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Description
His eyes stared at the black spiral talons that had overtaken his hand from the day of his birth, eyeing them curiously. They'd never changed, but still, somehow, they looked different every time he looked at them. Today, though, there was a solid reason. As he lowered his hands and lifted his eyes, he stared at the corpses that littered the ground of the clearing deep within the forest. He hadn't even tried to escape the attack, he rushed towards his opponents and slaughtered them without a shred of remorse. His long black hair fell over his shoulders, dripping the thick red liquid. Why had he done this? Why hadn't he run?

It was her fault. That awful, wretched woman that was his mother. He barely knew her, but he did know that she was a ruthless killer, and that she didn't mind who she killed or for what reason it was. She never justified her murders past "it was me or them", and though he hadn't been able to grow up with her for more than four years, he was sure this slaughter before him was because of her. He was his mother's son, nothing more needed to be said. Just like all would assume, he fought without mercy and without thought. He never used a weapon, just his claws. Blood dripped from the curved tips, and he watched the droplets fall to the red-stained grass.

"You don't have to be like her. You can prove that not everyone of that line is like her!
The woman's words rang in his ears. Who had that been? It hadn't been just another person he killed out of rage. Oh, yes. It had been his lover, Joi. She had seen something in him he didn't believe was there, and still didn't. So why were her words, the words of a woman long dead, still in his mind? Why now? She hadn't been pleading for her life in her last moments - she had been pleading with him to spare his soul from becoming just another damned man of murder. Maybe, as he looked at his "work", he was starting to hope she could have been right. But asking her to help again was impossible, she was dead by his hand for suggesting he was losing his mind. He knew, somewhere, that she hadn't meant it to offend him, but to try and snap him back to reality. It hadn't worked.

Lowering his hands, the bat-winged male took flight, his few black feathers dancing in the wind. He was a mestizo, a demon male with six different breeds in his veins. As he flew up over the tree tops and headed South, he knew where he was taking himself. To his mother's lands. The two had fought before, and he had taken the sight from her left eye. He wondered, though, if he could really defeat her? It was a challenge, now. Joi was fading further from his thoughts as he imagined his mother's screams as he tore her apart. She had left him. She had abandoned him. Now it was his turn to make her hurt.

Description
His eyes stared at the black spiral talons that had overtaken his hand from the day of his birth, eyeing them curiously. They'd never changed, but still, somehow, they looked different every time he looked at them. Today, though, there was a solid reason. As he lowered his hands and lifted his eyes, he stared at the corpses that littered the ground of the clearing deep within the forest. He hadn't even tried to escape the attack, he rushed towards his opponents and slaughtered them without a shred of remorse. His long black hair fell over his shoulders, dripping the thick red liquid. Why had he done this? Why hadn't he run?

It was her fault. That awful, wretched woman that was his mother. He barely knew her, but he did know that she was a ruthless killer, and that she didn't mind who she killed or for what reason it was. She never justified her murders past "it was me or them", and though he hadn't been able to grow up with her for more than four years, he was sure this slaughter before him was because of her. He was his mother's son, nothing more needed to be said. Just like all would assume, he fought without mercy and without thought. He never used a weapon, just his claws. Blood dripped from the curved tips, and he watched the droplets fall to the red-stained grass.

"You don't have to be like her. You can prove that not everyone of that line is like her!
The woman's words rang in his ears. Who had that been? It hadn't been just another person he killed out of rage. Oh, yes. It had been his lover, Joi. She had seen something in him he didn't believe was there, and still didn't. So why were her words, the words of a woman long dead, still in his mind? Why now? She hadn't been pleading for her life in her last moments - she had been pleading with him to spare his soul from becoming just another damned man of murder. Maybe, as he looked at his "work", he was starting to hope she could have been right. But asking her to help again was impossible, she was dead by his hand for suggesting he was losing his mind. He knew, somewhere, that she hadn't meant it to offend him, but to try and snap him back to reality. It hadn't worked.

Lowering his hands, the bat-winged male took flight, his few black feathers dancing in the wind. He was a mestizo, a demon male with six different breeds in his veins. As he flew up over the tree tops and headed South, he knew where he was taking himself. To his mother's lands. The two had fought before, and he had taken the sight from her left eye. He wondered, though, if he could really defeat her? It was a challenge, now. Joi was fading further from his thoughts as he imagined his mother's screams as he tore her apart. She had left him. She had abandoned him. Now it was his turn to make her hurt.