Who really ever has what it takes to defeat the world's natural wonderful ways to create devastation? Who on the face of this realm could possibly think they are equipped well enough to deal with mother nature and all her forces? Fire, flood, freezing, blizzards, tornadoes, hurricanes, catastrophies such as this. This giant gaping pit, a hole that begs to be filled with the dead and dying, a whole mass grave, pre-dug, just for them. How nice it would be just to see them all burn and go to waste, food for the worms and the carrion birds. To hell with them, so he can play later. A dark shadow passes over him, and his ears flick but catch nothing, an owl then, nothing more. Fate has blessed this deadly being, this damnable soul, with a fiery insatiable lust for something. Something with an edge, something dark and sinister, something he likes to call "fun." When one looks around, at their neighbors, at the ones they call friends, and simply wished to hang out, this would be what he would equate a "good time" with. Murderous intentions gleam in the black and red eyes of this behemoth, his height and well muscled stature giving him an advantage that is really most unfair to the rest of the miserable world. Conflict, my dears, has come at long last to this place called...Moladion. And his is a facade to be remembered.

Ebony and blood ripple as the giant makes his way through the shadows, not a blade of grass nor tiny pebble dare to impede his silent paws. It seemed as if even the shadows lurched away from him, not wishing to be associated with such a dark being. Yes, there are the insane, yes, there are those who are dark minded, but...has anyone witnessed what wonders a true demon can work? A demon can heal, oh yes, they can do wonderfully powerful things. They whisper words of comfort to soothe your soul and dash the hope that rises in your eyes simply to prolong their game. To make one crumble, to force one to succumb, this was the true mission of the demon. The inky male makes his way down the wall of the gaping wretched hole, and nothing stood in his path, nothing would get in his way. His muscles ripple deliciously beneath his skin, physique enough to slay a female with lust alone. Snow only serves to expose him, but this night, the demon moon is out, a red cast of dark light encases everything in a dark undeniable shadow, it conceals him well, and nothing stands in his way.

Something catches the male's attention, and blood flecked obsidian turns to gaze upon the one so unlucky as to find this creature out, and looking for a good time. How many souls can he take in a single night? How many times can he play his games with the unfortunate innocent minds of Moladion wolves? He could play all night, but once the sun rose, this demon would be forced to find shelter, the blaring eye of the yellow sun threatens to burn his eyes and make him pay for the souls he already has played with. He must remember his mission however, find the one they speak of, this...Tobias. This boy who dares play as a Demon and breed with Angels. He has broken their first law, the first instruction, though no doubt the boy is simply one who is...not all there. Baphomet will have to see for himself. They multiply here, they reside here, and it is up to him to hunt them out and destroy what remains of the Angel line, be they half breed or otherwise, they must not exist alongside supposed Demons. That is not the way of it. They have a delicate foothold in the shaping of this land, the molding of its society, and Baphomet is here to see it all as it falls apart at the seams. All he has to do is unravel one delicate, little thread and the entire tapestry comes undone.

So, what is it that catches this titan's attention? Who is the unlucky one to catch his eye, to rouse his more...playful side? Poor unfortunate soul.

"I speak, you listen."