[img]http://pre15.deviantart.net/8ead/th/pre/i/2010/166/0/0/bloody_rose_by_shakenxnightmare.jpg[/img]

No blood signified a coming birth,
And the child would be born by blood,
And the child would be baptized by blood,
and death at last once more by absence of blood.
The red cycle, as the mystics know.

It was quiet in the void of being, where his consciousness dwelt as his body melted into naught but blood. Not quite alive, yet not quite dead, somewhere between as his heart beat with a steady thumping. What was the body but a machine to consume? To feed upon the precious fluid which was blood? The brain was nothing more than guide to seek it, the stomach and lungs to enrich it, the bones and sinew to make and consume it. But the heart was there to distribute it. To share her to the rest of the world, to drown it in her unrelenting love. Blood, the most divine of all prima materia. There it was, a soft and gentle call, a beckon by his mistress, a red light to pierce the blank void. He was hers, and she remembered her faithful servant. With a metaphysical smile Dyleon faded from this void... Only to wake to find his eyes a new, staring at the shapeless form that was his beloved. Her hand reaching at his newly formed chest, claws tearing into the soft skin and plucking from its wicker cage a beating heart. Like a precious ruby, held in her hand as he offered it freely, suppressing a grunt of pain as he felt the gem severed from the source. Falling over in supination, from both the shock and unending adoration, clutching the hole she left behind as it sealed up. A perfect servant, devoted, dedicated and now once again deathless.

"As you command my love..." Dyleon whispered as she drifted away into the darkness. Reborn, still tender of flesh and weak of bone, fragile though the blood coursed through him. His body strengthened once more slowly, his unclothed form changing as it hardened into a killing machine again, his eyes twinkling with a bloodlust as his vigor returned. As naked as newborn babe, but as innocent as one who just committed a massacre. His strength returned, the blood coursing swiftly through him as his hunger grew. Blood, his body demanded, his blood magics allowed him to live without his heart, yet required him to be sustained by gallons of it. He growled as his form changed, his face elongating as his long black and red hair grew out into fur. A tail formed and claws grew from nails as fangs descended. The Werewolf howled at his goddess, towards the endless sky of hades, his song of praise.

His ears twitched, a bestial growl greeted Chakan as he sniffed the airs around her. "Dogs chew bones, Wolves drink blood. I am no beast of Darko, I serve Sekaulla, my mistress, my love, my Goddess. You have no blood to spill, no tribute to give her... Why would I hunt you?" But before He could glean an answer, Chakan was summoned to another place. Leaving Dyleon alone in Hell. Or was he? No the air smelled of blood, rich in power, beyond the blood of humans. True to his canine form, he panted, his saliva thick in wanting. So commanded the goddess to hunt the prey, so shall he feast upon them... Time to Raise Hell by laying waste to it. A bloodbath.