Noctisardor Bypass is the rise of an eastern sun going to be good for everyone?

The devil's ears swiveled atop his crown to meet his nephew's words. It was an apt forewarning for the action that followed. There was a dangerous glint in his gaze as a smirk curled the leathery corners of his lips. For all that Iliksis was, Ithrik appreciated his brazen honesty. The boy was younger than he, but not all that different in his methods. Of course, they had their own tastes, but the vile hound would always support the decisions of his nephew, and would offer his own aid if it meant that he would be provided with a chance to taste the blood of another. It seemed, this was where their paths would lead them. Iliksis called to Vaati without pause, and Ithrik swung his head in search of the pallid and incompetent brute.

Already, the devil's fur rose along his neck and shoulders at the sight of their leader. The pale-furred wolf wandered through with a cocky swagger. Ithrik did not believe that he would eat this wolf; Vaati would be tough and would taste like wasted potential. Still, the patchwork devil wanted to kill him – he was certain of this much. He knew that Iliksis had wanted the very same, and to show the wolves of Blackfeather Woods what real leadership was capable of. The political play did very little to enchant him, but Ithrik was more interested in the dramatic play that had begun to unfold before them. Vaati not only approached with a cocksure swagger, but he began to spill words from his dark lips like a playwright with a heated desire to share.

“You want to kill me because you think we have lost.”

Ithrik chuckled; a sinister sound that rasped from the back of his throat. His eyes rolled upward and into his skull for a brief moment before sliding back down and locking on the face of the pale youth. What a foolish statement to make against two who seemed to care very little about wins and losses. One so young could only be capable of speaking, because the young did not know what it meant to show true action. Ithrik shook his head and allowed his lip to curl over rotten fangs in a ghastly smile that stretched his features. “We don't want to kill you because we have lost,” he told Vaati with another raspy chuckle. The fur along his neck and shoulders danced with the catch of a breeze.

“We want to kill you because you are weak.”

The truth of the matter was that Ithrik had very little respect for anyone, no matter his supposed rank within their pack. He did not believe that a single soul deserved the bow from his head or the cowing of his tail as it pulled between his hocks. No, he was capable of so much more than those wolves could ever provide for him. But, Iliksis was a good boy and would have made a very suitable leader to the Blackfeather wolves. His nephew was nothing like the sad specimen before them. Vaati was not a suitable leader, no matter the garbled mess that spilled from his desperate lips. Ithrik would not wish to follow such a sad creature into the heat of any war, ever again. Funnier still, the pallid 'Dark Master' believed that he was the rightful leader of those lands. He had never been so wrong.

While Vaati babbled about his needs and wants, Ithrik watched the audience begin to trickle in to their conundrum. The words from the white youth were trickling through the hairs of his ears, but the devil had spotted something far more appealing. Three young pups had opted to see what was happening with their pack – with the home that they had come to know. A pang erupted inside of Ithrik's gut as he looked at their tender little frames. Their flesh would be soft and malleable still, and though they were old enough to speak and wander on their own free accord, it did not mean that they were old enough yet to fight off the snap of his fangs and the desire that thrust him forward. He could not help but to feel himself swaying in place as he peered at their shorter limbs and sweet faces. Surely, the meat at their hocks would be the most delicious – surely.

Vaati's voice had grown quiet, and Ithrik snapped his attention back to the pale wolf. The orange of his gaze danced like a raging fire against a dark backdrop. His previous statement could not have been any more false; Ithrik did not care if they lost their sad little war. The devil had no alliance with the wolves of the wild wood. If all of them had perished in their battle, he would have eaten their corpses and stolen their tails to add to his collection, but nothing more. The vile hound was apathetic and no amount of chit-chat would be enough to sway his mindset.

“You talk too much,” he snickered with a turn of his ears. “Iliksis will challenge you and I will find one of your pups over there to rape until their rectum bleeds. When I am done, I will eat every tender piece of their sweet little body.”

Ithrik turned away from Vaati and drew his snout toward the air, drinking in the scent of the young and the others who were falling in as witnesses. None of them had moved, and so Ithrik wondered if these wolves really did care what happened to their pale commander. His entitled and pretentious speech about mercy and generosity had been wasted, for it had fallen on deaf ears. Ithrik did not care for his mercy – he cared only for the taste of young blood against his writhing tongue and the feel of an adolescent frame wrapped in his limbs. Ithrik had gone far too long without it to care where it came from, and so his attention had fallen on the young and their curiously intense stares.