[/html]If he had come back to this place to find that Inferni had been destroyed in some war, or had otherwise dissolved, he did not think that he would feel anything in particular. A stranger had told him once that the clan had been tamer once, whilst under the rule of coyotes outside the family. Lykoi was the poison after all, and the spawn continued to spawn, and the disease lived on perpetually. Even he was guilty of this, perhaps doubly, for the sins commited with his sister -- that was his share of the madness, he supposed, of the hypocrisy, even if he tried to justify it with love. Though they remained blissfully ignorant, his daughters had a double dose of the poison. He could only hope that they would stay away from this place. Proximity may be the catalyst after all, and he was sure that Inferni would destroy them, as it had so many before.
"There is nothing binding you here," the stranger said. "If the madness is lessened, then perhaps that is for the best. There is no reason to perpetuate the cycle." Kharma did not hate the members of his family. He did not hate his mother, or Gabriel, or Andrezej, or even Samael, most likely. But he hated what they were collectively. Murderers, rapists, madmen, wild things without boundaries or morals -- feared and hated by others, feared and hated by themselves. "Kharma Asylum," he told his nephew. It was not a lie. It was not the truth, but it was not a lie. There were enough Lykois in the world.
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