ORIGIN

Tail swished behind him as he took a step forward so that he was in a more comfortable conversation range with Vargas - no need to be on the defensive anymore, as it was no longer a battle. Eyes narrowed as he considered his words, a lip curling after a comment struck a nerve. "Use me? I am not a weapon. Not a toy! That, he would make perfectly clear. He was in charge of his own life and he had no intention of letting himself become some pawn or plaything in the game of someone else's making.

But, he had to admit, he had been thoroughly impressed by the fighting skills of the Master. If all others in his...group had such skills, then Azrael would be among kin. If not, then he would tower over the others, casting the others into his shadow. And if they were greater...then he had much to take away. To be honest, Azrael didn't have any reason not to join, other then his dislike of authority.

When Vargas mentioned reproduction, spawning others from the stones of Valkhounds (whatever those were), Azrael's eyes flicked again to Ruby-Beta. He had noticed before, but now he looked again and realized how deeply they resembled the other. The same head shape and acidic eyes, the spines and the color. Ruby-Beta was only smaller and more feline. Perhaps it had been spawned from a cat. And the ones at the door held Vargas's likeness as well. A sudden need rose in his chest. Imagine...his own spawn as well, prowling the caves as Mater Vargas's did. He remembered the day that Banshy had hatched and the deep primal satisfaction at seeing himself in another, seeing his spawn, a new life of his own making, walking and speaking and hunting.

While he didn't know what a Valkhound was, the name carried weight and Azrael figured it was something important, something powerful. Greed flickered in his eyes. Yes, he wanted that. He didn't mind if it had to be earned - it was only natural that he would have to prove his place. He would expect the very same, if he were in Master Vargas's place. But there was one thing he had yet to ask, yet to consider.

He raised a claw and pointed it at Vargas. "You are a competent fighter. My blood has not run so hot in many cycles. I thank you. I said my support is yours if you fight well...and our goals align. You said I would fight with you, but you have not told me what you fight for." It came down to that. If he didn't like what he was fighting for, then there was no power in the world that would get him to fight. At the very least, he knew they were no friend to Mother.

Azrael narrowed his eyes as he took in Vargas's words and their meaning resonated deep in the pit of his stomach. "These caves are not a place of freedom." Well...obviously. If they were, then there would be no walls, no ceiling. There would be endlessness, not a finite world. But he did not imagine that there was some greater power, some all-seeing Creator. He didn't want to accept what Vargas was saying - that he was created as just some tool, some weapons for another. No, it was against his very nature to bow to anyone else, let himself be but a sword in anothers' hand, but Azrael was no fool. He glanced at the writhing Black Spire and knew what Vargas was telling him was true.

Was that it, then? Would his pride and strength and passion only ever amount to being a pawn?

He growled, but it was out of frustration, not an intended threat to continue their fight. "So. We are just playthings, are we? Our purpose - every purpose of everyone - is to serve a Creator we never met?" If the Creator had created him, then why had it not appeared to him in his life? Why had he not known, or anyone he had known, for that matter? He opened a claw and looked at the eye within, staring back at himself, as if contemplating what he was, who he was, who he was supposed to be.

Was...was it Forgraves' purpose too, to serve? And Banshy? The old names rang in his head like a sweet, lost memory. He couldn't imagine the fox having anything to do with chaos and war. He let out a grunt and looked back at Vargas. "I ask this then. You say the caves exist for his will. But I know those outside of Chaos. Not of Order," and he spat the word like it fouled his tongue to say, "but with peaceful intentions. Who do not fight. Who only live. Are they not of His design and will as well?"

He frowned, tossing and turning the possibilities in his head. He could accept the offer of an alliance and walk away now, free to do his own work. But what work was that? He had no purpose, no goal or ambition. And the tantalizing offers of spawning valkhound and ravaging worlds and...the surface, which Azrael had never dreamed truly existed until now, would be lost to him. But if he accepted, he would be, as he said, a tool.

But he wasn't one that couldn't take new steps. He could learn to accept his role. And if he decided, in the end, that it wasn't worth the rewards, there wasn't a power that could stop him from leaving then and there. And besides, there was something dark blooming in his heart. An idea, a stupid one, oh so, so stupid, but ever so delicious.

He held up his head, decision made. "I will join you. You fight against Mother, that is more then enough for me. My time since burning her in the swamp has been gray, empty. If I must be a tool to give life purpose, then a tool I will be. I will burn your enemies, and the Creator's as well."

It was with a strange measure of relief that there were powers outside the Creator in the caves, that not every bit within would serve some great, violent purpose. While Azrael did not mind bloodying his claws (in fact, he relished it), there were others - ones he cared about - that he never wanted to see battle. They were grown, yes, independent, of course, and he had not seen them in some time, but Forgraves had always been a healer, not a fighter. Banshy, perhaps, may grow to be a strong warrior, but he had always shown peaceful intentions. He would be the violent one, so that they did not have to be.

"I see," he rumbled. "Then there is no quarrel with them. They live their lives as they wish. Fine."

His next words stirred the beast within Azrael. A Master...from someone who was not one before? Was it possible, then, that simple gembound could rise to that role? Or something even greater then that? Even though he had only taken his first step, Azrael already felt himself yearning for more. An ambitious creature's first taste of power and the potential to grasp it for himself. The more powerful...the greater the freedom. He stood up taller and snorted loudly, heat blooming again in his chest, the glow against his skin growing brighter, his eyes literally gleaming from the pure fire that raged through his bones. Oh yes...if chaos rewarded power then he would embody it, as he had always done and dreamed to do - a ravager, a warrior, a force of destruction.

"Thank you," he rumbled, a sincere thank as he could give, but it was unclear what he thanked for - a place in the Forge or the path to power he had shown him. The glow dimmed as the magic faded, but he still felt excitement itching beneath his pelt. "Must you even ask? I am a FIGHTER, a DESTROYER. But I can hunt, as well. Lessers and Greaters alike. I will burn your enemies...and feed your soldiers. Is this role an acceptable one?" Azrael sure hoped that the Forge had enemies. It had been so long since he had anything worth fighting for.

He glanced at Ruby-Beta, eyes narrowed and twitching with faint amusement. Freedom to roam? So much work for the poor beast, only to be allowed to walk around the caves. If Vargas, or anyone else, tried to keep him in this tiny, dusty cave...well, the walls would crumble before he let it rest. "Yes. You are still weak and a COWARD, but if you are as good at hunting as you are at jabbering, then we shall have our rematch. But this time, I will WIN."