Bloodlust has a minion!

the Demonic

L

eathery wings unfurled in a glorious display. Powerful jaws opened wide in a yawn that displayed teeth sharper than any blade forged of iron. Bloodlust leaned luxuriously on the brimstone pillar that served as a central support for his cave, sharpening each set of claws in rapid strokes that made sparks dance over the floor.

The upper world was colder than the toasty underground furnace of his home cave...but prey was not going to conveniently going to crawl down into the depths of the earth. Allowing himself one small, self-indulgent growl of dislike for the chilly elements, he launched himself up the rocky tunnel and into the forest.

A rich bouquet of scents came to him on the gentle breeze. He ignored the organic wisps of plant life and the heady stench of rotting logs. He concerned himself only with those things that were alive. Beating hearts and the steady thrum of blood pulsing through millions of veins. These were the scents that made his own nostrils flare. These were the sounds that drew his lips back in a silent snarl.

- - - continue in part 2 - - -

H

e made less sound than a shadow when he went on the prowl. Small grubbing rodents, their senses tuned for the swoop of the eagle or the pouncing of the lynx, were oblivious to him. He could kill a dozen with a mighty swipe of his claws but their small hearts barely supplied enough blood to wet his lips. He moved deeper into the forest, leaving a path of carnage dotted with small bodies.

The closer he came to the river, the richer the variety of trails he could pursue.

A small herd of deer had him moving at double speed. He hesitated behind a screen of willow branches, scoping out the volume of prey and in what order he would take them.

First was the lead buck, so majestic and proud, so sure of his superiority. His antlers would be uesless in this contest.

Next would be the young bucks who would never have the chance to grow their first proper spurs.

Finally, he would take the wives and their young fawns.

The leader only half-uttered a warning bellow before his heart burst. His herd mulled around in confusion. They could smell the terrifying scent of blood but could see no enemy. A second buck shuddered and fell. The does whipped their heads back and forth, trying to decide which way to run. Their fawns were paralyzed with fear. The lead buck had held his position for many years. He was the invincible force that held the herd together.

Until now.

Bloodlust was as much an observer in his hunts as an active participant. There was an art to the way droplets of blood scattered in the air as he feasted. Each tiny ruby was his for the taking, snatched from the air before it could hit the dirt.

The herd looked like so many mummified husks when he came to the last member. She was a young doe past her time. The weight of her fawn made any movement cumbersome but the fierce protective instinct of motherhood had her making a break for the trees.

Bloodlust let her go. Not from any sense of mercy - he had none.

There was even better prey on the wind.

Silence had fallen on the forest. The old grizzly bear bore the scars of many battles with creatures three times his size. He was a veteran of survival who feared nothing, not even the spears or fire of man.

Bloodlust would not make this one a quick kill. He was in the mood to have some fun with this supposed king of the forest.

The first swipe had the bear roaring a challenge, charging blindly in the direction his attacker had landed the blow. Bloodlust was too quick, scoring a hit on the other side before the bear could turn his head.

The uneven dance continued until the bear, weak from loss of blood, collapsed at last.

The victor claimed every last drop before moving on.

For Bloodlust is never sated.

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