Damien Moreau felt a shift in the oppressive air of his prison. He sat up and slowly climbed to his feet, trying to peer through the shadows outside his cell. He hadn't given up yet, wasn't ready to condemn himself to this concrete room for the rest of his life. He certainly wasn't ready to die by the hand of whomever stood just beyond his sight. The darkness seemed to shift and coalesce into the form of a dark-haired man with bright blue eyes.
"What do you want?" Damien demanded, voice still strong and carrying authority he no longer possessed.
"The question is," the man began, sidling forward, "what do you want?" There was a smirk curving his mouth that ill fitted his features.
"What do you offer?" Damien asked cautiously, aware of the many times he'd trapped people in untenable situations by preying on their desperation and their desires.
"Your freedom from this prison."
It was definitely too good to be true, but Damien couldn't help the intense, visceral desire to believe that it was possible, that this uncanny man could deliver.
"In exchange for what?"
"Your connections and reputation."
"I don't have much of either at the moment," Damien told him.
Who was this man who could offer him freedom so casually? Who could reach into the heart of his hell so easily when he had only seen a single guard in longer than he cared to remember?
"You might be surprised," the man told him with a wicked smile. "There's a lot you can do with a half-forgotten nightmare used effectively."
"What would I have to do?" he asked. This man had entered his prison undetected, it was possible he could exit the same way.
"All you need to do is say 'yes'," the man told him.
There was a catch, Damien was sure of it from the incisive look in those piercing eyes and the sharp smile on that strangely too-soft mouth. But he'd wormed his way out of agreements before. With some luck and skill, he might even be able to turn the tables.
"Yes," he said, because the prospect of leaving this hell hole was too great a temptation, even if it turned out to be false. Besides, there wasn't anything worse than this prison that they could do to him other than kill him, and he was beginning to consider that an acceptable risk.
"Excellent," the man said, grinning widely. Damien had known a great many very bad and sometimes deranged people, but he'd never seen quite so an unnerving portrayal of that expression until now. The man opened his mouth wide and tipped his head back.
"What are you doing?" Damien demanded, backing up a step, though there was nowhere to go, unsure why he was suddenly feeling trepidation. There was no response, just an outpouring of black smoke from the man's mouth.
"Oh god," Damien said in horror, looking around for some way to save himself, but his cell was bare. Instead, he screamed for help he was sure would never come.
The smoke drifted through the bars and surrounded him. He closed his mouth, hoping that would at least buy him some time, but the smoke continued, unperturbed. It poured in through his mouth and nose, clawing at his insides and, even more disturbingly, his mind. He fought with everything he had, but he'd grown soft in this prison, weak, and now he'd consigned himself to a new one.
The new presence settled in his mind and body, flexing both to get a feel for them. Damien was thrust into a far corner of his own psyche, confined and silenced, while the demon, as he now knew, smirked and opened the door with a thought.
Kronos looked down at the body of Agent Darby. The man had served him well and Kronos almost felt sad to see him go, but the new body would serve him much better.