The battlefield was silent save for hacking coughs, moans of pain, or the random Devil begging for the release of death. Not from pain or injury, but the fact that they wanted to die in battle so they wouldn't have to rejoin their Lord's army. Devils roamed the battlefield, desperately trying to find something to fight. Something that could possibly kill them.

Gone was the deserted wasteland, its entire geography reshaped and altered. Long lines of detailed and systematically created warded bunkers and trench lines. Collapsed tunnel systems, massive sheers of magically created or altered rock, artificial plateaus towered over the battlefield with defensive bunkers and cubbies built into their sides. Inside these defensive emplacements, Devils scanned the skies and battlefield with sadistic glee, magical energies filling them from the rituals of sacrifice and blood being conducted on the flat peak of the plateau.

The battle extended for miles, lines and distant locations and pockets of Angelic or Demonic entities fighting it out within the blood-drenched no-mans land that weaved its way around kill-zones and Elite Unit's carved out domains. Explosions and Mystic Artillery blasted out wherever Demonic Scrying detected any trace of Light or Holy magick being performed, creating mists of acidic blood and sprays of blood-soaked mud blasting into the sky to fall back down as black and red rain.

The ground was practically small lakes, the dead laying across the field in piles of corpses and blood where fighting was most fierce. Last stands and pockets of an overwhelmed defense creating grim scenes of harrowing heroics and utmost tragedy.

In some areas oceans or craters of blood and viscera pooled together, creating sanguine pits that attracted any Devil with ritualistic knowledge necessary to leverage the life-giving liquid to grant them more power. If they did not die, then they weren't going to stay a mere slave. Ever Devil within Aim's armies wished to escape him. They held no hope to ever slay that monster. But, they could at least hope to ease their suffering, and the only way to do that was to make themselves valuable.

It was in this horrific scene, a biblical visage of slaughter and chaos that a singular angel stood. Her wings dyed crimson, her armor scuffed, dented, marked, and cracked. Her weapon, a great lance, painted red and black; boiling with acidic blood wafting toxic alchemical agents in the air.

Gabriel stared at the corpse of her adjutant with haunted eyes, before her head dart side to side and her posture coiling in alertness. Every shadow that moved, every gust of wind that whispered would have its origin checked and annihilated by a blast of light.

Three days. That was how long she'd been fighting.

Her once pristine armor that she took pride in wearing, a gift from her father was now bathed red and black in blood. Many devils exploded as they died, spraying acidifying or poisonous liquids and gasses in the air.

By the first few hours, all Angels below four wings had died.

Then over the course of a day all Angel of six wings had died, and all that was left were her elites.

Then they'd died, saving and sacrificing themselves for each other.

Now she was all that was left.

She stood there, lost within this grand battle, a foot inside the ribcage of the corpse of an angel, 'Or was it a devil? Didn't matter.' She stood, posture frozen as memories of the fighting, the dying, 'Oh, Father, the screams'. She whimpered as her eyes tracked to a listless corpse dissolving within a puddle of blood. Her last subordinate laid dead, his last words ringing in her head.

"Veriel's dead Oriel." Gabriel spoke in a broken voice. "She ain't comin' back. Nobody is. Not a single one. No one." She took off her helm, letting the world see her bloodshot eyes. Her features were gaunt, pulled back in a rictus expression of horror. The once pristine War Maiden, unrecognizable.

"Father, where are you father? I want to go back home, back in the garden. I want Oriel, Veriel, and Fariel back, please father, I'll, I'll, I just want them back!" The Seraphim cried out to the purple skies above.

"I want them, I want them, back, back, back, please!" She screamed with primal despair, tears streaming down her face as she leaned on her lance, preventing her from falling to the ankle deep bloody depths.

"Brothers, please, brother." She sobbed harshly, eyes wild in trying to find a way to fix this. "Michael can fix this, he can fix anything." She whispered desperately. "Uriel, Uriel will beat the bad people back, right?" She collapsed, knees dropping into the thick pool of blood. "Sariel, please, hug me again! I don't like the blood, the blood, the screams! I can't, I can't." Her gauntlets, bloodied beyond recognition reached up to her face, smearing their foul contents onto her face, tarnishing her beauty.

