Zhang, Zor Empire. As/A: 3085.

The gentle northern breeze flew past in full fright, rushing quickly between the swords of grass and torn up pieces of flesh. The calm serenity could make vague the distant field of deep redness, soiled in dripping blood and corpses. The wind yet again ran through it, drawing forth the handsome aroma of dried blood, peas, rusted shovels and splinted bones.

"I will ask you once again, where is he?" Lyone's golden eyes burned, his sharp long canines clenched tightly, and every breathing second forced his claws deeper into the farmer's beaten up skin with purple sores that painted on every inch of him.

To this man he lifted above dark earth where the bashing yellow sun sparkled over its cropping crimson-green vegetation, the earth paused and all he felt around him was calmness, amidst his flowing shudders.

The tears that once flowed down his skin, had dried up, leaving its trail on his cheeks and two lines of dust marking the pathway of the flow, which had now thickened.

Most of his fingers were twisted out of form. His knee joint had its bone broken, splintering through his skin, mounting atop his flesh like a pole of bloodied flags. Him being alive in this state, was accorded a miracle.

"Milen Geyr, where is he?" He commanded again.

The poor victim of this savage beast was crippled in a cocoon of fear, his lips shivered and his voice quaked and ached forth, but still within restraints of fright and agony, his words drowned in the sorrow his aforeseen demise cooked. All he could do was surrender, and allow this inhuman creature crush his throat or rip him to shreds like he did the rest of the farmers whose body part littered the field.

As it were, cracking and crippling every bone the poor farmer's neck had, always seemed a little unexciting to the man beast.

"Tsk!"
Another unsatisfying conquest, as he stood over the corpse of another unlucky human, looking over his limp flesh like filthy rags of valueless prestige.
"Worthless creatures."
He scoffed.

He looked into his left hand, and within its rigid grip was a gem, a gem to him, but a plain gray marble to an ordinary mundane. The Greek letters 'Alpha' was skilfully engraved on a side, and 'Omega' on the other. Technically the Ursz to a human is a junk with signs that cannot be understood.

He drew it up, pulling it closer to his mouth.

"Lyradel luthera"
A crack as though upon a mirror's surface, was cut up in front of him -in the air. And like a shattering glass did it wither up, creating a hole -a pathway-large enough for him to fit. He walked through, and emerged beside a lake loomed with thick bushes and large trees. It also had around it fine white stones and fairly large rocks that circled the lake.

What caught his eyes before anything else was an incredibly woven web hanging from the hinges of two rocks. He crotched down to watch a spider carefully caressing a fly in a thicker yarn of web.

The line of his eyes thinned while watching, then he spoke.
"A prey is a prey, and so is a predator." A smirk jetted across his face. "Kill or be killed, that's the law of the universe."
He preached, and squinted his hand at the banqueting spider, catching it within his palms. It wasn't long before it began its struggle behind the bars of his fleshy cage.
"The weak will always be weak."
He collapsed his fingers, and crushed the predating insect. His eyes were still deeply engraved upon his folded hand, completely fixated on his knuckles, but what they saw was demeanor to what his mind did.
"What stands between victory and total oblivion for me, is you, The lone walker..."
He finally lets loose his grip, but no remains of the poor little creature could be found, and somehow, that brought satisfaction to his twisted soul.

Rising, he began to scatter his eyes around, and with his perfect vision, he scanned his nearest distance for any sign of his prey Milen. His brown tinted hair tailed his swaying head, stopping at one end as he inhaled deeply the rushing fresh air of the brook.

"Nothing!"
He said in displeasure, and leapt over the stream to the other side.

Standing atop the hilly grounds the fresh water bordered, he made another deep infill, expanding his rib cage, and exhaling almost immediately.

"He should be around here," His golden eyes shone and darkened. "I can smell him."

He stole another chunk of the marshy air, and zoomed through the woods, his feet barely hitting the ground as he ran: each step disappeared before they landed, crowning his speed and his steps with an almost untraceable record.

His afterimages collided with him at a spot, the moment he stopped.

