Blood; hunger; death; fury; devastation; hate. Thoughts and images of the aforementioned raced through Alykoth's mind at blistering speeds, searing their taints in his brain. Poisoned was his soul, infected at that blasphemous well on that darkened and distant star. That infinatly long, rigid-straight shaft, descending into the utter blackness of the planet's core, where Alykoth had supped from the lifeblood of the starborn and had bestowed upon him the maddness and hideous, eldrich power of the Ancients. Upon the first drop of the starborn's blood reaching Alykoth's tongue, he was flung mercilessly into the realm of material chaos, where his mind was ravaged past any point of hope, and torn asunder to make way for the Truth.
When he awoke, Alykoth found himself (unexplainably, of course) back on Eden, the planet serving as home for the last recent years. Though he was on Eden, Alykoth's mind was still trapped in the centre of that nameless well on Kylth-Bal, countless billions of lightyears away. Thus, Alykoth was never, and will never be the same. He has, however, taken one hideous and frighteningly necessary step toward his complete future.
Instantly thristy for bloodshed, Alykoth threw out his mental detectors, hoping with deathlust that life would be near.
And near it was. Two signals, both of...moderate strength, at best. Combined they might make for a half-worthwhile fight. So, driven by a barely controlled frenzy for slaughter, Alykoth took off at unimaginable speeds in the direction of said lifesignals, delighted at his good (and grim) fortune.