Savage triumph reigned in his brutal little heart. He'd won.

Sure, he couldn't really touch Vargas, and the Leviathan was still threatening to rip his eyes out and kill him but he wasn't, so Imp had won.

"Yeah, fuck you too," he answered, but it was a murmur, half-whispered under his breath.

He grinned, feeling lighter, feeling in fact elated. He'd faced his fear, and his fear was currently wandering off, beaten. Aethril really had raised a wall between him and these shitbag Masters, then.

Good.

Fuck 'em.

He said a sort of mental prayer to Aethril herself--a mutter of gratitude. "I'm gonna draw you the best fucking penises you've ever seen," he assured her, to himself. She was fucking awesome.

Imp turned, and took wing from Draco, a bright flash of color against its drab void-light--cackling all the way.