"I feel it would be in bad taste to apologize right now." Came a voice, behind her. Unfamiliar, yet oh so haunting.

Like a wooden puppet she turned facing the voice. Bloodshot eyes widening even further, before her face twisted into a snarl that looked alien on the Angel.

"You, you did this. Fix it! Fix it! It's all your fault!" Gabriel screamed, picking up her lance once more, and with thunderous rage backing divine imparted strength that could rival Gods; threw it at the Devil.

The Devil laughed, dodging the lance with grotesque ease as he bent his spine back and let the weapon fly past him. Snapping back into place, while dancing through the flurry of blows that Gabriel unleashed upon him with holy light infused fist. His body flowed through the blows, a black body suit showing underneath the robe that covered his body.

A particularly difficult blow to dodge knocked off his oversized wizard hat, revealing dark purple hair that complemented amethyst eyes that sparkled with amusement and joy within a mask of golden woe. Putting distance between the furious Angel, Aim removed his face mask, revealing a scholarly looking man with a wry grin on his face.

Aim then darted forward, drawing his blade and stabbing forward at the last surviving Angel. The blade was European, a longsword of heft and weight. Its tapper and core was flattened with a small mural depicting Imps, Demons, and Devils ripping a man to shreds.

The blade was black, an opaque black that ate light. Curse and enchanted and blessed and cursed again. The blade was evil. The blade was twisted. The blade was wrong. Calling it Demonic would be a slight, this blade was no demonic blade, no, that would be spitting on the blood taken to forge it, the thousands of liters of blood taken to draw enough iron to forge it. The life force, the souls! The flayed devils that had strands of their flesh taken to wrap the handle. The bones ground down, the tears taken and used, the virgin blood, the ashes, the madness!

Then flame.

A cursed flame so simple that its only holder hated it. It destroyed, and it didn't even do that right. His disdain, his hate for the flame only made it that much stronger, masochistic bastard.

Tis' a blade that would be sung in legend, cursed in hatred, loathed and wanted, portrayed in art works and spoken in hushed tones.

A blade that Aim named S̴̛͚̫̱̳̲̻̑͛̿́͆̐̅̊́̇͜Ļ̶̧̡̻̳̬̪̇͒̂Ǎ̸̧̛̘̠͙̖̣͉̗̳̬̣́́͒̑́̄̆̽̚͘Y̴̨̺̟͍̟̙̘̯̮͍̟͌̈́̈̓̈́͑̊̒̊̚R̵̨̯̩̤̰̙͇̲̖̯̞̅̊͐̈́͑Â̸̻̔̈́̓́̌̍͌͌̆̓P̶̪͙̠̲̝͓̰̿̏͐̿̀́̍̕E̶̜̯̫̠̗̅̿͝K̷͇͗͂I̶̩̹͇̰͔̯͓̲̓L̵̟̭͓̻̝̥̺͙̤̞̜̯͂̄̽́͊̓̐͛͌̍͂͠Ľ̷̙̭̪̌̓̆̌͆̀̿̀̑̈͝H̷̯͉̗͓̩̥̰͑Ṵ̸̧͇͙̜̠̳̜̦̜́͋̏̏̍̾͂͌́́R̷̡̛̬͍̙̯̣͈̦̬͈̻̙͆̾͋́́̀̽̅̃̀̕͠T̶̡̼͈͔̩̹͔̼̘͉̜̗̈́̏R̴̨̡͔̱͉͎̪̬̯̝͔̋͒̾͋̅̚Ȩ̵͖̖͖̻͔̣̈́̌̐̌͌͊͒͜N̴̨͖͇̖̝̠̲̯̮̎̎́͗̌͆̈͗͘̚͠Ḏ̷̡̭̘̖̬̖͓͎͎͎̕͜ͅB̸͎͕̤̹̝̰͔͎̯͈͓̻̔͊͑́̊̎̃R̸͉͇̙͒̀̈́̍̾̑̏̀̋̍̓̕̚Ẹ̴̯̲̜̟̺̰͔͔͕͊͑A̷̛̟̤̠͔̥͔̠K̵̭̖̑.

