He roamed through the cave, listening to the sounds around him. Water dripped into an underground pool further down, the drops spaced several seconds apart and the splash echoing off the rocks. Sand and pebbles crunched under his feet, and wind whistled across the cave opening, all of it familiar. He’d walked that cave a million times for a million reasons. His domain — where he drew his strength — also became his weakness at times, for the cave was alive.
His name, Alanya, meant The Destroyer. He wandered the ages, seeking to slaughter people who held special gifts. He fed on them for their strength and power, each special power offering a distinctive flavor. Their cries resonated in the cave’s memory; their blood splattered on its walls and drenched its floors. If he closed his eyes and concentrated, he could still smell the coppery tang.
Strolling to the mouth of the cave, he looked at but
didn’t see the forest. His mind seethed in his hatred for the brothers Zachariah and Matthew McCannon.