Before he ever walked in the Realm of the Living, before his shadow ever touched its soil, and before he became the demon he was now, he had been human. He had been handsome, with a muscular build, with dark brown hair and bronze skin.
He had been a man, having a beating heart inside him. He once was nothing more than a fragile thing. A breakable thing. A creature of fleeting breath and temporary presence. But he had wanted more, he had yearned for more. For even as a mortal, human man; he had been cruel and had enjoyed the pleasures of killing others. He would beat, torture and kill his victims, brutally and leave them unrecognizable and mutilated.
His love for killing was so great that he didn't want to perish, he didn't want to get old and lose his strength and good looks, that he used and relied on to snare and over power and capture his unsuspecting victims. The thoughts of him aging and inevitably succumbing to death, angered him, he just wanted to live forever. He wanted to keep what the killing of others did for him and so he sought a way to make his wickedness live on and become eternal. He sought ... Lord Wycked.
He couldn't remember how he had found the Demon Lord or of how he was given the opportunity to even go before the great Lord, why he was allowed to be heard, allowed to kneel before him in the Throne of Bones inside Wycked's Skull Palace in the Realm of the Dead? Those memories were lost and no longer were irrelevant to him now, the only thing that mattered was that he had.
He had begged the eldest brother - Wycked, Demon Lord of Corruption and Wrath - to strip him of his humanity. To carve out his soul. To unmake him and remake him into something monstrous, something powerful, something worthy of serving in the Realm of the Dead.. something that would become worthy enough to be able to serve Lord Wycked, for eternity.
Wycked had obliged. He saw potential in the mortal who dared seek him so fervently and willingly.
The transformation was not mercy. It was not kindness. It had been excruciatingly painful, and nothing less than horrific agony. Wycked had forced him to feel every moment of his unmaking. His soul did not leave him gently or quickly. It was a violent unraveling of everything he had once been, replaced with a renewed hunger, madness and devotion. His new existence was bound to the Demon Lord's will, forever chain to do the endless labor of harvesting tainted souls and spreading corruption and death across the Living Realm.
His body changed next - sharp bones protruded out of his back that lined his spine. His nails lengthened and sharpened, turning black. His teeth turned pointed and sharp his lips and eyelids turned to be the color of black. His eyes took on the faint, eerie glow of the dead. His voice no longer human, deepened and carried the echo of the realm of the Dead within it.
This new demon Wycked gave the name Sycotic. A name for one who abandoned his sanity and willingly gave up ha soul; for deranged, eternal purpose. And this was his only purpose now, and he thoroughly enjoyed it and absolutely loved the hunt. Which was for all demons. The demon's need for killing is woven into the abyssal nature to its overall makeup. To be cruel, cause suffering, influencing violence, and bringing madness.
For Sycotic, the hunt was not for food. His hunger was that of a different sort entirely. His hunger was more primal and less easily understood from the other demons. He hunted because he needed the kill, he needed what killing brought to him. The hunt for him had always been something that brought him joy, gave him pleasure, even when he had been human.
The feeling of the futile struggling of his victims as he ripped and tore their flesh, cracking their bones, and spilled all their blood. The screams were music to his ears as their screams filled the air. Sycotic hunted to experience that exquisite moment of fulfillment when his efforts claimed another human or demon life - that last shudder of consciousness, that final exhalation of breath, the desperate gasp as death arrived to take claim on them. He killed like he needed to do so to continue to be and exist as he now was. To him, it was absolutely necessary to keep continuously killing over and over again and now he had been granted an eternal life to do what he loved and enjoyed thoroughly doing. His very being was drowned and consumed completely in the madness that drove him.
Sycotic walked the dirt road until it sloped upward into a hill overlooking a small human village. Night was starting to quickly retreat as dawn crept slowly across the lands, pushing the black shadows of Night away inch by inch. The light of the Sun moved across the rooftops of the homes in the village. Thin smoke curled from the chimneys, lanterns started to flicker awake inside being seen through the windows. The village was slowly starting to wake up and begin to stir.
Some of the humans came out of their homes and started getting their carriages ready, getting the horses hooked up to them and preparing them to leave for work or to take them to the places that they had planned on visiting for the day. Some left their houses and walk to where they needed to go. Others could be seen starting to set up their concession stands that held various different items, some arranging fruits, fabrics, trinkets, baked goods and other various merchandise that they had to sell the people in the village. And then there were those who left their homes and wandered toward their fields and gardens to either tend or gather their produce they relied on to sell or to feed their families.
The demon watched them all with a face devoid of any expression showing on his face as he stood there watching behind a large juniper tree that stood just a little from the dirt road that would lead him down to the human village. As much as he hated the sun, he was not a lower level demon that couldn't tolerate it touching him. No lower level demon could remain once the sun came out, this was well known but, hardly any humans knew that that rule didn't apply to the demons who had more power and were higher level demons. They're ignorance was what left them vulnerable and easy prey for demons like him.
Just a village that's full of nothing but stupid, worthless creatures - weak, fragile-minded, dim souled, and whose lives were just waiting to be claimed. His bland gaze swept over the humans again before he pushed himself from the juniper tree that he had been leaning against and got back on the dirt road that went down to the human village. He started to descend down the hill, and an evil, wicked smile came to curl onto his lips. He inhaled the crisp morning air deeply before exhaling it. He felt right at home.
He walked slowly down, making his way to the unsuspecting village that he'd soon enter into, his hands in his trouser pockets, his mood seeming to become more cheerful. Perhaps it was his madness or perhaps it was the satisfaction at knowing that this human village and all it's inhabitants that dwell within it were his to do with however he chose - his to ruin, his break, his to torture and corrupt, his to then feed into the waiting and anticipating jaws of the hungry tainted spirits and to the demons that served under him.
He followed two humans that were headed toward a local carriage and climbed inside with them. He sat comfortably beside them, hands-folded, posture relaxed. Neither human turned. Neither felt the cold ripple of demonic energy that clung to him like a second skin.
It was one of his greatest skills he had acquired - the ability to blend so thoroughly with his surroundings that he became part of them. A familiar face. A harmless presence. A figure the mind dismissed without question. He would only let his presence become known when he chose it to be, when it was necessary for him to do so.
Has the carriage rolled through the village, the demon set and studied the residences and the people they rode past. ALL of it was his for the taking, his to own, and his to destroy.
He dismissed them almost as quickly as he had considered them. This human village was nothing more than a breeding ground - a temporary harvest field. All of it and all of them would pass into the hands of the tainted, corrupted, evil spirits and the hungry, bloodthirsty demons. When he was finished, when the last soul was claimed, and this village destroyed, he would move on without hesitation.
This world meant nothing to him. His work was his purpose and his madness was his fuel. His servitude to the dark, chaotic vision of Lord Wycked allowed for nothing else. And nothing else he wanted.
His purpose was wedded to his cause, and his cause required patience, a slow, deliberate unraveling of mortal life. For now, in this brief moment in time, the cause was simple:
To bring corruption and destroy this village and all its inhabitants. And he would obediently and gladly do just that, he would leave his mark here, to signal his Lord's coming and he would do so in blood.