He was more of an aware creature than he might let on. Perhaps he is a bit brash and focused, but he did not let his pack fall into too much chaos of a kind he doesn't approve of. He traverses the land that is his own, like a omen painted from blood and rot. He inhales the scents as they linger in the air, creatures lingering in the dark waters nearby. Those eyes do not bother him, do not even give a flinch to his rippled muscles as he rumbles past them like a low heavy beast.

These swamps are his and his alone. He had become possessive of them as time went on, filling parts of the bog with flesh and bones. A truly macabre sight to behold, one that he views with sinister sunset eyes. But his eyes were not upon his makeshift throne, but on the tall grass ahead as the smell of an intruder ravishes his flared nares. He was keen on the smells of his swamp, the essence of his very being as his, and it only triggered a switch of aggression smelling someone foreign so close.

As time passes so does he, his paws mighty crashing against earth as he flexes muscle to get even closer to his destination. He sees them come into view. He sees with his own sunset eyes, his very flesh and blood , and hears his words. It only stirs his hackles to raise, bloody knives blasting forth as peeks above the tall grass that covers his blackened form. He slams through whatever foliage dare try to impede his path. He truly was like a raging bull, kept wild simply for the sake of being so. Sure, he heard the snarls and growls, saw the intruder and Ishtar's child. Yet it was his own son who needed a correction.

His meaty jaws flashed open, strong and blocky in nature for he was more developed in his jaw line than anywhere else. He could pack a punch with his alabaster fangs, and crunch through bone with ease with his crushing molars. Ripped lip or not, he was not going to tolerate any sort of ignorant words from his own son. He came like a bat out of hell, reaching out with deliberate determination to grasp the muzzle of his son, a firm and tough grip for of all the creatures on this Earth, Astaroth would be able to tolerate such punishment. Astaroth was a he in many ways, and as such, he needed a constant reminder who was a stronger, who was larger, and who was alpha. Astaroth was just standing around like an idiot, spouting off idiocy instead of chasing off the intruder. His jaws clamp down around Astaroth's muzzle, a snarl of pure power and aggression exploding from his own mouth as he violently shakes. It is only a short, quick burst, but should be enough to prove his point. He released the muzzle, but he does not back down. He is like a tower of darkness, keeping his form high and imposing his pure dominance over his young son, keeping his fangs in his face and his eyes bearing down upon him with only a touch of insanity.

"I am alpha, of ALL of you, and don't you ever forget it!" he snarled, ending in a snap towards his eye before readily turning his attention towards the...old woman and young demon. He does a single snap in their direction, yet one eye never breaks from Astaroth, his tail high and barely touching Astaroth's side - a trick to tell if he dare moves towards him.

"If she does not belong here, then KILL her, you fool," he demanded, of both of them really but mainly of Astaroth. He cared not if Hepziah had demanded to take the old woman on herself, he cared not the circumstances at all. For now, he simply commanded his pack to kill the intruder on sight, and they better do it now, less they happen to have a devil'd tongue and convince his enraged brain otherwise before his tense muscle dash in for the kill.