Darkness stirs on the dank horizon, trailing up the rocky crag in tendrils of power and whispers of deep seated corruption. Stones blacken beneath the weight of the approaching beast; the sky grows dim and glowing red behind the film of the demon's cloudless eyes, secrets of a lonely day trapped behind a subtle mind, memories of the sleek and sensual form of a monster long forgotten dredged from the volcanic ash of a desolate consciousness as the herald of despair crests and crashes before his eyes. Demonchild watches with impassive glance, yet secret excitement stirs at his breast. He remembers the devil from last they met; and although he was unworthy then to cast himself at the height of the brute, he now stands confident in the strength that courses wickedly down his veins.

In silence he appears, a creature of the black abyss come to welcome the angel into his embrace. He knows not fear, the child of hell; he watches willingly and with open embrace, hears the words and knows that now he must respond, must offer secrets to win his way into the underbelly of power where this behemoth resides. Shifting slightly, tail lashing; strong eyes watch the monster, impassive and calm, a reflection of a face he knows from a memory and a dream that hides the secrets of a world where death runs riotous and apologies do not exist. The gates of his kind lay at cloven hooves, ready to be smashed with the whisper of a name.

"Belial." It curls into the frigid air, a puff of steam and putrid breath. Belial - the fallen angel, the greater demon, betrayer and usurper and purveyor of Hell. Muscle and flesh ripple beneath the sleek mahogany coat; he raises his eyes but not his head, watching and waiting for Death's reply. Shall he have a name in return for his, a secret offered for a secret given? Or shall Death remain a shattered steed, a statue cased in cobalt blue and the secrets of evil past and present? "Son of Zuriel," he adds, a whispered tale drilled into the youth's mind- but he stops there, gives no more; for where the Seraph who birthed him took pride in the lines that trace to the Start, the demon knows that those secrets hold no stock here.

Duplicator and deceit, the child awaits his judgment day and knows that lies are meaningless here. He has found one who reflects himself; something akin the the empty spaces that fill his soul, the cavernous gape of his tangled mind, something manifest into this world too great for him to control, too perfect for him to deceive. He waits and watches Death and stirs in the wind, and wonders what secrets await him at the end of this trial.