Was it wrong to be impressed by brutality? The tearing of skin, the rushing of blood, the cries of the wounded... Were they not meant to be enjoyed? Was each break of a bone not supposed to send shivers of euphoria down his spine?
Did he even care?
G was past the point of being judged by others. Those who disagreed with him feared too much for their lives and for their sanity to even consider rebelling against his rule. He did not demand much; only a few females here, a couple youths to massacre there. With all the terror he generally instilled upon others, he could have asked for more. Much more.
It's a beginner's mistake to assume that he does so out of mercy, or sympathy. The last fellow to suggest that has his head displayed on a battered cross in the center of G's little town, should you care to see it. The cross holds only trace religious meaning in this area, but G still chose to place the skull there. And who would have the guts to disagree with the whims of such a fanciful sadist?
G did not look at the thing as a cross at all. Instead, it appeared to him as two bones, propped up against each other (and, in fact, that's what it was. Two rib bones from an immense Turkezilla skeleton that G lived in as a pup). He liked the fear it radiated; it felt like home.
So that's what he made it. He built his very own Bone City around that centerpiece, forcing friendlier creatures to invite others to live there with him on pain of death. But, naturally, it also collected a vast variety of wrongdoers and heretics, blasphemers and crooks. Bone City became the most feared name for miles around, and yet there were still those who came. They came in search of favors, or of power, willing to "sell their soul to the devil" if only he would help them somehow. G was disgusted by those who groveled at his feet, begging for him to save their sick child or dispel demons from their fields. That was not who he was! He massacred. He did not save; he was no damn messiah.
The method of dispelling them was simple: kill them.
He and his followers splattered their entrails on the dirt of the streets, and that was where they stayed until the families of the dead came and scraped the guts from the earth.
Currently, G was searching for new minions to kill a particularly meddlesome vampire. The ones who sided with him previously had proved sub-par. The Tali was forced to do away with them in favor of new talent.
And so he strolled the streets of the neighboring village of Fame, shrinking in on himself and dragging his tail so as not to attract any attention. When he saw somebody worth noticing, he would make himself known, but it was safest to go incognito for the moment.
G scanned the crowd with sharp eyes, scenting the air carefully and scrutinizing everyone that he passed by. They seemed so self-absorbed, ignoring the rest of the world in their single-minded ventures. He saw wit and skill in a select few, sure, but none so good as to bring on his mission. Luckily, G was patient; he'd spend days here in wait, if necessary.
(Ughh... This is rather helter-skelter. I apologize, Shrewd! I wasn't sure what else to put; I actually kept coming back to this and changing it. Feel free to, er, sic something on me. o^o; And do you prefer the paragraphs spaced like this, or is it alright to leave them a bit more mashed together? I don't know, there's too much pressure~ TmT)