Strenuous has the lands been over the years though it all progressed into a metaphorical vital organ, an organ that gave him the feral knowing as well as the way to live in this land. Every age that he was in gave him strength but as well as a toll. His wings still ached from the Tre'bu'het Balista. All of the black feathers he had on his wings covered the scars - oh how the scars shaped his life into murderous lust. Nothing was prominent towards the evil side he had back before his confinement.
Now he was that prominent Celtic Demon. All of it was well worth going through to finally see the new world. The Demon had no home save for living within the forest was well enough, not many homes suited his want. Only the forest did he like. It had all he needed, water, food, and air. Shelter was found everywhere and being a denizen of the darkness, he could lurk in the darker shadows when he had to.
The darkness was his life, not the light.
He was one to follow the darkness.
The forest though tonight beheld a storm, a dark threatening clap of thunder sounded as the shadows began to dance. Scurry and sway the shadows began to play upon each threshold the trees had. Even the river had its own figures of the dancers. Only when the lightning cracked far off did the true dance begin. In the loss of the thunder as it passed the forest only to leave the rain and light of thunder did the harmonic noises of a heart began to fade into place. Thump-thump, thump-thump it faintly beat before a gentle breath was huffed out over the river.
A dark shadow glided over the ground as the beat of a heart got louder and louder till the shadow stopped by the largest tree. It was a large black puddle and soon it was creeping up the side of the tree. Crawling like ink in streams up the trunk. The mass inked its way up as well as leaving claw marks. Soon the ink grouped and formed a rather Humanoid figure scaling up the trunk like a black spider.
Half way up it began to melt to show what it was. The darkness washed away with the rain to show a bony figure, the Celtic Demon himself. His white skin, hair, and outfit seemed to glow in the darkness of the night. His eyes glowed yellow as he darted up the tree to the top. He seemed so light but that was due to the power he had. Foot holds of the shadows held him up as he stood over the tall tree. His eyes glittered in the night as he looked down bellow. All he was, was a demon of ancient lore. One of the last of the evil Phoenixes. The demon glanced over the wood before drifting down a stairwell of shadows, standing over the ground he chuckled and lifted his eyes to the sky.
The Ghost Phoenix closed his eyes and lifted his head to the sky clawing his hands and stiffening. Opening his mouth his serrated teeth glittered in the light as a belted out screaming wail came. His call was avid and dark, it warped and pierced the night as two black feather tips sliced through his flesh on his back, bushing out through the slits in his long coat. The sickening noise came out loud and clear as his wings pushed out and stretched, unfurling after so long of no use.
Looking to the forest he began to walk, walk slowly as the rain dripped from the trees and onto him. The yellow glow pierced the night as the Celtic Demon walked. He was going to hunt. The chase was on even if it will be slow.
Soon the people will know he was back.
He was done hiding.
Let the blood fall like rain and let the screams sound like thunder.
