He was sat not far from the Aperture--away from the Womb, for once, so as not to be in visual range of the cluster of children remaining there. His reasoning was good; he was gradually (painfully slowly, in fact) working on recovering his wounds, bit by bit. Magic was drawn from the grinding Black Spire in the room's center, and redirected to the Master.

A grimace was on his face, bits of sloughed-off, burnt skin lying below where new skin had grown. Scars were forming--faint, lessened by his leaping off the ground when first the electricity had fired off--but they, at least, looked interesting. They were faint, traceries of almost lightning streaks down one flank and leg. A marring of his body, certainly--but Draconua had, perhaps, earned that.

The quiet sense of approach--a strange odor, the light touch of pawpads on rock--had his head swinging around to find that someone had entered the cave without his noticing. Vargas at once tensed--this place would need to be kept clear of strangers--but... Ahh. Almost at once he recognized it, the black stains around the eyes, the black oil of its stone. These new creations that embrace Him cannot physically support Him, he reflected. Its batlike wings were an interesting thing to see, too, and Vargas pushed up, abandoning his recovery attempts to approach it.

He was looming, of course--massive--but he did not stalk over with a predator's gait nor stomp with the dominant aggression of some territorial but mindless beast. Instead his approach was matter-of-fact, head canted to one side, his six toxic eyes locked on Esther with interest.

"I am Master Vargas, the Leviathan, and this is the Womb of the Creator. Do you have reason to be here?" but the question held more curiosity than demand.

Vargas half-glanced back at Chaos-Two and its questions. "That is the effect of our magic on those unused to it," Vargas told it--"The Creator's magic. His power." Eyes swung back to Esther, listening to their response. He still wasn't sure how such magical corruption would play out, but it was interesting to see. Then again, some from his era had dripped--see Draconua; was it possible that this one was an ancient creation? It looked like one of the canines of this era, but grotesquely stretched, and its wings were... unusual. Its color was nothing like anything he'd known in the old days, though.

"Esther," he repeated, and it did not sound like an old name, or a new one, really; "Are you of this generation, or are you from before the long sleep? Curiosity, you say. If you have questions, ask them," he added, still studying it closely.

The short, sharp laugh that erupted from the Leviathan was abruptly, shockingly loud, but mercifully brief. "Who is the Creator! That answers my question, then, yes," and he glanced at V-Chaos-Two, as if expecting the little one to share his humor. -Ah, but it was--half-blind, and actually wouldn't share that humor, most likely-... Slightly dampened, Vargas looked to Esther again.

"Our Creator is the reason for this nest, and this nest exists to serve Him. You must be very young; only recently have these caves reawakened! And before then: sleep, for how long I cannot say, but long enough to wear away gem and rock."

Vargas grunted, reaching out one hand without asking, aiming to press clawed thumbs beneath Esther's jaw simply to turn it to one side--to get a better look at the oil slicking their face, there. "Tell me, how did you come to be touched by Him-?" he asked, curious. "Was it the Altar, perhaps-?" Behind him, grinding, breathing, was the Black Spire: of similar material, but a roaring source instead of a resultant trickle.

"As for the 'group,' those who serve Him will be operating out of here: this is Draco, the Womb." Free with his information, perhaps; but his demeanor made it clear that he expected his own answers in return.