She is magnificent - anybody who calls her gender the fairer sex have clearly never met her, for he would be confident in her ability against any man. Except, perhaps, him, in all his testosterone-fuelled arrogance. He, too, wonders whether he should be feeling potent rage towards her for the way she had abandoned him and the Regime, left him in charge of the mongrels that she had invited into their lofty empire. And, perhaps, there is an element of anger in the nip he seeks to plant upon her shoulder - yet it is obliterated by the sheer animal need that devours him whenever he's near her. What is sentient thought, when their bodies growl with desire? What is the point of displaying their anger in words, when they can display it through actions? Through the slamming of his hips against hers, through the bellows of their passions like two rutting beasts in the night, through the demons that will unfurl within her womb and bless the earth like demigods - yes, the gargoyle is a man of desires, and the mere sight of Confutatis in all her bloody glory is enough to set his pulse to racing and his loins to burning. When combined with the aroma of the blossoming rose between her thighs - ah, he is hardpressed not to simply swoop now and take.

They're only children. "Aye - who has wronged you so that you would turn your power against innocents?" No, Tyradon is not going to judge. No pegasi child is innocent, and in his past he has slaughtered foals that still stand at their mother's hip. He does not shirk from early exterminations, yet for all Confutatis' brutality he had always thought the weakness tenderness of her gender would break through when it came to children. Oh, how foolish of him, to assume so! Like him, she is ruthless. This, even more than her wafting scent and alluring danger, is what draws him to her. She will make a fine dam. Strong, unafraid to do what is necessary to ensure survival. Not given to fits of weakness in the form of being gentle - because, as Tyradon well knows from raising his own children, it's best to be cruel to be kind. Why raise a weak foal with love, when you can raise a strong one with fear?

Ears pivot to detect her second words, and a slow, steady smirk of intense wickedness spreads across his savage jowls. "Is that what you wish to do with me now you have me back here? Fight me?" Because, vulgar as he is, the obsidian monolith had been leaning towards a certain other F-word when he deigned to return here. Oh, he would love to test his strength against her - to bear down like an avenging angel upon her flesh and receive the burn of her acid in return, to watch as Cynder and her mongrel duelled for dominance and, when they finally collapsed in a bloodied mess of pounded skin and elevated hormones, to bring her to her knees and ravish. But not today. No, today his desires pool in his loins, not in the warrior that lives in his heart.

Ah, the question he has been expecting. "Ruling," he declares, rumbling baritone emotionless and cold as ever despite the incessant burning that soars through the lower sections of his body. "I grew sick of this stunted little place and its stunted little inhabitants. Our Regime could never work when Helovia was unwilling to embrace all that we were trying to achieve - so I left, to ply my trade where it would be more appreciated. I am a king." Emperor, tyrant! He was born to lead, born to rule, and rule he does - his people adore him, and they are devout believers in his cause. "And you? Last we met, we were planning our domination - but then you were gone." A feral hiss leaves him at the end of his words, tone demanding. He has given her the answers she desires, now it is her turn.