It was a blade that was heavy in magick and physical weight. In the Black-Tongue it was one of the most foul of words, only rivaled by the rough approximation for the word of systematic-rape-of-mind-and-soul-by-the-thousands.

Cough, Devil Army, cough.

With a savage swing of enhanced might, the blade was caught by the Seraphim with her lance. In an explosion of energy, the weapons met and found themselves locked in contest, only to find not just an equal, but a superior.

Gabriel disengaged and inspected the chip on her lance. With a snort and growl of rage she charged at the Devil and started to thrust.

Aim danced and moved. His limbs and joints popping and dislocating, before with focus and extreme body control snapped them back into place and continued his dance of grotesque movement.

If one were to look closer at Aim, they'd see his eyes were dilated to an extreme, his grin dopey and loose. Yet, one moment they looked like a drugged out high individual, and the next a look of extreme focus and concentration followed.

Aim's devils weren't the only ones to use Combat Stimulants.

As Aim dodged, his blade exchanged his hands at a rapid pace, his arms slinging and snapping with coiling strength slamming the blade into Gabriel with no swordsmanship or finesse, just brute strength and disturbing martial techniques.

Aim's blade lowered to the grown and the flat of it picked up some blood, and with a flick he tossed it into her eyes. The blood splashed against check and into her eye, blocking vision and sight, before pain sprouted in her left leg. Her knee had been hacked into.

The War Maiden let out a low scream and snarl of pain, the leg turning black from the flames and curses loaded onto the blade. Only her armor protected her from being an amputee.

The battle continues as their weapons exchange blows, and as Gabriel's lance quickly becomes marred in chips and cracks, her demeanor changed. Wounded, crippled even, and losing the battle, her mind twisted. From a desperate combatant driven by rage, to a truly despairing individual who wanted nothing more than to kill the man before her. To Avenge Those She Lost.

In her desperation, she lunged without regard to safety and actually struck a blow.

Aim grinned as he felt the lance of light enter his body. Even with his demonic magic enhancing his resistance to certain effects by adapting him to them, he was still a demonic creature and light will always be his anathema.

However, he was still far more resistant to the element than any devil would ever become.

The lance entered his abdomen, crushing a kidney, pulping his lower intestine, destroying his appendix, and cracking his hip bone and pelvis in twain. His spine burned with pain, his soul screaming; yet the man held no reaction.

Aim's grin twisted into a mockery of a smile, and with a thrust, and then of his sword, impaled the War Maiden, then with a grizzly rip and twist of his blade; completed the disembowelment. Despite his blade being covered in flame, the wound wasn't cauterized, and was instead cursed. Necrosis spread from where the flames burnt, and started to infect her stomach, eating away at her armor. Light burst from the wound and started fighting the effect, causing it to be isolated, yet the damage was done.

With a slam of his hand to the lance, Aim flung himself off of it. He rolled and collapsed onto the blood covered battle field. He slowly, dramatically really, picked himself up. His side bursting with growths of cancerous flesh and tumors, before being devoured by black energy. Five seconds of this left him completely healed.

Gabriel stumbled back and forward, pain blanked her mind as her body fought poison, magic, demonic energy, blessings, rituals, and a Devil Pillar's power combined and multiplied there upon.

Her eyes started to become blurry from blood loss and the poison, yet she could do nothing except stare at the devil before her in impotent rage.

It looked cute, despite the blood, the intestine, the brain matter, the utterly livid facial expression that to anyone else would look threatening as all hell.

Aim was only a little bit insane.

"It's only game. Why you have to be mad?" Aim said accent and everything, his smile widened into what could only be considered the embodiment of Smug.

Gabriel paused as she process his words, nursing her wound as intestines started to flow out of her gut. A snarl overtook her features, and the impossible happened.

Her wings flashed black.

The world seemed to pause, before the overcast clouds of the underworld parted. Aim's eyes went wide.

Heavenly Light shined down upon the battle field.

God had appeared.

Aim screamed, his body being eroded, his flesh charring, and in a divine flare of that same Light...

