The scent in the air, it was a thing of beauty. Perfection wrapped in a doughnut. His mind was a mess, a fog of nothing but better intentions lost on his current actions. Nothing to be done or said about that now though. Here he was, feeding that monster he was accused of being. That very same monster that was hungry and had only ever wanted to be let out of its cage. The one it spoke to him from. Whispers, faint as they may have been, over the sake of what his nature meant for him to do. He was a predator, the kind that held needs. This was how he survived. It needed to be how he always was.
Blood lust ran rampant through his mind, every waking thought, and Michael was one that did not sleep. Not during the day, nor during the night. His condition didn't allow for it. His own abilities all strong, as he felt the rush of fresh blood pumping through him. Feeding only made him stronger, while his life was something else now. Far from anything of his own. Repenting was for the weak and intolerable. He was something more than all of them. A predator and they were his prey. It was feeding time and he would play with his food as he saw fit.
There was not enough suffering, there never would be. They were no better than cattle. A source to meet his needs. No amount of crying, begging, pleading would change their fate. Those who crossed his path, were sure to meet their doom as a sorted fate. A life that was no longer needed here in this world, while he didn't know if he cared about the next.
Catching sight of what he wanted, the heavenly scent practically smothering him. From his nostrils to his taste buds, he was locked right onto it. This was no place for a hero to call home. Just the monster that Michael had now become. A slow intake since September, but was there any way to change this, to reverse the effects? Not at all, as far as he ha found.
It never took much at all. Just some eye contact, but that felt too easy. Hypnosis, mesmerism, it wasn't the sort that brought about the most satisfaction. It just made things easier, worth cleaning up. He was well beyond that. Who needed these sort of things anyway? Who needed any of this? A hand reached out, grabbing hold of a throat at just the opportune moment. His own strength surging through him as he slammed this person into a wall. There was no one to stop him, no one to talk him down, and no one to fend him off. It was just him and his instincts, that voice that chose to speak to him in whispers now enjoying full on conversation. Ideas and what sort of things to do with this play thing.
Full force, the body was thrown across the alleyway. The hit against the brick wall behind him left a twisted look on his face. The groan from the building, and not just the person, allowed him to gain some satisfaction in that. The smear of blood that followed it, right down to the ground there. The scent back in his nostrils, as he breathed in deeply.
Life took on another page, as he moved to lift them again, but opted to allow hunger to take over. There were no fangs, no claws, no special sharp equipment. Michael held nothing but the knowledge in his own abilities and how to best use those against anyone. The strength in him was enough, he didn't need the rest. He wouldn't utilize any of it, as his teeth ripped and tore into the flesh of the neck. Blood splattering everywhere, only to ignore the protests of the person here. To never take notice of their body or build, not even the face.
Michael didn't want to know, he wanted to keep going. To take more and to just roll in his greed. Another life with another set of beliefs and thoughts. There was a part of him, it was there, just deep in the recesses of it all. It told him to stop, even though he continued on. The need to feed took over every part of his body. The urge and need came in necessity, but stayed for other things. The gargle through the loss of blood, the attempt to breathe, it only gave him enjoyment. This life wasn't meant for him, and these people didn't know how to be anything but weaklings that bother him when they are sad or scared in bed.
The weak were not to inherit the Earth. If he could only begin changing people too. A difference in prerogative. This left a new life to be had. It just wasn't about to happen today. Finishing up, he pulled away, only to look down on the dying body that barely even had it within her to fidget with the gaping hole in her throat. There was part of him that cried internally, as he saw the body of his own mother. Her pale blue eyes staring at him. Lying there as if she were some willing offering that he had never asked for or wanted. Instead, she was just the sort of person to end up there for him. This just wasn't the way he had ever wanted. Moving from her body, as if it were nothing that actually mattered. Wiping the blood from his chin, prepared to find bigger game than this.