His teeth hurt.

It's something violent and vicious, something gnawing away at the corners of his mouth, something that tears at his thoughts and drags at his mind, and yet he has no intention of stopping what he's doing.

His teeth have hurt before; this isn't new. Wolfeite doesn't even like candy, doesn't care for the sickly sweet flavor, but Kamacite has left some at his door, and now he's devoured them, and his teeth are aching inside of his mouth. He feels nauseated.

He feels hungry.

(He's never not hungry.)

The youma tonight are lazy, lethargic things. Wolfeite stalks through them, snapping at what he can, crushing the easier ones to dust and reveling in the burn and adrenaline rush of the harder ones. He wishes he had better targets - a senshi or a knight, perhaps, someone solid that he can wrap his hands around, sink his claws and his teeth into and rip apart at the seams.

Instead, he settles for the youma. And the starseeds, which glitter like candy in his outstretched palm as he gazes down at them with glowing, half-lidded eyes. A thrill of expectation is coursing through him; he could save them for later, or he could swallow them now, feel the rush of the warmth as it bursts through him like a physical thing, intensity in liquid form. He wants to feel the shattering of them under his teeth.

Teeth that ache, still, even as he ignores it, even as he stalks through the dark of the alleyways, melting into the shadows, disappearing into the darkness and making it his own. A part of him is still reveling in the knowledge that he is a General; this is his city, and now that he has Aue at his beck and call, now that he has that damned Finnish brat on the right side of things, he is even stronger than he was before. Him and Kamacite are the only two things that Wolfeite needs right now, and "needs" is likely a too strong word. He has use of them, and he will make as good use of them as he possibly can to take down this city and crush it beneath his feet.

The wind howls through, ghosting through his wild hair, rustling through the steadily changing leaves. Wolfeite casts a glance up at a tree, letting his gaze circle around the the gnarled, twisted trunk, catching a pair of glowing eyes on one of the higher branches.

Not a youma. A cat, watching him lazily, looking unconcerned.

Wolfeite's grin spreads. He lifts one of the starseeds to his mouth and pushes it past his lips, aching teeth snapping it in half almost instantly. He ignores the pain - he's used to pain - and crunches down, until it is nothing but powder and he can swallow it all down, tongue darting out to lick his lips in satisfaction.

The cat lets out a careless meow, then leaps from the tree and disappears back into the shadows. Wolfeite watches it go, tail flicking slowly behind him, one hand rising so that he can slowly lick his fingers for any remnants of the starseeds.

There are none, of course. He's nothing if not thorough.

Wolfeite's grin is a savage, greedy thing, white against black, before he disappears back into the darkness.