He was absolutely finished with Adela.
There were too many old memories there that haunted him, and it was starting to take a toll on his psyche, which was twisted enough as it is, minus the waking nightmares and painful recollections, of a woman who had stolen his heart and left him the very next day. He had been stupid, to think that a monster could perhaps love and be loved, so he tried to push away her memory, tried to forget her face. But every time he saw a woman with that same shade of apple-red eyes, he stopped to think, Is that her? Is that my Eden? He was wrong though, every time. He would always be wrong, when it came to her... And there was no way to fill that hole she had made. Absolutely none.
Fen wandered now; this might've been good news for Adela, which no longer had to wonder why so many women were missing, and why their corpses could not be found, but it was not so good for the rest of the world. It was no good for Fen either, who was forgetting why the hell he existed in the first place.
Sometimes he would remember - revenge, he needed revenge – but other times, he would wake up and find himself covered in blood, surrounded by corpses, and laugh, and think, Goddamnit, I need to find it again. 'It' wasn't 'her' – the woman who had left him, no – 'it' was 'purpose', which was synonymous with power. He needed power. He needed more of it. He needed to find more interesting ways to spill blood, so one day, when he did get his revenge (when he died for his stupid, bloody revenge) he could do it in the most interesting way possible – and everyone would remember his savage murder, his perfectly planned vengeance.
He was travelling through the Niahi Woods currently, looking for the next town – to stop, rest, plot, plan, stalk the pubs, take a woman in the dead of the night – when he heard it, the bray of a horse, and the sounds of battle. Fen stopped, turned to look at the battle – grinning as he watched, from not too far away. A golden horse stood before two men, only one of which was attempting to fight it. Perhaps he would've walked away (no, that wasn't likely) but the horse let out another bray, spewing fire into the trees, into his direction.
Fen hadn't expected it, hadn't thought to dodge, and ended up getting burned by the horse's flames. He stared at the wound – it wasn't too serious – but he was bleeding now, and he knew everything was over now. He watched as blood spilled freely from his wound, and he grinned, laughing a little – god, he couldn't just travel without getting caught up in something, could he? He drew his knife, slicing his hand where the blood ran through, making the wound worse – which would be necessary, if he wanted to control his blood properly...
He stepped up, closer to the two men – dagger in his right hand, the hand that was not bleeding loosely. He held his left arm up, palm outstretched, watching his blood curl into controllable tendrils, readying himself to take aim at the golden horse. Fen tilted his head toward the two strangers, grinning wildly. "You two gentlemen don't mind if I... cut in, do you?" He did not wait for their approval, however, and took aim at the horse, his blood firing at the creature like a long spear, a spear made of blood. It fired, and hit – piercing through the beast's flank.
It would hurt it, of course, but it would not kill it. What fun was killing if you did it quickly, after all?