"His scent strongly resides here." He launched his leg at the entrance of Milen's camper, breaking the door in two.
"But I cannot smell him anywhere around."
He growled in anger, and rushed his claws at a side, carving the metallic wall with dozens of slashes.
"Next time, it's your flesh I will be ripping apart, sensei!"
He growled, and sent his moulded fist that crashed into the carved wall, causing it to rupture. His chest pounded in fury, and all he felt were rushes of raw hate and malice for the one he sort.

All he needed was more blood: more dead bodies carpeting his path, a new head to make a trophy of, and no head could amount to that of the young ex-paladin, the lone walker: Milen Geyr.

___

Slender, tall; skin fairly tanned, brown long hair that extended from the middle of his head; and his light brown retinas that thinned at the entrance before him. A snarl slowly grew in Lyone's throat with his veins pulsing to the beat of his heart. "This might be it, a chance at enacting a long brewed vengeance..." He thought and his eyes widened as he moved for the door.

His first step into the local pub as he braced through its swinging door, brought with it warm blankets of chills. The glassy windows quaked to the sound of his first step, so did the wooden floor sink. In a town where everyone had a good knowledge of the other, He was a stranger there, but the sweltering rigidity he wore drew silence, enough to squeak a fallen needle, and so did every unsettled eyes pierce through the hugging vest he wore. Lyone dressed lightly: a black net-like vest that gave a good view of his slightly large chest and slim arms; a ripped black jean that cropped over his ankle high boots of thick-heavy soles. He disliked weapons, so non were ever carried on his person.
The next pounce from his boots birthed whispers which he ignored. He stole a load of air, and closed his eyes to carefully distinguish the scents riled together.

"He was here, not too long ago..." He softly said. "... Maybe a day or two."

He took steps forward, journeying deeply into the tavern, dead to the peering gazes and dropped mouths awing at his tenacity. He snapped his finger, and his bronze eyes glistened. Almost immediately a cloud of colours only he could see, swirled like roaring tornadoes about him. It stops, and he could see the thick humanoid cloudy silhouettes of the lingering scents from before. The blue fog was the man he sorted for. He watched the whole replay of actions as he studied the scents.

He walked closer to the table Milen sat, ran his fingers over the surface, and jetted it to cut through the neck of the cobalt figure before him, gritting in anger that is wasn't the real thing.
As he stood studying the last actions of Milen, a nostalgic pale yellow dusty smoke goes through him. A female. A familiar leaking scent, intricately woven within the shades of something obscure.

"Who is she?" He waved his hands through hers, trying to feel, to remember.
"But what are they whispering about?"
He said as he watched the yellow figure bend over, meeting the face of the man she spoke to. Their brushy cloud personas prevented him from accurately reading their lips, but he had a breakthrough.
"Ships?"
He added softly.

By the time he was finally acquainted with the only word he could draw, a light pat greased his shoulder, drawing him out of the scenery only he could see. He awakened to the table he had leaned into, and the gaping eyes of those who sat on it with serious curiosity twinkling in their eyes.

"Hey kid, you're making the rest of us here uncomfortable. Its best you leave."
Six foot four inches tall, with brooding veins spiralling around his heavy muscled arms, looked down directly into the frightening youth who was about six inches shorter than he. The young lad looked over his shoulder, meeting the threatening club the man held.
His deep masculine voice found its path to his ear, and all he wanted was to tear him apart for disturbing his serenity.

"And who are you to give me orders?" The young savage youth turned, revealing his arm coated with deep black ink from the tattoos rampaging a beautiful canvas about and under the thorny leather band on his wrist, swimming up to the sides of his neck. His ears slightly pierced by silvery metal made his white skin chime as his gleaming golden eyes met the man daring enough to speak to him. He dropped a heavy sigh, cleared his foulness, and loosened his anger.
"I'm not agitated that you spoke to me," he moved, circling the man who came prepared to attack him with a stick.
"But I'm set ablaze by the momentary smudge your feeble fingers made on my skin."
His anger stiffened, as his fallowed brows caved in more.
"But I'm a bit optimistic right now, and I'll let this mistake slide."

He looked away, and sloppily scanned through the speculating horde -armed, edgy, and ready to strike. Noticing their intents, including the man beside him, he threatened.
"Don't make me break your spine."
He gave the man a petrifying glare.

"Get the fuck outta here, before we show you real trouble." A woman-the bartender-from the camping viewers screamed at the lad stifling his already gnawing rage.

