The shadows lengthen as the battle between day and night wages across the tortured depths of the heavens. The sun and the moon fight it out for power and prestige - the heavenly bodies on better in mind and ideals than any other on the forsaken soils of their kingdom.
The blood of their sins is streaked across the sky, staining it the vibrant hues used by a mentally deficiant painter in a nervous spasm of temporary muscular failure. Blues, yellows, orange, red, purple and pink clutter the clouds of a forbiddingly ominous taint.
As the sun slowly loses its rage, sinking behind the horizon in its defeat, bright spears pierce the laden clouds in a last attempt of vicious defiance and the blood and tears of the innocents rain down upon the sinners of the earth.
The heavy pounding is accompanied by another sort as thunder rips through the tempest, following the vicious flashes of static electricty. Amidst the turmoil and violent happenings comes the beast.
Nigrescent hellin slinks from the tenebrous gloom, languid stride airily confident with the flowing grace not of one who thinks they're good, but of one who knows they're good.
Elevation of the hell-cat tops at 17.3 hands, superior size towering over all but the cold-blooded draughts. The corpse is elegant, movements graceful like that of a practised predator. The stalwart corpse moves idley, nape arced high to hold the eloquent skull to half-mast. Brawn protrudes in great bulges, a nimble collection of gait holding the frontal quarter light and easy.
The gaze is hooded, filled with a cold brutality and dubious cynicism. Sadism is proclaimed openly within the fathomless depths and the stoney facade is that of a practised assassin.
Stone-cold and empty.
Mocking amusement is alight within the cruel depths of stygain oracles, disks of plated steel placed in smooth gyration with forbidding deliberance.
Flesh of the darkest hue is, somehow, stained darker by the torent of rain that's unnending arsenal of projectiles turns the soils into a sodden quagmire of saturated lithosphere.
And through this the hellin paces, lofty pose or haughty arrogance and an over-sized ego not subdued at all - the utter possession with which the perdator's carcass is held almost breath-taking.

Alias: When Hell Froze Over
Witness: Unknown
Genre: XX
Heritage: Purebred mutt - friesian X spanish X arabic
Emulsion: Stygian