The bicorn sped through the night, its dark coat blending seamlessly with the shadows cast by the neon lights of the city.
The only visible sign of its presence was the glowing violet eyes of the reaper mounted on its back, his cloak billowing in the wind as they raced through the streets.
Alicarde's hostage, limp and barely conscious, dangled precariously, held together by the fangs of the bicorn.
Wrath moved erratically, darting through alleys and side streets with no clear destination in mind. It mirrored the chaos in its master's heart, a reflection of the turmoil within.
Eventually, Alicarde's thoughts commanded the creature to stop, and Wrath skidded to a halt in a dark, narrow alley.
Alicarde dismounted hurriedly, stumbling as he fell to his knees. His hands clawed at the mask beneath his hood, tearing it off just in time to vomit violently onto the cobblestone. He remained on his knees, gasping for breath, the sound of his ragged breathing echoing off the alley walls.
