What would happen if he could pull the bones apart? If he could separate each joint from another, and all while it lived? How long would it scream, would it even be capable of a thought to create noise at that point? Kult considered this for a time as he trailed the broken bush tailed rodent. He had turned the animal about, driving it back the way it came, soft whimpers of discomfort bubbled out its slack jaw. Slack now that he had kicked it to direct it in which way he wished it to go. Sometimes it would stop, its abdomen pulsating in rapid breaths, and he would nip its fluffed tail. A holler protested against the infliction of torment, he didn't care though, he wanted to prolong the suffering.
He could hear them, other children, speaking casually of names and pain, of death. Kult knew death, snuffing the life of things just because he could. To watch them slip from this world into the next, into some great divine state of being. He had done them a favor really, he was convinced he had, thought he had the right to decide their fate. Send them into the abyss, where nothing and everything existed at once. Pain, he had known that as well, mistreatment had befallen him from his own Dam. Not anymore, nor ever again, he was absolute, was sanctity, a descendant of the omnipotent.
And he believed, they would all believe their line, one way or another.
Grabbing the fluffball in his mouth, he emerged from the treeline, an unnerving roll to his gait. Predatory and unsettling, an unstable aura reeking from the bay, but his new friends need not worry. Though he was still very young, he held a very particular presence. He dropped the still squealing victim to the ground unceremoniously, before looking at the others. He didn't say anything yet, he just stared out flat black eyes. An irregular star was plastered just past his raven forelock, a ragged similarity to the letter 'x'. Did they want to play? They were in the 'playground' after all, and oh, what a game he had in mind.
