The time has come to find this demon boy, to search him out and offer him something no one else would dare to. He is curious about the male, the one who lays with Angelic daughters, and the one they whisper of. Born from white, they say, born from white and pitch black as his heart and soulless body. Baphomet grins, a haughty and truly tempting grin when turned on the females of any kind, and he saunters into the mid-eastern side of the gaping pit that he has found to be the loner lands of Moladion. Why the commoners would see fit to congregate in such a place, he would never know. But, even the Demon King must understand that for some a hole is simply a place to meet and speak, in a not so private way. His wounds from the fight have nearly healed, the scabs and slight scarring not causing heat and pain to spread through his body at all, only a slight tight feeling on his face when he speaks or grins as he is so often want to do. Great strides eat up the ground as he lopes along the face of the crater, moving ever downward in quick decent toward the bottom end of the pit. His red and black eyes move about, seeking anything in the shadows that will give away the younger boy, willing him into being almost. It is only when he reaches the bottom of the hole in the ground that he ceases any motion. Stopping in his tracks and searching about the darkness for the rumored lad. If the boy was near, Baphomet would draw him out, his deep low howl a small dare.

              Come out, come out where ever you are. The Demon King demands it, and no one leaves him waiting. Baphomet searches more, his ears flicking alertly for any sign of the dark pup he has dared into show. Eventually, Baphomet would go out in search of the boy, the need to find him a most severe one in his chest. It is important that the demon pup not force Baphomet's paw, things do not go so well for those he has to drag out by their toes.