Azrael was used to fire. Used to burns. Especially in more damaging locations like the inside of his throat. But this wasn’t normal fire. It burned black and cold and made him feel sick. His head was spinning and whispers were growing in his ears. This was corruption, then. He truly had succeeded in creating a child of the Black Spire. But now he asked himself…had that been wise?

He quickly patted out the remainder of the flames, feeling his palm and the lid of the eye in the hand stinging with pain at the sensation, but he quickly shook it out, instead turning to see the state of his creation.

And what he saw broke his heart. Empty eyes. Limp, defeated, weak. It had only just hatched. Should it not be bursting with energy and potential and the bloodthirst of the other beasts of chaos? Did it have no control at all over its power? Was that the consequence of growing a chrysalis before the Spire?

Azrael swallowed and slowly got to his feet, feeling whatever anger he should have displayed at the attack dissipate in an instant. He stared for a moment longer at the child, wishing it would look at him, but it turned away, looked at Vargas instead.

He crossed his arm, cradling his wounded arm, concern burning in his stomach. After a moment of silence, he also looked at Vargas, for the first time as a superior rather than an equal or a rival. He knew more of this, of Chaos and of creating. And Azrael was utterly lost in how he was supposed to go forward, how he would deal with this unruly creation of disorder.

Most of all, he wondered… ”Have I made a mistake?” It was quite and horrified, out of character for the usual fierce pride and confidence. Tactless, of course, but Azrael could think of nothing else.

@Vargas

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas, for all his oblivious nature at times--and more than occasional lack of 'normal' compassion--was generally good at reading others, at calculating and deciding how best to proceed. Admittedly he often fouled up when it came to more intricate social graces: but his very task as Overseer had been assessing, modifying, even manipulating others to draw out the best of their potential.

Now, he looked down at the child and saw its innocent pride and confidence dented. That was, in some ways, a necessity and good. Had it continued with unshatterable faith in its own Chaos it would have merely self-destructed--it almost had. But now it looked to him for guidance: a prime opportunity to do just that, to guide. And, to his surprise, so did Azrael.

He glanced from Ruby-One to Azrael, and lowered himself calmly to his haunches, swiping absently at the burns that now laced his own forelimbs as he did so. "You have done nothing wrong!" he boomed to the demon, gaze switching back to the child instead. There was confident reassurance in his tone. "Nor have you. The power you were born with is great, and it is normal for it to be chaotic, at first. That is its very nature. You will learn the world and learn control, and then learn to apply that control to the world as you see fit: that is what we will teach you. To train you to use this strength! Do not fear the pain," he added, gesturing at the burns. "It fades, even from memory." He paused, taking a breath, eyes ranging over the child. We need a mender, he mused, and not for the first time. The Forge had those who knew the basics, certainly, but no one that could simply shift wounds--not that he was aware of, at least.

"As for the Why: we serve Chaos, yes. But in doing so you may choose your own way. Some of the Forge--to which you now belong--serve in battle. Others serve as spies, and scouts. Some are hunters, or guardians, or raise the children--such as yourself! You will meet them. And others grow food, or create structures for our use. We will find what you feel most suited to," he assured it.

There: let it focus on the future; let it know that it was not hopeless, that its power and control would come. That while it had support, it would also have some agency. He would give it further details in time, of course--maybe even now, depending on its response. But he hoped that this, at least, would ease its mind some.

@V-Ruby-One

From where it was curled up on the ground, it turned its head to look at Azrael when it asked that question that sent a needle into its heart. A mistake? Is that what it was? Was its own father cursing its existence? Had this Chaos rooted out all he intended? Would he abandon it?

Who cares!

No, it cares.

No, it doesn't!

It clutched at its head with a paw, as if it would quell the war raging under its skin. It hated Azrael, but it loved him. It hated Chaos, but it was a part of it. Did it hate itself, truly? No. But it hated right now. Everything felt misty, the burning pain was making it hard to think properly.

It looked up at Vargas - he was the only one making sense, but it still hated that. Hated that he feigned understanding. That he could explain what was happening. Because it wasn't happening to him. There wasn't flame bursting from his skin, there wasn't darkness spilling from his bones. He. Wasn't. CHAOS.

Chaos was this - at once wanting to rip Vargas's eyes out and barely able to stop itself from doing so, with no reason behind it other then it could. It felt a deep empty pit within it that it immediately was able to name a lack of violence. Whispers seemed to constantly be disrupting each thought in the back of its mind. He spoke of serving Chaos, but what was this order he spoke of? Some are hunters, some are assassins...NO. Its mind screamed against the box Vargas was offering out. It wouldn't go in, it wouldn't be contained in one thing! It will rip the structures down! It will break what control he has on this place! The Spire pulsed behind it and it felt its fury, its hunger, and it was its own.

It suddenly found itself looking straight at Vargas, toxic eyes meeting each other, and the world, which had previously felt like it was doubling, tripling, swimming before it, suddenly stabilized. The violent urges were draining away as quickly as it came. It released a breath it didn't realize it had been holding and quickly looked away, embarrassed by the control almost lost again. Control couldn't come soon enough.

"Okay." Was all it said in return. Words didn't exist in its throat right now. All it felt was exhausted. The pain was coming back in droves and it didn't want to feel anymore. "Where do I sleep?" It heard a sudden snort from behind and it whipped its head around to glare at Azrael, who had stayed silent through Vargas's speech. Hatred pooled in its eyes again at the sight of its father. What, was it funny? Funny to want to sleep, to want to rest? What other cruelties did he have in store, next to bringing it into this shit world?

@Vargas skipping Azrael this round he's just standing there looking mildly thoughtful

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas snorted, too. "Right to business, hm? Good!" Another booming word, this one one of praise. He glanced to Azrael. "Take it directly back to the Black Spire. This will help you," he added, looking back to the child as he explained this. "There are few places in these caves that will--but meditating there will help with the Chaos I have mentioned. This is something you must do now and then, or your magic will overwhelm and kill you! You may sleep near it, for now, but beyond that, this cave is free for any to rest as they see fit. Just do not touch the Spire itself. Its magic," and here his rigid face seemed to twist into something resembling a grin, "is hungry. Beyond this? You will earn a name; you will earn, given time, the right to leave Draco, but for now you will stay here. I am certain your life- and stone-givers may be willing to teach you a few things... but find me when you are ready to begin true training."

A nod to Azrael, and Vargas had pushed back up: pacing past, then turning, glancing at the pair. "Did you have any other questions?" he asked.

@V-Ruby-One (and/or Azrael)