He died.

As the light fell upon Gabriel, tension left her body, her eyes closed, before a thought appeared in her mind.

"Why didn't he come when they cried out? Why didn't he come when Veriel died, then Oriel and her could have been happy. They didn't need to die, why, why, why."

Gabriel's wings flashed black.

God descended upon the battle field, his light taking in the piles of bodies, the bodies of blood and gore, the tooth and nail defense and the suicidal offense. The distinct foul stench of black magic, and the horrific twisted light that came from both the surviving mutant Angels and the mutilated ones as well.

Yet, God's attention laid on one detail that struck him to the core.

The betrayed expression on his daughters face.

He'd seen that same look on one person's face. That same betrayal, that same disbelief and disillusion.

He saw that expression on Helel. Now named Lucifer.


Within a dark room, a bead of crimson liquid held inside an assortment of beads hanging on a rack of other necklaces glowed brightly. A soul sparked within the bead, before it's glass cover cracked.

The bead broke free from the necklace and fell to the stone floor of a rather barren bedroom largely dominated by a singular massive bed. It rolled on the floor, before it halted as crimson tendrils extended out and anchored itself to the ground. The crimson blood grew and expanded out, coalescing into a grotesque ball of ever-replicating cancerous flesh. Then the cancerous orb, pulsating with disgusting beats of rushing demonic-energy charged blood flashed in a blackened light. The flesh darkened and was consumed, before from its side a blackened skeletal arm ripped out from its side.

The black bone pulled itself out, revealing a blackened skull laced with thousands of runic sigils and symbols as the skeleton pulled itself to the stone floor, before falling into a pathetic fetal position. Within the creature's chest a blazing red rock glowed and from it a Heart grew, secured by lashes of temporary muscle suspending it within his chest.

Demonic Circles flared above it's skull, rapidly regenerating its brain and enhancing the organ progressively. Nerves and blood vessels regrew and spread across the skeleton that was steadily filling out with muscle and tendon.

Aim laid naked on the stone floor of his most warded and protected sanctums. His amethyst eyes stared with an utmost deadpan, before a suffering sigh left his reborn lungs as he sat up.

Gone was the dominant and apathetic overlord known to the Underworld at large as Aim. With shoulders hunched and a miffed expression on his face, Aim wasn't the 'I am spooky devil man who comes for your soul' anymore. Now, he was 'I'm so done with this shit, why did I have to invent Immortality; I feel like I played myself'.

He reoriented himself and started to find his feet again. His sense of balance seemed to be off. Aim stretched and popped his back, before walking over to a hidden closet and started to pull out various robes of non-angelic or devil skin.

He threw them on and then left his bedroom to find the Fridge.

'Hmm, pasta? Nah, pizza... no pasta.' Aim thought as he opened the rectangular stone storage container and started tossing ingredients onto the counter.

He started to cook and his thoughts drifted to the battle. 'The Great War was a time of great mayhem and Biblical warfare. I think I lived up to the entire 'devilish evil' hype correctly.' Aim nodded to himself as he went back to the fridge and pulled out a jug of coke. Pouring the drink into a glass, he hit it with a spell to up the carbonation and another to make it extra chilly.

Taking a sip Aim hummed. 'Worth the effort.'

His pasta done cooking, Aim plated it and started to eat, his coke floating next him as he walked to his bedroom, using telekinesis to eat and drink as he did so.

Opening his bedroom door, Aim started to recite the litanies required to buff his body and create the necessary protections to alert him of any intruders or observers. Aim then magicked his plates and cup back to the kitchen to be cleaned, another spell cleaned his body and mouth. He then stripped, and slammed into his bed.

Ironically, Aim's inborn sin was Sloth.

Sadly for him, Aim got an entire hour of sleep before he was rudely awakened.

His wards pinged and Aim sighed, a massive frown on his face. Getting out of his bed and walking outside of his abode, Aim glared at the thin devil that dared poke at his wards to his small cave side base.

"Lor-Lord Aim." Stuttered the Devil.

"What, slave." Aim asked.

"Uh-His Majesty Lucifer beckons." The devil stated with fear in his voice.

