The harsh crunching of snow cut through the eerie whit expanse as the enraged Beast King plowed towards the murderer of Drom. Though he had hardly ever met the man, and his power frightened him, he hated to see the husband of the trapped woman before him laid in a heap of the winter weather. It wasn’t until the subsequent flashes of immense power did he stop his forward gait. 

The first he felt he knew intimately, the coursing green power of Pikatok. She was a druid, a powerful one at that. They had never seen eye to eye, the similarity of their powers but the different ways they harnessed them had driven a wedge between them years ago; a wedge that had both grown and shortened simultaneously. He surmised that for her to have given him this gift that he had somehow gained her respect. In truth, he had loved her. Not in a romantic sense, but more as a child loved a mother who may have been harsh, but harsh in a way to teach him a lesson.

However, the second blast, figuratively leveled him. Despite the harshness of the snow, as it were here, he could see in full detail the obliteration of Pikatok. Her upper half going from mangled body to a fine red mist that painted the snow around her killer. 
Kei’taro stood in terror, but not the terror that prompted one to turn tail and run, as both Pikatok and Sigmund had so bluntly advised. But the type of terror that one found when face to face with an inescapable predator, whose sole goal was ones annihilation. The type of terror, raw fear, where there was only one option – fight. 

Was this beast so powerful that the son of the Spirit Beast King could not find victory. Pikatok had used her last moments to fill him with an energy that he had never been able to grasp, her own. With the power coursing through him, he knew what he had to do. 

[b]I am no demon, but what happens to you here today will seem like the work of one,”[/b] Kei’taro spit across the white void. His senses sharpened as he stood almost sixty yards away from the man, the demon, whatever the malformed thing was before him. A solitary spider tattoo on the inside of his left wrist burned black as power began coursing through it. It was true he may not be able to best whatever this foe was in physical combat, but he was trained of animals, he was learned in the way that hundreds defended themselves and were predators in their own right. 

Today the Splatterer would find that the cold embrace of death would greet him much in the same fashion that he had sent at least three of associates. His body tensed up and immediately loosened, his stance as ready as he were limber, He was used to combat on this terrain, he hoped his opponent could not stay the same. 

Within soul and his mind, two distinct growls exerted themselves. WuKong and RyuKyu were as ready as he, as they ever were.