[His heart is pounding in his thin chest, pebbles and the occasional bit of broken glass prick at his bare feet, and those wings, while they seem to sense and react to danger, don't seem to want to carry him through the air. That's part of the dismaying catch he's noticed more and more as he's been here; the things about him that make him inhuman, the wings, the waxy, mantis-like forearms, the eerie, black eyes... none of them benefit him. None of them help him survive. If anything, they just make him more helpless and prone.

He didn't think he'd ever wish for it again, but... perhaps he did belong in a dark room.

His path twists and turns, he leaves false trails, and he does everything possible to throw off his pursuer. Even when he's terrified, L is resourceful and clever... but that wall is too tall for him to scale. His breath catches and he turns to face the hell-hound, his toes curling against the pavement and bits of ash.

He wonders what it'll be like to die like this. How much pain there will be, if he'll bleed much or not at all, if it'll be quick or drawn-out.]

Monsters must die...

[He numbly parrots words he's heard before, but they don't sound right, they don't seem right, like this... his eyes widen as his back flattens against the brick wall. Nowhere else to go.]

I'm not like you...