The voices had been silent ever since he reached a certain point, and Pax took that to mean he was free to choose where to go from there. The phantom was taking the opportunity to rest his legs by the water he'd found - an expansive, beautiful lakelike formation that looked almost like a mirror. He liked looking at his reflection and trying to picture how many voices hid behind his eyes. Surely they were so abnormally colored simply because of that very reason - red was associated with evil or malevolence, and that was what most considered Pax's idea of goodness.
But the voices had such wonderful ideas. There could be no wrong in their words.
Red was the color of good. Therefore, blood was the color of good. The voices wanted blood, which was red, which was the color of good. So the voices were nothing but good. It was simply so, in Pax's mind. But others did not see it from his expanded point of view, and therefore he had to behave well in front of the heretics and nonbelievers. He'd either convert them, or they would simply need to turn inside out and bleed for the voices.
He would paint this world with red.
That was precisely what needed to occur for the voices to be pleased. And then, at the end of the vessel's life, he himself would turn to blood, and he would be good. It made perfect sense to the deranged wolf, who was not at all enjoying the silence in his mind as he pawed at the surface of the mirrored lake. It rippled his reflection, and his tail thumped the ground once as he whispered over and over again to himself, his singular voice taking on soft languages that did not exist.