"Fuuuck. Fine, fine." Aim said, they stared at each other.

"Uh, are you going to dress?"

"What kind of dumbass question is that? Of fucking course I'm not." Aim growled. The devil stuttered and waivered like a pussy. 'I fucking died today. I'm so far past any fucks to give. I have no fucks! None!'

"V-very well." The devil held his hand out and Aim. Aim grasped it and he had to sigh as the Tron Scan magic started happening...slowly.

A few moments later Aim opened his eyes to an almost Roman themed Amphitheater. Several Devil nobility and pillars were walking about in anything from Togas, Dresses, Gowns, Robes, and war gear.

Aim looked around spotting notables.

Belial was wooing a pair of ladies that Aim knew as Gremory and Valefar.

Dantalion was brown-nosing Baal, who as ever looked exceptionally smug.

Lucifer was siting on a Throne with Lilith on his lap. The Women of Man looked less like a living creature and more like a broken doll loosely associated with hentai rape victims.

Phenex was accosting Paimon.

Zagan and Balam were laughing with each other. There were too many to really pay attention to and Aim even when not miffed as he was wouldn't have cared otherwise.

Aim was the only one who was naked and it grew stares. Someone spoke to him about it.

Zepar was the one that brought it up.

"Aim, so glad you made it, but your state of dress is concerning." Zepar spoke, there wasn't any mockery or slander in his voice, yet the fact that he brought it up was telling.

"Zepar, perhaps you should pay attention to something else other than my cock. Otherwise, I might think I need to have a word with your harem." Aim spoke back, not even looking at him. This was B.C something something and Gay burns were still funny.

Zepar coughed a bit as surrounding devils laughed at Aim's comeback. "Come now, none of that, we wouldn't want to spread rumors." Zepar whispered, yet a telling blush on his checks gave him away.

"I'm not going to join you in bed, Zepar. Besides the fact that you look like a right snack." Aim needled again.

Zepar was what one could call a Fem-Boy, Trap, Twink, or any variation there of. His clan trait was 'Barren' and could drain vitality, fertility, energy, from lands, people, and objects. He had light pink hair and for the life of him, Aim couldn't help but get the image of Astolfo from Fate in his head when he looked at the man.

The man was a hardcore gay, and devil culture while infantile was very against 'anti-fertility' ideals.

Aim found out rather quickly Zepar was gay, having had gay friends as a human. Plus, his lustful nature as a devil gave him away.

Zepar made a harem to 'cover' the fact that he liked men, yet never really touched them; thus the burn.

Zepar sputtered at the comment, his blush covering his entire neck and face; his eyes darted to Aim's groin.

The mortal in him sighed as Aim felt a spur of Lust well-up from his devil nature. "Tell you what, come by next week, I have a potion to stress test." Aim spoke softly as he passed Zepar. The man went stiff and had to shuffle the toga he was wearing.

"O-okay. Send a message." Zepar walked off stiltedly.

'Totally using that guy to stress test my Gender Change potion. That shit could get me a disgusting amount of contracts.' Aim thought. Contracts hadn't started up yet, but Aim was already filling in several 'services' in his report and resume.

Gotta get those demonic reserves up.

Yawning and scratching his balls in public, Aim looked around and noticed Lucifer was getting board of talking to a non-responsive Lilith. Deciding to humor his 'lord', Aim walked over to the throne.

Lucifer noticed Aim and smiled lightly, his eyes darting lower and a hint of lust welled in his eyes.

"Aim, welcome to the meet." Lucifer greeted.

"Yeah, yeah. Still haven't been told what this is about." Aim muttered as he sat down at the foot of the throne, looking out over the crowd of devils. He felt The Devil kneed his fingers through his dark black hair with purple hints, and hummed at the sensation.

"It's a war-meet, a chance to brag, and it holds the possibility to be assigned a new title." Lucifer spoke, his tongue waggling like the tempting devil he was.

"Fuck." Aim said dully. Lucifer chuckled.

"You never did like the spotlight, did you?" The Fallen Son asked softly.

"Nope. Still don't." Aim muttered the last part.

