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The running thing stopped just short of him. It was too close to him—he could smell it without the serving hand of the wind. The male had not flinched, had not even moved. The pied brute knew how to make an impact upon the mind, and he possessed the control necessary for such a thing. He believed himself higher than the things here, closer to a god than a mortal. And this god of darkness could withstand all things. He did not fear the impact, should it have occurred. It had barely escaped touching him when he had not given it permission. No calamity would befall this thing for a mistake not yet having been made, though he felt that it would lose its footing soon. Without a doubt it would. The black lips twitched, a sneer of mocking amusement threatening upon that cruel maw. Pitiful creature.
The things eyes lifted to look up at him. In his colourless world, they appeared only as grey masses, the same as the other wretched life forms that existed upon this place. He saw only the glint of its eye, like a cheap trinket, that distinguished them from another. Its words caused those lips to twitch. “Why in such a hurry?” that quiet tenor inquired, the sharp edges of that dangerous question dulled by the blackness that dripped from them. Despite his appearance, despite the danger of those words, his words were almost gentle, almost assuaging her fear and discomfort. Silently those words invited her to linger, invited her to stay, as if, with him, she would be safer than she would be. The tendrils of shadow reached out for her, drawing her into the dark lair of some monster. And like a snake, lay coiled in the dark, poised to strike with poisonous, deadly fangs.
“Do not weep,” that dangerous tenor soothed, those fathomless, emotionless black eyes crawling over her distraught features. He took a step forward, those unforgiving claws tearing the earth upon which he tread. And yet that step had not been menacing—he had moved gently, with that eerie, unnatural grace. Like a wraith, he floated near her, his maw dangerously close to her own. The narrow, black eyes of the Korean were almost half lidded as he looked down his long, strait nose, considering her as if she were something worth considering. “Why not remain here in my comfort and protection?” He offered his company to her as if she were worth his time, as if, like a gentleman, his honor was with a lady. And indeed he held himself as some aristocrat, some higher gentleman that had the option of protecting a lady in distress. “The light will come soon—it’s not safe in the dark for you to be alone.” Nor was it safe for her to be alone with him. But he kept that to himself, holding the danger that should be emanating from his being against his empty soul. He offered to her only the darkness and that false security.