Chaos. It was the calling of his breed, the desire in his blood. He lived for chaos. He lived for terror and death. He thrived on betrayal and despair. He was, in every sense, a monster. And he carried that title with pride. It defined him. It was him.
But unlike his brethren, Chloros had one trait that many others of his breed lack: control. Chloros was intelligent and witty; he used those strengths to his advantage. He was not a killer like other Kalonas, drawing blood simply for the fun of it. Nor was he one of those crazy purists. He admired strength in every breed. Darkness could find its way into any crack or crevice, and Chloros acknowledged that sometimes the greatest evils were not Kalonas or even those tortured Skinwalkers. They were often "normal."
Chloros snorted to himself. Many other Kalonas had rejected him, laughed at him even, for those thoughts. Chloros preferred to stay away from those simpletons. The kill was not just about the blood and the following meal. The kill was about have control over the victim's life. For Chloros, the feeling of power and control was worth more than a full belly. It was for this reason that he had pursued his hobby of keeping pets. He thrived on controlling his victims, making them feel appreciated and safe. He was the puppet master of a great charade, and it pleased him immensely to know that his victims still believed they had free will. The Kalona gave a small shiver of pleasure. Memories of screams, faces filled with horror and betrayal, and sobbing cries came rushing back to him. Killing could never accomplish what the breaking of spirit could do. Death destroyed the body, but the soul was still free. Chloros liked to target the soul, the mind, and the heart instead.
It was, in a way, still killing. After all, many a wise Elder had said that body without spirit was just a shell. And Chloros' preferred form of torture left his victims alive. Unlike a dead body that was eventually picked off by scavengers, Chloros could go back and visit his victims. He could watch them in their distress and despair. He could relive his satisfaction over and over. Yes, it was the breaking of emotions that was the true form of killing. It was a pity that few other realized this truth.
