MARROW OF BONES STAINED BY ROTTING SINEW OF AN UNFORTUNATE SOUL, albeit freshly killed to perfection: their raw meat-bag, initial target, neutralized upon petty threats exchanged. Humiliating enough were vitriolic venoms the entity sought to be justified upheld no validation, no mere promise to their loosely wagged words. Their ultimate fate had sought them well to be a pile of crimson smears upon the ground beneath your feet, as predicted; entrails galore and vacant out of their now hollow caverns; NAUGHT BUT A BLOODY WAKE IN THE CADEJO'S VICINITY--all those opposing your presence are reserved a special seat for your brethren in the creator's underworld: devoured viciously, revived--process repeat in perpetual cycles.
Engrossed in the meal had faltered perceptive eyes and ears of footsteps approaching; registry of how close the stranger is now guide beams of crimson glow rising from canted head upward. Fastidious inspection deduces the stranger ominous, enigmatic--an anomaly, the towering man donning red had his aura speak on his behalf, as if nonchalant to whomever that recognizes him. Caution procured an idea of playing faux obliviousness to shield his wariness (and mindfully readying an ambush, if necessary). THIS BEAST NEVER FULL, ALWAYS FAMISHED, DELIGHTING IN THE MOST DELECTABLE OF CUISINES, however repetitive the taste or simple the texture they are. Your dark figure ascends, remaining trails of crimson drips from the closed vicious maw, observing with expectancy to his response.
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