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It seemed as though something higher had brought the once unemotional judger of sins across this mutilated form. The last breath of life had already left the silent figures form, but the heart had yet to stop beating. Most would have considered this being dead, and if Richmon had not been driven by what he could only describe as a mixture of remorse and pity this being indeed would be dead. It was difficult for Richmon to look onto the mutilated form, this had been no normal form of death. The being had been intended to die, but not to give life to another - not to provide a meal, not out of defense of one's kin or territory - simply to be taken out of this world. The blood amassed around the fractured skull had already begun to congeal, matting and plastering the orange and blue mane to the face of the striped male. The dislocated jaw and serrated throat, ripped by only what could have been two full rows of sharp fangs, would have been suffice to end this beings existence, but there had been more. Flesh was folded over in strips over the victims body, as if the offender had attempted to skin the being before Richmon - something a two legger would do to provide clothing and housing for themselves, but mid way down the ribs muscle had been sliced away with the flesh. This had angered the offender apparently, it had been a mistake, and all care and skill had been tossed aside for the simple and brutal ripping and shredding of muscle and flesh the rest of the way down. Wet and slippery tubes of flesh winded their way from the victims belly, pinkish white fluid still oozing from twin breaks in the membranes that created the intestine walls. These were bite marks, but not from a fully fanged mouth. There had been two attackers - one with flat teeth in front and two fangs where canines were, and one with jaws filled with fangs. Richmon took a closer look at the belly - this wound was not fresh like the others, healing had already begun before it had been ripped open once more and the soft unprotected organs inside had been strewn across the ground.

Richmon lifted his head suddenly as the heart began to rapidly slow to a threateningly light beat. It was almost as if it was quivering on the edged of deaths bony fingers. Though the atrocity intrigued the overly analytical mind of the judge and curiosity compelled him to further inspect the motionless form that lay before him Richmon knew he had no more time. He would not be able to fully heal the being before him, but he could at least prolong it's life if only for a short while. He could not for the life of him find the purpose of death without meaning. Without further hesitation Richmon began the bloody and draining process of healing the being before him. It had never before bothered Richmon, healing another - then again, all wounds he had healed before had been ones that he himself had inflicted to cleanse the impure of their sins. Stuffing the intestines back into their fleshy casing Richmon sealed the abdominal wall enough to keep all organs in and fix the breaches in membrane walls. The heart and lungs were next, and Richmon stumbled a little at the energy required to bring these to a point where they could function. But Richmons efforts were not in vein. As his crimson stained horn began to heal the serrated flesh of the males throat a bellow erupted from the blood encrusted maw. He had succeeded in reviving the stallion, if only seconds before death was to claim the being. Richmon wobbled in relief above the still mutilated male, but still there was no time. He began to heal the skin that had been folded back. Light headed and exhausted Richmon made his way to the dislocated jaw. No sound was made, but the being suddenly jumped and with a sicking crunch their skulls collided, sending the fatigued stallion toppling to the ground. Richmon was unable to get to his hooves, too drained to lift his own form from the ground.

Richmon simply watched the male before him. He seemed to not even know that he was alive, and in fact had settled on the thought that he was in hell. If he had been a pure soul, or even a good one, he would have thought that the 'spirits' of ths world would have taken him to a less foreboding place, and certainly not hell. It began to dawn upon Richmon that perhaps the being who's life he had saved would have been one of the twisted and deformed souls to pass through purgatory - so tainted by evil that it was impossible to cleanse the sin from the soul and thus it would indeed have been tossed into the eternal pit to fester and burn for all eternity as punishment for their crimes. But why then had he stumbled across the being and had been able to revive it. If this being was destined to the pit of hell would not Richmon have arrived too late? This being still had a purpose left in this world then, a lesson to learn or deed to do that had yet to be done, that none on this plain could interfere with or change. This left Richmon confused, slightly angered and all around feeling at a loss as to what to do. He struggled with these emotions for a while as he attempted to find a way to word his questions and thoughts. Given the circumstances he could only assume that the customary fashion of the mortals of this world of introducing one's self and partaking in idle banter and discussion before pressing and delving into one another was useless - they had passed this point already. So Richmon, plastering on his unemotional exterior expressions, began his delving to better understand the mortal before him. "What makes you think you are dead, or that you are in hell?" He asked simply, a blunt question for a blunt curiosity.

The answer did nothing but make Richmon's heart fill with sorrow. Was there truly a darkness in this world so deep and overwhelming that the creature, for it could no longer in his mind be considered a being, before him could know nothing of light. "You truly, with the depths of your soul believe you are dead and in hell..." It was a statement, not a question, but with the lack of emotion in Richmon's monotone voice.

Richmon waited as the creature before him seemed to struggle. It was conflicted. Richmon himself was conflicted. Every fiber of his judgmental being told him this soul was damned. But... The fear that Richmon could sense gave him an odd and twisted sense of hope. Demons did not feel, they did not care, they did not fear - they had one purpose in this world, to corrupt and kill any living thing. This creature my indeed have a being hidden deep within the depths of darkness. Richmon knew this soul was too far gone for him to cleanse, too twisted and entangled in the thorny grasp of evil for Richmon to pry the being from it. But.. Richmon grunted in pain as he hoisted himself to his hooves - mortality was taking it's toll on the once immortal judge, and healing such a damaged being had taken far more from Richmon than he had expected; he would not be able to heal the creature before him any more without causing fatal harm to himself. He may not be able to physically heal the creature, but maybe, just maybe, he could shed light on the being hidden deep within the dark soul before him. In time, perhaps that one little glimmer of hope, that single speck of light, could grow and shatter the darkness and bring this being full circle.

He looked down on Ryker, though he did not know that was the creature before him's name. He struggled with what to say to the being - if it had not been for the mortal emotions after all he would have left the creature to it's doom. As he didn't know how to understand what he was feeling, or what he was feeling even, he didn't quite know how to respond. Furthermore, he had to take into account not only his emotions, but those of the thing before him. Finally with a deep and heavy sigh he spoke, an attempt to give at least a little guidance to the creature. "I can tell you for sure of two things; you are not dead and you are not in hell. You were on the edge of death, and you may very well have ended up in hell if you had passed on, but you did not. You are still alive, though barely, and you certainly are not living."

This startled Richmon a bit. How could he truly answer. He had judged so many on how they lived or did not live - but in this moment he realized that throughout his mortal existence he had yet himself to Live. "In truth..." Richmon had to admit, though it was with much difficulty. Richmon was not trusting of others - Akahi had been the only one thus far that he had opened up to. He had to show trust to this being though - it was part of connecting to others, and he could not hope to pull it from the darkness if he was unwilling to first reach out. "I can not judge you on whether or not you are living, as I myself have yet to truly Live - but I know what living is. Living is connecting in some way, shape or form to another and impacting their lives...."

"You did not let me finish!" Richmon blurted, anger causing his voice to echo through the silent woods like booming thunder. He took a deep breath, remembering how he had flung and hurt Akahi in his last burst of anger. He would not let that emotion take control of him again. "One's life is like a still pool of water. If nothing happens it exists, but grows stagnant and wastes away into nothing." This next part would be more difficult to explain given his current analogy, but Richmon was determined to make it work as his over calculative mind knew it could. "But if it moves and acts, whether forced by nature or of it's own accord, it can breech it's boundaries and hopefully touch other pools."