I call him the devil because he makes me want to sin
(and every time he knocks, I can't help but let him in)
He was enjoying this—perhaps too much.
Having his father as King of Pangea certainly opened up a world of possibilities to him, but he knew that even if Pollock had not stepped up to claim the wasteland after the dark god had deserted them, he would have found a way regardless. Having Pollock there simply…reduced limitations. He was free to bring his pretties home as he saw fit—free to use his powers to mold the world around them, chase them down the empty corridors of his making without interruption, without having to answer to someone higher.
If anyone was to understand the hunger that brewed within Bruise, the dark need that clawed at the inner workings of his stomach, it was Pollock. He was nothing but a shadow of his father. He understood.
Still, as much as he found the land convenient, it was not always enough. Lately, Bruise had enjoyed peeling away from Pangea to find more material, to hunt down more who he could test on, feeling out the malleability of them. It was how he found Heartfire, the metal mistress who he planned to weld into his latest masterpiece. Perhaps he could find others here; perhaps he could find more material.
So he left Pangea in the middle of the day, the chill of winter settling in and putting his teeth on edge, the frost of it almost more than he could bear. It did not take him long to find the forest once more, the trip helped by an alien speed and agility, his endurance carrying him longer and faster than he had any right to travel. When he finally reached the border of it, he dipped his head down, sniffing at the ground with the focus of a bloodhound, with the discernment of a maestro. Now the only question was where to start.
