He could have laughed at her question: what enemies didn’t they have? Master instigators and agent provocateurs, sinned and sinned against, blistering foes and combining masses of theories, of cretins, of fiends and spies – a network, a convolution of heresy beneath furtive, specious interludes and innocent rites. Even when they didn’t press, when they didn’t grind, stab, or lance, others found them to be a deadly rapture, a heathenous reverie, and attempted in desperate throngs to contain their bloodied rule. His diatribes could have long and winded, from the days where they lost their home to the draconic witch and her peace-loving kind, to the hours stretching beyond measure where they took and stole, festered and withered in the frostbreath caverns, when they finally grasped hold of a home, and when inept empires stole their children and absconded through shadows. But it was the latest, the Regime he held close to the heart, close to the sword, close to swift, utter damnation; and the memories cloistered, tethered together in his mind and in his lungs, Arah and her babes snatched, tortured, terrorized, when he took one of the bestial members and committed the same actions (only his ended in quietus, and he’d watched as the life seeped and writhed away from the lad; enjoyed every single moment of it). Then Hotaru had seized the snake, the head, the asp of their little band, and the juncture had seemingly ended, toppled, with no sovereign, no ruler, to take its place. But now – with the latter snagged by the Throat, the cobra would be allowed freedom and liberation; a consternation brewing in his barbaric schemes. Only when the Forsaken offered to bludgeon his mind, sneak and corrode his memories, did he finally respond with reticence and indifference. There was no need to hide the recent plagues, the instruments bent on plaguing them, because in due time, another pestilence was sure to follow. Whether or not it would be in the same pattern, the matching, identical, sinuous design, would have to be determined. “No need.” His piercing eyes slid over the edges of their land, searching, seeking, remembering the shades of damnation and wondering if he could push more into it. “The more recent enemies were The Regime, led by Tyradon and Confutatis. They sought rule through violence and thievery – stole several of our own before Confutatis was captured by Hotaru.” The Reaper’s eyes narrowed a minute fraction, jaw clenched, tight and taut, rigid and unyielding. “Which means with Hotaru’s imprisonment, the Regime leader has been freed.” Brows furrowed, lips parting only to inform of allies, of attempts, of stitches sewn and divided, snagged. “We are at peace with the Edge. Efforts were made to include the Falls, but they declined.” And none had bent towards the sand, the dunes, the wild, flying abyss of the Throat.

Death, you bring death, and destruction to all that you touch.