I'm rotting inside
My flesh turns to dust

It regards Lokii hungrily. Its stomach churns as a ragged breath shudders through its lungs. The prospect of a shadow, a student, is foreign. Once, long ago, it had followers that kissed its feet and bled for it. Was it worth it? They didn't appeal to it, but it had been powerful then. Once, it was feared by Beqanna.

Now, however, it has shrunken into nothing. Its stories have long since been forgotten.

Air sighs from its expanded lungs as Infection considers the proposition. There would be minimal effort and yet it would remain fed like the king of a pride. A gruesome smile stretches across its cracked lips then. Lokii, so eager to begin and to fuel his future, stares at the deathcrawler with his offer hanging in the air between them. "Sharing isn't my forte," it drawls before turning its head away from the trickster. Hunting alone has always been most successful and preferable, but with its body feasting on itself now - its stomach desperate for food - it decides to oblige albeit unwillingly. "The hearts," it begins when its rancid green eyes meet Lokii's, "have always - will always - be mine." Every victim it has ever maimed remains without a heart.

Can it really expect this greenhorn to obey though? The taste of the kill will send him into a thrilling rage and there will be no stopping him.

infection