Two colored gaze of the devil's dark knight shines bright in the chasm of tales and flame. Belial's interest is quick to wane, his patience worn thin with the infantile beast, even in the seconds that follow his words. Children are nothing to the Seraph's son, mere blips on the radar of meaningless life, potential for soldiers but good for naught else. He watches this one with a dispassionate eye; will the boy serve the winning side, or fall with angels when the heavens collapse beneath their opulent weight? Goblin, he deems it, unworthy of rank; a thing with potential, but little sign of intelligence. Fire, it says, and a great ear flicks back- incompetence is intolerable. A binary was presented. The child broke the rules.

A black, empty form looms in the mouth of the cave, and the demon glances up to the impure beast, a smirk of disdain pulled tight on white lips. So, the lesser have come, with their meaningless mass; demonchild sees him not as warlord but smoke, an incomplete phantom unworthy of time. What does it want, stagnant creature of black? To pollute the air with its rank, putrid breath? It speaks not, moves not; it is useless, inconsequential, and the demonchild is bored. Even more than the goblin, the stallion is nothing, pushed aside from his interest by the mere lack of horn - no true son of hell does not wield a sword.

The behemoth returns to his minuscule prey, black rumble growing at the grey eye'd colt's words. "Ignorance is weakness," the devil informs - parroting his mother, though he is not aware. What chance does the goblin have, without knowledge of the world, the forces at play past the gaze of the blind? Belial can see them, rising and falling in endless dissent, the foes of the ages who conquer the sky. Demons rise and angels fall in an endless entanglement of light versus dark- surely anyone with potential can see, can decide, can choose their own kingdom to slaughter and loathe. The bay bastard snorts, his tail whipping fast; unimpressed, unamused, black legs itch to leave. This place reeks of safety, and he has more desecration to wreak. Large head swings around. He debates moving away.

The little goblin speaks once more, but the demon has missed the moment of recognition that preceded those words, the contact of minds made by father and son. Instead he hears words, a piteous question on a quavering voice that hovers on strength but does not cross the gate. He does not turn back, the white-maned beast, but looks at the pictures that litter this wall. Winged brutes and bitches, nothing worthy of note; impurity and lies, embalmed for eternity. Cinnoru does not dance on these walls; the devil's own brother is a memory of few. Nobody knows of the truth in the world.

Perhaps it is his lot, to inform this goblin child.

"They are everything," the devil decrees, and the broad neck arcs back to inspect the dark colt. "Angels are light, the forces of sky. They ride through the Heavens with swords of flame and righteousness; they are bright and eternal, bland legions of good." The last word is spat into blank, empty space, disgust riding dark in the beast's pale eyes.

"Demons are darkness," the lesson goes on. "They are the reason why fools skirt away from the dark, why fear clings so tight to the back of your heart, why night falls relentless and the sun is devoured." Something glows hot in the rasped, rumbled words, a passion ignited by this speech of the Truth. The monster continues, spurred on by his faith, "Demons are soldiers in the army of Hell, liars and devils who draw blood and sow fear. Demons are power. Angels are weak."

Binary, always, the devilchild ignores that smooth, gentle nag; that his mother is Seraph, that he is Angel's Son. The world exists in mere darkness and light; for Belial, grey zones are best left untouched. Mother is Angel, but an Angel of Death, a fallen queen of darkness who wears the guise of light. Belial is sin and chaos and fear. Nothing exists but the light and the dark.

"Angel or demon?" the brute asks again, demand of the goblin held tight in his voice. Now it knows Truth it cannot avoid, must choose friend or foe. Should the child claim darkness, it may stand a chance; but if it is Heaven's, it will fall with the rest of the cherubic spawn, and he shall walk on its bones when the Rapture arrives.

[ @[Archibald], @[Reginald]. Sorry for the wait! D: ]