- ̗̀ BLOOD SPORT .

"I should take my leave though, things to see, people to kill." Or was it things to kill and people to see? Yavie supposed he'd make up his mind when he got there. Tepiltzin did try, but he was a terrible conversationalist; where his tongue failed to turn silver, that mop of curls atop his head closed the rest of the distance. Fortunately for them both the liche's candor was one that Yavie's capricious mind had a tendency towards, all Tepiltzin needed to do was make a few declarations of power and it was clear how similar the two of them truly were. Yavie would always forgive him though, so as he stood he left the liche with something of a parting song. "Tep-ilt-zin," Yavie sang, his tune light clear as a bell, "don't stay out of trouble." Somehow, the Astral doubted that the liche would be able to stop himself even if he wanted to, and true to Yavie's nature, he would be looking forward to what would come from what Tepiltzin would do next. The Astral turned away from the liche and just as quickly as he did the creature had disappeared entirely, fading almost instantly with the brief flicker of a blanket of stars foreign to any mortal sky.

Avery could not blame his damnation on his parents who witnessed his bleeding palms and cast him from their home, he had killed everything good within him in his twenty years spent away from Rome. I'm tired, so let me be broken -- in his time toiling in sin and violence he met a demon who mirrored the most violent aspects of himself, who demanded carnage and pain in return and it was that demon that he choose to feed. Darkness bloomed in his core and a sinister smile matched Tepiltzins. Family was an overstep but he did enjoy having company who craved destruction as much as he did. He poured them a glass of dark red wine and lifted his glass in cheers. "I'm not sure what their bigger picture plan is but there's a lot of changes within, a change in Sovereign and for some God forsaken reasons, they elected me Marshal and Watcher."

"The Rizzler can't be tamed, it's high time you figured that out." Wolfgang obnoxiously referred to himself in the third person as he folded his hands behind his head. There was someone that he was here with, but Nate was mortal so it's not like it could have ever really gone anywhere. The nephilim would get old and Wolfgang wouldn't, so what was the point? "But you're saying you came here for me? I'm writing that down; it's, like, so close to validation."

"You're like me." Yavie admitted, "You love yourself more than you'll ever be able to love someone else." As strong as the liche had become it was clear that the vampire hadn't managed this alone. It required magic, powerful magic that was capable of accessing and harnessing the powers of the Abyss. Anyone with enough intuition would know how that transpired, of those connected to the necromantic forces, Tepiltzin would have the most challenging time hiding if he wasn't blatantly working to mask his presence. Stood on skeletal display, it was clear that the liche wasn't trying to hide. "Our difference is you signed your name in the book. It won't want to let you go." It wasn't a criticism; there was a good chance that an eternity could go by without a piper to pay. "Fortunately, it's destroyed, though, right?" Yavie smiled at this, playful implication of what was gradually becoming encroachingly obvious. The Inferno was gone, Gods flooded into this realm, and demons ran rampant through the Otherworld. These Romans who'd fought so hard hadn't succeeded in winning anything.

When stars died, they didn't go quietly; they collapsed and took in everything around them. It hurt to become. Yavie thought briefly to what his mother had said years ago, that adage so popular among the most ancient of his kind that had trickled down over the ages: set your heart ablaze. Yavie learned firsthand what became of elves who lost their zest for life; in his heart, he had been born an unquenchable flame, all-consuming and never satisfied. From the stars, Yavie had been born, and to the stars, he returned every night. "Starving." Proof that you could be well-fed and hungry all at once; the Abyssal powers that called to Tepiltzin were woven into the core of the liche's rare being. Each daemonfey was tethered to it in some form; sacrifice equated to strength. Suffering. Tied to the world above, everyone was made to wilt parts of themselves to feed what mattered most.

She couldn't quite understand Tepiltzin's need for power, not entirely. The sorceress part of her knew, all too well, what happened to weak individuals. She'd managed to avoid that by following her father's wishes, constantly improving her magic until that one faithful day of getting turned, which had now spiraled into her, technically and otherwise, being the strongest of the clan, even before their deaths. An Archfiend, stored within, Priya stared into her glass filled with blood, as if to see truth in it. Just its color drove her mad, its unique smell still something she couldn't ignore and got drawn to easily. Maybe, maybe, she'd have to see Tepiltzin as an example rather than a cautionary tale of what might happen to someone who allowed that power to take over. "I was a sorceress first, of course I experimented with my powers first. The Death magic, blood manipulation. Took me a few years to fully get the hang of it." At least that's where her father succeeded. Placing that Archfiend into her had at least somewhat removed her from her sireline and caused her to not be a vampire anymore, at least not fully. She gulped down some of the vampire blood and huffed in a mix of annoyance and amusement. "So that Archfiend was your choice to begin with? A pact with the Devil?" She got annoyed at the thought that plagued her now. Was power really the best option for her?

The stench of blood was in the air, fresh from those willing to part with it. Any number of creatures roamed the hallways, found themselves within darkened rooms, all with necks eager to be bitten into. Yet, here he sat, opposite of the vampire that often received so much of his antagonistic behavior. A look of pure amusement shifted itself into Ángel's features, after consideration to the words spoken from Seth. He had no care to change into anything else, whether that was some suped up vampire or an entirely different species. It seemed that was going around the streets of Rome those days. Oh, but he did enjoy a game, even more so when it held a taunting edge to it. So he shifted forward, arms placed against his knees as he eyed the other, "Oh? And what deserving qualities might I need for this?"