Suspended from chains, the man swings, dangling from the quasi-real ceiling of the White Room.
 
Delve sighs happily, staring at his newest acquisition. His new friend, that weird little misborn, had told him all about this place. Acetyl had even been kind enough to show Delve how to get there on his own. Delve had been skeptical; the whole thing sounded more like a madman's rantings than reality. But it was true, all true, and he was very much enjoying his first solo visit.
 
No windows, no doors. Just white walls, white ceiling, shelves and hooks... and everything else you might need.
 
Delve doesn't understand quite how the White Room works, how exactly it manages to stock those shelves every time anew as if reading the visitor's mind, but he doesn't need to understand. All he cares about is that it is a place for his kind, a safe place: perfect for his play today.
 
The man shivers. He is nude; his sleek hairless skin offers a matte sheen under the diffuse ivory light of the playroom. Delve's canine jaws split into a ragged grin.
 
The killer leans forward, extending a clawed hand to caress his prey's naked genitals. They hang limp and unaroused, of course, shrivelled against his body in terror. The human whimpers, trying to cringe away from the vicious coydog. However, the chains allow only a small amount of motion. Just enough to please Delve's acute sense of textural aesthetics.
 
Delve is particularly pleased with the restraints the White Room conjures. The cold iron chains show a malevolent gleam, and the leather portions are not limited to boring brown or uniform black. In fact, crimson red is far more common, though the most common is an oddly stainless white. White, red, and black strips of leather are braided through all the chains, hanging down in loose tassels here and there.
 
With a victim strapped into place, with blood flowing onto the restraints, power seems to thrum and whistle through them. It drips from the tassels into the air, its scent dazzling the killer.
 
The man is blindfolded. He has no idea what is going on, who has him, or what is coming. All he knows is that his day started normally, raping a fifteen-year-old prostitute before a breakfast of stones - specifically, white rocks of a special variety.
 
And then, as he was walking his bitch out the door to take her to work, someone had hit him from behind. Before he could reach his piece, something sharp pierced his neck, and darkness claimed his will to retaliate.
 
He had awoken in darkness. Suspended midair vertically by his arms, tethered from the bottom about his ankles, so tightly he is unable to do little more than swing a bit, any possibility of retaliation was long dead.
 
Blindfolded, gagged, he struggles to make some kind of sound, to demand information, make indignant mouth noises. All he manages is a kind of small, piteous mumbling.
 
Delve's hungry grin broadens. He allows his short but filed-sharp dog's claws to draw short, shallow cuts in the man's testicles, just deep enough to bleed... one, two, three apiece. Then he drags his talons out to the man's thighs, digging deeper as he goes, until he's flexing his knuckles to rake the man's inner thighs as deep as he can as they drag down to the knees.
 
An anguished howl against the gag. Blood gouts from a severed artery. Delve leans forward, lapping up the hot blood, hissing in glee as it flows over his tongue and down his throat.
 
Aware by the taste that he has severed an artery and must work quickly, Delve lunges for the bastard's genitals, crushing them between his bone-breaking molars. Quickly he tears his way forward, literally climbing the man's body with teeth and claws, ripping upward in seconds to get to the man's throat and chest.
 
He goes wild, shredding thrashing gulping slashing until the whole area is in ruins, fixing his jaws around a collarbone, ripping it away even as one hand tears past the voicebox and rips the trachea and esophagus into spaghetti while the other hand struggles for purchase on the sternum.
 
Stripping the obnoxious bone away, Delve lunges at the sweet muscle with his teeth while the hot blood still pumps, before the body heat trails away.
 
When the guts spill with an indignant plop, the killer forces his small body into the cavity as much as he can, immersing himself in the gore as he rips and swallows, devouring.