06-01-2010, 12:59 AM
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Powerplay, kind of? (304.)
Oh, King hated coyotes—sub-canine imbeciles. He hated them more than many things, and he liked that hatred; it was hot and it was dangerous, and it made him powerful. He did not hate them indiscriminately, though. He had his reasons. He had seen them appear from the belly of the forest, led by the woman with the one glaring eye, in order to attack him and his mother. An attempt on his life was not something that the young monster so easily forgave, and certainly not to beasts that his father had rightfully warred against nevertheless. And the puppy did not really draw distinctions—any creature that looked strange in his blue eyes and came from the outside was his enemy, and he had no problems with drawing blood.
So when the stormy-furred youth, stalking through the ashy remnants of the burned Dahlian territory, spied the pitch-furred stranger trespassing upon his lands, something dark and furious began to burn within his heart. This beast was not a wolf, which already stained his reputation, and he was not supposed to be here. Age, size, it did not matter. King no longer had concerns for himself, for there was already a hunger planted within his mind that yearned for rending flesh and blood. Tormenting vermin could only last so long—violence, much like so many things, was something that escalated.
The young demon began to run at the stranger, dark lips peeling back to reveal ivory teeth. When he reached the other youth he wanted nothing more than to bowl him over, teeth tearing as snarls rasped out of his throat, but King was not really one for stealth. The beast might've seen him coming, which meant he would either have to face a territorial and angry fledgling demon, or he would have to run.