While walking behind Mary, a small sensation hits the nephilim lord and he halts in place. A slight snarl ripples up his lips, bareing one of his fangs. He clenches his fists, struggling to maintain control over whatever rush of anger that presently seethes through him.

As he looks at Mary, whom is apparently occupied in detaining her new prisoner, he looks back at the marines and then back at Mary again. He then remembers Sera, whom betrayed him during her time with Kawen. He remembers Shenba and her bigotry. And he even remembers Kawanua who was so infatuated with his dead wife that he attempted suicide at almost every turn. They had their own issues, of course, and should not be judged as anything more harsh. But he had traveled with these people. He had trained with these people. And he loved these people. People in which have now turned away from him.

He is now an emperor and should be above such base grudges. And yet he is not. He should be able to make fair, educated, tactical decisions and yet he is vulnerable. He is one of the divine royalty. And yet he feels corrupted due to his identical resemblance to the dark lord Duriel; a dark lord who apparently has been silent for quite some time now.

And now he is finally with someone he understands, and who understands him in return, for what little he has told her. And yet there is still this undying fury that is buried within his inner core. Something that desperately tries to claw its way out.

He has experienced much in his younger years. Traveling with an immortal warrior wizard that is haunted by not only his tragic past, but also the constant bantering and temptations of the accursed sword in which he wields in battle. He has gotten to know a shape shifting prankster that seemingly has an unending supply of comic relief. Such a personality is priceless in times of peril. The shape shifter's companion, a warrior that is alien to Danyael, has such a high respect of honor and respect that no nobility could compare. And his army of little skeleton warriors and wizards are always an interesting sight as they pack more power than their miniature stature presents.

Then there is the young beloved of his former master. her red, angelic wings and hopeful face have always made an impression on the nephilim lord. Maybe he had even loved her once upon a time. That remains to be seen. Despite the obvious fact that she has not shown much power in the past, it is also very obvious that she could quite possibly have more power than even he, himself. Her brother, on the other hand, is a mystery.

There was also the fire elemental. An brash, headstrong, bull-foolish and brilliant military leader. His passion for battle is exceeded only by his passion for peace and prosperity. Though the nephilim and the elemental had not yet had a chance to get to know one another, he respected the man without a doubt, despite the fact that the militarist slammed his head into a tree out of illogical reasoning.

There was also the angel. Or perhaps he was an Arch angel. The nephilim never really knew much of the divine one that traveled alongside in the past battles. But he knew one thing about him. The Angel was always one to depend on to be at one's side to fend back the tides. And that is more than good enough when it comes down to trust. His vampire companion, however, was ominous in many different ways. But power was surely his greatest hold. Especially raw power.

The two royals of the Umbra were his least favorite. But they, too had their share of respectable characteristics. The queen, though she thinks of herself more as a guardian, has rarely ever been on the mephilim lord's good side. He thought it to be more of a miracle that she has not spoken a word since he last saw her on the planet. He honestly didn't even know if she was on the same ship as he, or not. He did respect her, in some senses of the word, and even had a small crush on her in his more immature, inexperienced years as a potential for the Guardian Order. But that was nothing more than an innocent crush. A crush that was soon quelled from her constant bantering and cursing, risking a battle at every turn. She had better mind her manners before she gets her nose clipped...again... But she was also a loyal companion to her allies. And none could say different about how she had always strived to be there for those she cared for. If she had a heart, as cold as it was...

And finally, the supposed King of the Umbra. He was never on the nephilim's good side. They would be having a showdown soon enough to end old scores. Damned, arrogant mullipuff... He thinks of himself as a God... how false he really should know he is... He thinks fo himself as the ultimate in anything he does. He thinks of himself as above perfect, and in that aspect, above everyone else. He was always laughing to himself when other people found it highly inappropriate. Always saying the worst possible insults. Always flaunting around his power as if it were some toy he never tired of. Always starting fights and posturing. And always attempting to sound intelligent in his own, pathetic impertinent jokes that made absolutley no sense in any aspect of logic. But that was not to say that he was a good man. For he was a good man....in a manner of speaking. He too had compassion for those that needed saving. He was honorable, on random occasions, as one of the two surviving Guardians of the Umbra's council. And he always knew how to smile. A smile is a treasure worth a million worlds, afterall. And despite his blue haird freak of a friend, he always strived to be supportive in times of need. And that is always valuable, no matter how someone puts it.


And yet, despite the good that Danyael had seen in these people, he despised them greatly. A hatred so corrupted that Duriel himself had gained the upper hand and is more bonded to him than he would have been capable of before. Keeping Duriel in check was never easy. And it was the biggest burden he ha dever come across. Hopefully the darkness would not overtake him and turn him agains his allies. For it is the dark side of his power that forces such primal emotions in Danyael. When the nephilim lord pondered on this, he prayed his allies would be able to help him. But how can he ask for help if he can't even bring himself to trust them? A questionm he would have to answer for himself, should the time come around.

With his thoughts now in mind, he rushed past Mary in a gruff fashion. He had nothing to say to her. And he had nothing worth saying. All he did was look her in the eyes as he passed. There was very little else to be done except that.
When he had finally passed, he turned his head forward and stormed off into the next corridor.

When walking down the hallways, he approached a large room; an observatory of sorts. There he could see the chaos that would be known as the eyes of terror. Thoughts rushed through his mind about what would occur during his time with these people. During his time in the Eye of terror. And during his time dealing with the devil inside that desires to be unleashed. But then again, everyone has their own devils to contend with. And as such a fact is true, everyone's devils are dangerous in their own, individual, unique ways.