The fearsome and mighty Hell hounds, spreaders of despair and consumer of souls, cowered in fear at the sight of the mad Demon in White. Drenched in blood, his once pure white armour was barely showing a hint of white beneath the red.

The severed head of one of their kin still hung from its arm, teeth sunk deep into the prey. Yet where everything cowered before their teeth and their soul ripping abilities, this Demon seemed to feel nothing at all.

He truly was a soulless Demon from the depths of hell. Although they were named after such a place, they had never even seen the supposed underworld, never mind felt its influence on them. Perhaps this... this was their punishment for daring to take the name of Hell onto themselves. Perhaps this was Hell sending one of their own to show them what a real beast of Hell should be like, and how utterly worthless they were in comparison.

Their most powerful weapon rendered useless, their wondrous defences being carved through like they were nothing. Before this Demon in White they were truly useless.

Bowing their heads and letting out pathetic whimpers, the Hell Hounds - regretting their own name - fled in fear of the Demon in White. Their tails tucked so tight between their legs it was as if they had no tail at all.

But it seemed their fear was not enough to satisfy the Demon in White.

"More. Mooore. Mooooore! MOOORE! MORE!"

Incandescent threads whipped forward, wrapping around one of their slower members like a snare and dragged it back. It's claws dug against the ground, desperately trying to resist the Demons pull, but it didn't last for long.

A barnacle covered blade soon plunged through its chest, dousing the fire inside in watery brine and with one last whimper the Hell Hounds struggles subsided as it departed from the mortal coil.

It's soul would never find eternal rest, however, as the moment the hound grew still the Demon scooped out its soul and devoured it whole, relishing the sulphuric taste.

"MORE! GIVE! ME! MORE!"

The ground exploded outwards, the hounds body being thrown back like a discarded husk of useless meat. The Demons blade of brine remained lodged in its corpse, as if he didn't care for the weapon. Or worse, as the hounds feared, he didn't need it.

As the Demon in White lunged through the air, he held aloft his hands as a pair of daggers appeared, one in each hand. The daggers were curved, like the Hounds own Dew claw. In fact they had a white texture, as if they were forged exactly from these claws... or were simply the claws of previous Hounds that the Demon in White had ripped off their corpses.

Just that thought alone made the Hounds shiver in fear and run faster, lest they be the next addition to his collection. The daggers had a rough, jagged edge that seemed as if they wouldn't be good for cutting or slashing.

A poor assumption to make.

The Demon in White landed on the back of one of their members, tackling it to the ground and began to plunge his daggers into it, over and over. He hacked, slashed, stabbed and skewered. He tore it apart without a care for how it would ruin the meat, as if he simply found sadistic pleasure in the pain he caused.

The Hound itself let out a truly hellish cry of pain, one the survivors would remember for the rest of their lives. It was unlike anything they had ever heard before, and were unlikely to hear ever again. After all, they did not know the secret of these blades and did not know that their greatest weapon had been turned against them, all because of the death of their pack leader.

***

With every slash of his new blades, the smile beneath Seth's helmet grew wider. His feral mind taking absolute glee in carving apart the animal, a glee that his sane self would find utterly repulsive and horrifying. But what did he care for what the sane one would think? What did he care for sanity?

It was utterly over rated. Why have worthless, useless sanity with all its worries and pathetic 'morality' when he could have this? Why hold himself back out of fear when he could relish in the blood and experience this joy?

This was what life was meant to be! This was their ancestry at its purest. Civilisation was a disease and this was the most delightfully pure form of life.

With his glowing eyes, Seth could see the truth. He could feel the spraying of blood against his armour, hear the whimpers and cries of pain and smell the freshly cut meat. But what he could see was something more than that.

He could see that with every slash of his karambit's that the blade itself caught at the creatures soul and tore it apart just as easily as its flesh. He could touch the untouchable, kill the unkillable. It was perfect. It was glorious. He needed more.

His blood boiled in his veins, his anger receded but the feral nature only grew stronger. He couldn't even remember what he was so angry about when there was this joy right in front of him.

Eventually the light of its soul dimmed before snuffing out entirely, far too damaged to hold itself together especially under this relentless assault. The death didn't make him calm down, it just made his blood boil even more. He could feel it churning within his veins, feeding him more and more power. Power to kill.

Standing up from the corpse, Seth kicked it to the side and looked in the direction of the fleeing hounds. In his vision, the vision of the grey, colour muted soul plane, all Seth could see was dots of flickering lights growing smaller and smaller as they fled.

Too far to chase. He needed something closer.

Whipping his head around, he looked towards where he had came, towards a large source of soul energy that was just sitting there... waiting for him. He staggered towards it, his legs fighting him for some reason as every step felt like he was wading through a marsh with lead shoes. Yet still he progressed, step after step, before stopping in his tracks and tilting his head in confusion.

In his vision, everything was nothing but a silhouette and a flickering flame within it. Yet there was something else. Clambering across the black mass that contained the large soul flame, was an actual creature.

It was a small lizard like creature, perhaps only a 3 foot tall, and stood on two legs like a person. It's body was covered in scales of pure white and was entirely translucent. But it was there, and it was moving. It clambered across the silhouette before catching sight of him and freezing, like a deer in headlights.

Tightening his grip on the karambit blades, Seth was about to take a step forward when he felt something touching his shoulder. A garbled, muted mess of sounds tickled at his ears before being tossed aside as nonsense by his brain.

Letting out a low growl, Seth whirled around towards the source of the sound, plunging his dagger into the silhouette that had appeared behind him. He felt it meet with resistance, but put more than enough force into it to tear through whatever tough flesh was protecting the creature before the blade plunged into soft, spongy flesh beneath.

It didn't let out a wondrous scream, even as the daggers magic infected the flesh and stabbed into the silhouette's soul, instead just letting out a stifled grunt. Digging the dagger in just a touch deeper, he frowned behind his helmet as the silhouette rested a hand on his arm, and another on the cheek of his helmet.

More garbled mess reached his ears, although instead of dismissing it for some reason his wild, feral brain actually accepted this mess of sounds. It took a second for it to process the sounds, finally clicking them together into words that it understood, even if it was only two words.

"I'm sorry."

The silhouette moved its hand from his helmet, placing it against his chest. It was an action that caused him to tilt his head, but before he could pull his dagger out for another stab, a bright light cut through the grey landscape around him. A bright light that originated from the hand on his chest, and which was quickly pushed into him.

Seth threw his head back, every muscle in his body tensing up as electricity coursed through his body, a stifled cry of pain halting in his throat as it clenched so tight he couldn't breathe. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as the power wrapped around his shattered mind, before the grey world gradually turned to black.

His body dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes. A smoking, black handprint on the chest of his once pure white, but now completely blood stained armour.