"Trouble?" Lyone scoffed. "If breaking a few bones in your body will teach the rest a lesson," In a flash, he had ran to the lady, cutting through the bushy crowd and back to his original spot, holding her up by the neck. "Then I will savor every piece of it."
He said and had her in the air, smiling as he watched her struggle, which was the only form of pleasure his twisted soul desired.

"Who is this guy?" Someone spoke, as the rest of the crowd spirit disintegrated upon seeing the woman being strangled. "Magic, that's the only explanation."

Lyone simply smiled at their ignorance, but they were of no interest to him, only the cocky waitress he had choked enough to prevent any of her pleas from reaching his ears.

"Where do I begin?" He made a careful glance at each part of her body, and with ease, he rushed at her clothes and tore them off her skin. "Now I can see every bit of you clearly."
A smirk stretched over his face.

Anger, remorse and fear rose from those around. Their feet were glued to the sturdy wooden surface beneath, and all they could do was watch and pray, and this time, not a word could dare a rebel from them.

"Where do I begin my day's lecture?" He gave the woman mumbling a scream a deep eeky look, sending every once of liquid in her to ripple. "Yes! Your loud mouth got you into this, so-" He jetted his hand between her lips-into her mouth-crushing her jaw bones. "I'll take care of that first." And yanked he out her tongue, detaching it.

The blood from the wiggling tongue as he lifted it above his head as a golden medal, channelled down his arm fiercely running to his elbow. He watched the blood drop from his elbow, before he softly placed his lips over his arm, and ran his tongue with the rails the sprinting red liquid made. His face had delight written in it.

The eyes of those watching were even more heavy in despair. The throat crushing scream of the waitress, choked air from anyone.
They couldn't do anything, neither to help nor run. They only stared in fear, anticipating their turn.

"Whats next?" Lyone asked as his eyes began scanning her dangling arms. He smiled as he saw her energy slowly ebbing out of her.
"Your fingers would make good sausages, don't you think?" He began to feel the size of her thumb, slightly pressing it to vary the fat. "Sadly I don't eat man flesh, if not, yours would have made me nice bacons." He grinned and winked at her.

She was mortified, and so were the rest of them.

"But, I'm still gonna take your fingers anyways. So, One...two..." He began to pluck her fingers, from the thumb, the fore finger...
"Your screams are not pleasing enough!" He shouted and dragged the third finger out.
"I want a more sonorous squeal baked in more despair. Give that to me!"
He shouted again, and drew forth the fourth.

Excitement coloured his face as he was panting fiercely in joy, with his eyes widely spread like a wormhole, sucking in the pleasures he saw.
"I want you to feel the joy of pain, and the sorrow from fear. I. Am. Your fear!"
He paused at the last, and slowly yet carefully twisted the last, crushing the bones, before slowly splitting each molecule of skin apart as he drew it out. He was nodding to the cracking and tearing sounds filling his ears, until it was totally free from its socket.

"Sweet heart," He calmly said. "those tears won't save you now. Don't you think it is a little too late?"
He threw it away, and the again grabbed the elbow of the same arm, twisting it until there were no longer any sounds from there. Every single bone there was crushed to a paste.
"And one last and final touch." He held tighter her neck, "I won't kill you," and broke her windpipe. "I just needed to teach you a lesson." He dropped her on the floor, into the lake of her flowing blood.
"Now, you'd be able to watch in silence, and not point fingers at anyone too."

Scarcely satisfied, Lyone heaved a sigh and landed it. He was yet again bored.

He turned to the shaking man beside him, whose eyes were fixated on the wooden bat his ten fingers clenched to, and he asked.
"Do I still need to go on with the class?"

The man slowly lifted his head, and turned to the one questioning him.
"Y-you --" he made a huge gulp. "-- You can stay as long as you please sir."
The hilt of the weapon he held was already damp from the sweat soaking it, and dripping with the warm salty perspiration rushing over its sides.

Satisfaction still eluded him, although he had made a display of fragments of his skill.
He was a blood thirsty maniac, a teenage boy, and not the kind you attend a ball with. He was a man beast, with scars that ran deeply into the fabrics of his soul. The bogeyman in search of the bliss awarded to Milen, and no lengths were long enough to keep him from his price.