This place was too quiet to hunt effectively.

Out in the woods, the chances of encountering a wayward civilian from in town was just too low to justify continually choosing this place to prowl in the evening, Crocoite knowing he had wasted his night with no energy to show for it. Not that he was worried on that front, as he could easily make up for it the next time he hunted, but he did hate wasting his time. He was not even sure why he decided to come out to this place, having not been there in a long time.

The last time he came here, he was almost a different man entirely. Not a member of the Negaverse, a proud and powerful hunter. No. Just a weakwilled man, thinking he was falling in love. What a terrible situation to have been in, when he was young and stupid. When he thought it was almost something that could appease him.

Of course, he had been wrong. It was not enough. He was not enough. It was not where his detestation of failure started, but it was certainly where it grew it its current state. Fueling him to push himself on and on, to gain more power and to steal, lie, and cheat his way to the top of any pursuit he made.

There was no room for failure in his life any more.

Standing on a well worn path, beaten down by the passage of pairs of feet rather than being laid by stones or cement, Crocoite saw the old well sitting just where it had been. Of course it would not move, but he had thought that maybe the old, useless thing had been removed by now. It seemed that everyone was sentimental, himself including, in letting the pointless, yet theoretically romantic, spot remain as a photo opportunity and a place to make promises no one ever had any intentions of keeping. Even the most well intentioned, after all, could be tempted by a good deal.

Scofffing at himself, he approached the well and looked down. Dark and silent, he could not see if there was even any water in it. The bucket apparatus had long ago broken, the bucket itself likely down at the bottom of the well after the line snapped. Now, the crank was withering away, ivy working its way up from the stone base in an effort to encase it. Maybe it was a little picturesque.

Bending, Crocoite picked up a stone and tossed it into the well without much intention, listening as it fell a long way in silence. He almost thought it would never hit anything, but distantly he heard a splash. So there was still water down there. And it was rather deep, which would be difficult for a normal person to get out of. Or even a powered one, if they were injured or panicking. Maybe this stupidly romantic place could have some use to it, after all.

The crocodile grinned, leaning on the well and looking down into the darkness.