellar],” the hound’s voice is warm and welcoming. “Cellar wasn’t it?” He asks. It had been a long time since he saw the face of the grey mare, but he never forgets a face. Every individual he crossed paths with was remarkable. There was a purpose for each of them within his divine plans—even if it meant to fill his cravings. He watches as she takes a step back. Sinner takes a step forward, not letting the space between them to increase. No, he couldn’t allow it. Wouldn’t allow the prey that came so willing to him. “Yes, it was Cellar.” He says confirming as the memories come to mind. “It has been long…” His smile widens a little more as his eyes quickly glance across her figure. Her scent is burning with sweetness. The hound can already taste the pleasant taste of her flesh. “It’s been too long, indeed,” he adds as he meets her gaze.

Sinner

the fallen king

character info: here | character reference: here