The seeking of immortaly.

A spiral of obscurity, a black mass of terrors. The callous touch of the morbid angel had come to ravage, to tear his flesh, and crack the crimson tracery of his bones. The scythe's mortal blade against the tendrils of his very existence, it was cold, and yet how welcomed, how delightful the echoes of his shattered velvet, his spilled wine! Wrapped in gore, dreadfully fatal in such evanescent overwhelm, as each slash would vomit a symphony of destruction. And laugh, laugh, an inundation of burbling pleasure emerging from the bare bones of the deadly sinner. How could he ever care? How could he not rejoice, as his condemned soul was disputed? Such mortal life was of no worth, no worth for the wicked, nor the children of the night. Had the demons come to claim his life, he would find the way to return, to spit in their very faces, and laugh in satire upon the throne of the goat. Had the cherubs sang for his redemption, his blasphemies would have filled the house of every god. How, was of no matter -- he would return, return, until what to him had once belonged rested within his arms for one last time, until the very existence of the earth had withered in ruination, and his fangs glimmered with the elixir of each cursed soul, each coin to pay for the light to come back, for that warmth of hers to cure the mania of his embrace.
-- regurgitated had been her name, cursed had it been, and adored above all else. Alice, would call the song so terrible, the screeches of her voice tearing apart the rotten entrails, as her form would feel so true, so true. She could die a thousand deaths, and it would still be his will to follow her into the very pits of hell, to tear all life from her and spill her blood of immortality beauty, for he had had it all, and like worms to broken flesh, such cravings would eat away at him, drying his forked tongue with the force of a neverending thirst. And it would ache within his breast, and it would peel his teeth, and in the sanguine liquid of those who opposed he would bathe, until her soul would be, once again, claimed as his. And no such luck would come to the damned fool. For each time his lids would split open, and the crimson wine would emerge to face the moon, it would be gone. And no fury would be alike, nor mayhem to be caused, to the sheer wrath that would make the void of the damned existence tremble, from the very pillars of his stolen soul.
From beneath rotten lips, it would emerge, the saw of damnation, to sing at the falling sky. Each vein would pulsate, and in the morbid song of his very fluids he would find himself awake. The beast, the ghoul, his blackened cape in silent dispute with the very stars, as the titanic carcass would soon emerge from the soil that had dared hold his nightmares. Where was he, would be the most appropriate thing to ponder over, for as his features touched the air in their strained frenzy, the monster knew he was nowhere he would have ever seen. Soon the mundane stench of the world would collapse against the walls of his rotten lungs, the frigid resound of liquid a cacophony against his auds. But he had seen her, he had seen her, and in these happenings untold, he would muse. "Where are you".

The stars glittered in the dark sky, which was actually a comical joke since she was in this forsaken part of the boundaries. There shouldn’t be any stars glistening in the night, there should be only darkness and rivers of blood. Looking around, it was never as she thought it was going to be, it was just like any other terrain, there were good and bad places, but none that was really horrible. Never too cold, never too hot, made her wonder why others described it so bad. Though the real question was who was the devil that made them make just horrible judgements, but then again that wasn’t the right questions. The right question would be, what is he?, what is he capable of?, who is his allies and enemies?, and how did he hold such a reputation?. Now those questions would get you somewhere. Now that is if you really want to be there.

Darkness never phased her, it is and always has been her favorite. The light of the moon illuminated shadows from the stones that grew and morphed in the eyes of those who fear what plays in the dark, and she feed off that fear. The smell of fresh warm blood that had recently been spilled tickled her nostrils. Ears cocked forward as a sly smirk played across her ebon lips as she rose from the earth and started to stalk towards the scent, shadows clinging to her as she made her way.

A badger was in her sight. The beast thing was perhaps looking for something. A sinister chuckle vibrated her throat as she crept towards him, “How cruel this world is.” her lyrics sent shivers down his spine as she heard his last words, but the crunch of its windpipe was echoed throughout the night within seconds after she spoke the words.