Desreal: I'LL BE THE KING RUNNING AT THE WHEEL [MINIONS]

"Abra was ready ere I called her name;
And though I call'd another, Abra came."
-- Matthew Prior

All along the western front; people line up to receive. He flicked a torn ear as the night swooped down upon him like a murder of crows.

The endless beat of the shard pulsed in his brain; in his heart - - the steady pounding of war drums. The constant howl flowed through his body like electricity, coursed through his blood like seeping poison. The shard fluctuated in his chest, reverberating like the sounding sea.

The call of the wild and wicked.

He hissed, a serpentine smile etched faintly across his stone-colored muzzle. The electricity around him thundered, snarling and twisting as it darted through the air. His element clove through air and molecule alike, hissing, spitting, snarling as it snaked out before him like a maddened beast. Alcatraz knew his intentions; but did the rest of the world?

The shard howled.

Come.

He emerged from the shadows like a wraith, his pale grey form silhouetted in silver by the moonlight. He took several steps into the open copse, his hooves snapping the spines of the leaves under his body. He swished his tail, turning an ear towards his approaching minions. His dark eyes held no spark to them tonight; the shard’s sway blighting his usually sharp mind. In the darkness of the night, the monster perched and waited.

Figures, in the witching hours, Alcatraz would be up to no good.

Again, the faint hint of a lingering smile spread sinisterly across his gnarled lips.

A L C A T R A Z
"I believe there are monsters born in the world to human parents. . . . The face and body may be perfect, but if a twisted gene or a malformed egg can produce physical monsters, may not the same process produce a malformed soul?" -- John Steinbeck, East of Eden