I call him the devil because he makes me want to sin
Beqanna is flooded with fear, and it is a delicious thing.
He can practically smell it as it rises thick through the fog and he breathes it in deep, savoring the way that it is steeped in so many layers of nuances. Fear of Carnage’s vision. Fear of what they have unleashed. Fear of what is to come. He wants to feast on it. He wants to gorge himself on it.
He wants to nurse it along until they are bloated on their terror.
Until their eyes roll back in their head and their tongues swell in their mouths.
But, most of all, he wants to protect himself—and so he does not waste time in making his way to where he knows is safe. He doesn’t bother to shield those in his life. He doesn’t bother to look after them. He is a wholly selfish creature, and he uses his alien speed to make his way through the worst of the diseased masses, plucking the threads of the Fear as he goes, letting it consume those already weakened to it.
He doesn’t slow until he is on the icy isle in the north.
He breathes in the frigid air, tipping his head back to drink it in. This would be a good place to find refuge, at least for now. It doesn’t take long before the pair of them catch his eye and he angles his head toward them, narrowing his gaze in thought. Curious as to their intent, he begins to make his way toward them, handsome face drawn up in lines of suspicion. When he is several yards away he pauses, sniffing elegantly. “Please tell me you’re both clean,” his voice is riddled with disdain, eyes darkening.
(and every time he knocks, I can't help but let him in)