Advanced Demonology [Inv/]

"Now there's a face I hadn't expected to see ever again."

Erebos popped the window open, leaning out of it with his arms draped dramatically over the edge, as he often loved to do. He wore a smile, smarmy and proud, and gave the girl as sly a wink he'd ever given. From behind him, in the kitchen, the smells of freshly-baked pastry wafted out into the garden. A trick of the magical sort, perhaps? Or maybe Erebos really was just making some goodies.

"I'd ask as to what I owe the pleasure to, but your ranting and raving outside my front door gave most of the surprise away." With a sigh, Erebos leaned over, hopping atop the window and sitting on the sill, legs dangling precariously close to some long-dead Earthling petunias. "Also; who's to say I still have the horn? I probably pawned it off years ago... Maybe."

He cocked his head to the side, a brow raised as he eyed his potential foe. This might actually be a rather fortuitous arrival. Not many troubles had come his way since he landed face-first on Namek with a leech on his chest, meaning he hadn't had anyone to really, properly fight against. Maybe, if he could rile her up right, he'd get a good sparring session out of this! That's what those martial artists call it, right?

"I suppose this must be penance for letting you keep the other horn, eh? I knew I should've made you a matching set all those years ago. Wanna lean over and let me have at it?"

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Erebos made a point to roll his eyes, before leaping from the window and somersaulting to a perfect figure skater's landing atop one of the fences lining his home's garden. Zaffran was an easy target back in the day; always easy to rile. At least, as easy as someone could be to rile when you lop off their horn and such.

"I did it because I wanted to. And I could. And I did. Isn't that what we do? Demons? Whatever we please?"

The Shadowmancer stood on one leg atop the wooden post, leaning to and fro slowly as he spoke. in truth, his prank on the goatling was a rather dark spot in his tenure among the demon realm. Most of his pranks in his youth were much less permanent. Morphing someone's shadow into a snake that strangled them, or morphing a snake's shadow into a human-shaped hand that... Also strangled them.

In another life, maybe Erebos would've apologized for his past behavior. But Erebos was still a rapscallion. A rogue with a heart of gold. Only his heart rusted and withered at the sight of kin.

"You wish you could do the same to me, I'd reckon. Chop an ear or shave one of my dangling bits. Only problem is, it wouldn't have such a lasting effect. My parents already don't care for me. Hell, I'm pretty sure my cousins already have a third generation of bestial, meatheaded spawn since I last saw the fort."

He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Say, you think they like chipping horns, too? I bet cousin Chervii would've left you with naught but a nub. Perhaps you should be bowing down and kissing my boot for only taking a bit off the top."

Finally, Erebos moved positions, twirling in place before sitting down, cross-legged, but still floating above the post as if he were some wise sage. He folded his arms, too, and and nodded his head like a mystic. "Yes, indeed, you must've come here to bow down. Very well then: I accept your terms of surrender."

"My my, I really did touch a nerve, didn't I?" He gave another wink. Man, talk about dramatic! Maybe he really did enjoy being mean to folks. "I can't remember the last time you gave my playful barbs the time of day, but now I've got you talking up my bits like they're the only thing that matters. Should I be thinking about getting a restraining order?"

Flipping backwards, Erebos landed on his feet, rolling his shoulders as he allowed some of his Ki to spill forth. Small motes of shadowy energy slicked off his body like rain on a muggy morning. Enough to keep pace with his princely foe, but not nearly his true maximum.

"You don't mind if I go easy on you for a bit, do you? I'm trying out this new martial arts thing, and you'd be a great test subject. What with your pitiful connection to anything resembling self defense."

He settled into a martial artists stance. Legs apart, center of gravity low. His left hand sat directly in front of him, like a talon ready to collect his prey. The other held itself back, near to his ear. Subtly, he wiggled his fingers, mimicking the somatic components of a spell he wasn't actually casting.

"Winner keeps the horn. Sound fair?"

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