"All of that and not one of them put up all that decent of a challenge," the Tyrant taunted, pushing aside a piece of demon with his foot.

Fenrich eyeballed the blood-slick floor of the now conquered demon's castle, although how long they'd actually stay was debatable. Lord Valvatorez didn't ever seem all too keen on staying in his conquest lands. "No one can honestly challenge you, my Lord."

"There was one demon, but we never did finish our fight. Perhaps I'll actually seek him out, when I get bored of these lowlifes who can't even do their basic jobs." Valvatorez replied, glancing about himself before adjusting his cloak idly. "Is this what the upper levels are doing? Wasting away in little castles? Is no one doing their duty as demons?"

Fenrich placed his hand to his chest, the other arm behind his back. "They send their minions to do their work while they reap all the profit."

"Lazy bastards. At this rate the Netherworld is going to fall apart. But nevermind that. I'm sure this Overlord's fall will be fair warning to the others." Valvatorez shrugged the topic aside in his usual nonchalance.

Fenrich was ready to depart, bowing his head slightly to utter his catchphrase, but a sudden grab of his hand makes him go still. Valvatorez's speed and power were always shocking when it was used against him, and the werewolf mentally flailed.

"It was a good battle nonetheless, and a well-deserved victory. Come, Fenrich!" Valvatorez pulled the werewolf a bit closer, causing him to slip a bit on the blood at their feet. "We should celebrate."

"O-of course, my Lord, but-" Fenrich started, but already Valvatorez was moving, his other hand at Fenrich's hip.

They twirled and Fenrich wasn't sure if Valvatorez was using his incredible speed to make it so the silver-haired man was dizzy after the move. The scenery seemed to both rush by and slow down as Valvatorez swept Fenrich across and around the room, avoiding the dismembered pieces of enemies and thicker puddles of blood. The vampire's eyes were on Fenrich's, alight with the high of victory and the scent of bloody conquest, and Fenrich found himself enthralled.

So much so it was a few minutes before he realized the Tyrant was leading him in a waltz. He was hardly dancing, more like being pulled along and lead, but Valvatorez didn't seem to mind. He simply carried on with his vassal, that smile on his lips that struck a chord in Fenrich. It was so fitting on the vampire, and this spontaneous act he could easily attribute to his new Lord. To dance on the field where a bloody battle took place, to look so carefree amongst the carnage without a care... that was his Lord.

Fenrich grunted as Valvatorez spun him, the werewolf nearly slipping on a smear of blood and his return to the Tyrant's arms was less than graceful. Valvatorez chuckled, his voice low and amused, but nonetheless took up the werewolf again and resumed their little dance. Regardless of how long it went on, Fenrich couldn't quite find his place in it, trying to catch up and at least be more of a participate, but Valvatorez was sweeping him about in an elegant movement that made Fenrich feel even smaller against him. Valvatorez had the control here, and Fenrich couldn't help but wonder what he intended to do with it. Just dance away?

So it seemed, and the minutes dragged on. Such a frivolous activity usually made Fenrich annoyed, and he'd typically try to stop his Lord's nonsense, but the smile on Valvatorez's lips was hard to say no to. The way he seemed so proud of himself, happy of the results, glad to be with Fenrich in this... he just couldn't tell him to stop. And Valvatorez wasn't going to, his eyes locked on Fenrich's and enthralling him all over again.

Their steps eventually slowed, and Fenrich found his breathing doing the same as he felt trapped in his Lord's gaze. Bit by bit the waltz seemed to be ending, and Fenrich's breath felt like it were catching. When they finally stopped, Fenrich had to struggle a little to get himself to breathe normally again. There was a different look to Valvatorez's eyes as their dance ended-the victory high was gone. No longer were his eyes wide and bright, but now they were narrow, dark, matching the color of the drying blood at their feet. They had dragged it around the room, creating an intricate, meaningless design on the floor. Fenrich tried to look away, to see their handiwork, but Valvatorez began to move the hand he had in his own closer to himself.

Valvatorez nosed Fenrich's sleeve down, the werewolf suppressing a shudder at the sudden cold and then the wash of warm breath over his skin. Valvatorez's lips pressed to Fenrich's forearm in almost what could be a kiss, his eyes not once leaving Fenrich's. He paused there though, and the werewolf found it remarkable that even in the middle of what seemed to be a desire for blood, the fool was silently asking permission.

There was only one answer, and it escaped Fenrich in a low whisper. "All is for my Lord."