"I could use you, you know? You'd be an amazing right hand." The Morningstar's hand dipped down and brought Aim's face to him.

"Yes, yes. You've told me." Aim batted away the Devil's hand that caressed his cheek.

The Devil sighed, "Enough about that. What have you been doing lately?" Lucifer questioned.

"Battles, war, battles, avoiding God and Michael. I made a new drink, a few new drugs too. The works." Aim summarized.

"Oh, any interesting battles? And, what's this drink?" Lucifer questioned with an interested tone.

Aim opened his palm and with a flare of a summoning circle, a jug of coke fell into existance. It floated in the air for a moment before two glasses joined the jug.

"It's called Coke." He added cocaine into the recipe again, cause why not? He hit the glasses with his spells of cool chill and increased the carbonation. The Devil took a sip.

"To your liking Luce?" Aim asked as he took his own sip.

"Mmm, I like it." Lucifer grinned down at his most carefree devil. One of his cruelest and most evil as well, if his 'Training' was to be believed. "So, battles?"

"Just got back from one, the old man descended." Aim answered casually.

Lucifer choked from that information, and deadpanned at the devil, while Aim just grinned in response. "Dad descended, for what?" The Devil asked incredulously.

"Well, I was messing around with several black magic rituals, some soul magic, the stuff that really fucks with his precious system. Fucking geek." Aim muttered, 'Geek' being spoken in the Black Tongue and the Devil holding All Speak could thus understand the word. When Aim spoke the word Lucifer had shivers run down his spine, a smile spreading on his face.

'How I love it when Aim speaks that language.' Then his mind caught up with what was actually said and Lucifer started laughing. "Tell me more." Lucifer demanded with an almost wholesome glee and joy.

Aim sighed and started to narrate. The amphitheater wasn't exactly a closed environment, and there were far too many devils to know about each and every individual feat. A very select amount of people knew how Aim fought and how his legions functioned. All people knew was that he held the Hellfire clan trait and had the most legion's a singular devil had.

Largely due to the fact that he takes in all the wastes and refuse.

Mass rituals involving life force manipulation rivaling that of a sage, brutal soul manipulation, suicidal armies, hellish battlespaces replicated with complex illusions for their lords amusement and glee.

Some were batshit terrified.

Others aroused to an extreme degree.

And a few were plotting his demise.

Aim showed his lord an illusionary report using magic, and Lucifer watched, utterly enthralled. He clapped and applauded, laughing at the disgraceful sight of his sister, before growing extremely quiet when he saw her wings flare black for a moment. The fact that he went from full on belly laughing to dead silence was unnerving.

"Ah. So now he shows." Lucifer muttered, before a queer look appeared on his face. He watched as Aim himself was eradicated from existence by his Father's Illumination, and his odd mood shifted as he stared down with a confused glance.

"How are you alive?" Lucifer asked, utterly perplexed.

Aim stared up into his Lord's eyes, "Sheer Fuckin' Willpower." He bullshitted the Lord of Lies.

Lucifer laughed, but his eyes darkened, "How." He pressed with ruthlessness dancing on his perfect face.

The Lord of Hellfire met eyes with the Lord of Hell, a frown growing on his face. Aim's eyes danced with magical circles and Lucifer was telepathically connected to Aim's mind.

"I teleported my soul into a clone I had as a backup." Aim projected into the Devil's Mind.

Lucifer's black and white colored eyebrows raised in intrigue. "Fascinating." He muttered.

Lucifer leaned back in his throne, "You do not wish for the prestige like other Devils and their growing houses, correct?" He whispered.

Aim raised an eyebrow, but nodded slowly. Lucifer grinned, "Then I bestow upon you the title of President. You will be the bureaucratic head of Hell, and my loyal vassal."

Aim's eyes widened in shock, "Furthermore, I charge you with all form of foreign needs within the realms of Hell. You will be the face of the Devil Race."

Aim's brow furrowed at this declaration, before he sighed and gave an easy smile, "Very well, my Lord. As you will."

Lucifer smiled widely, "Wonderful." The Lord of Hell then stood from his Throne, Lilith who was lounging on his lap falling and crashing to the stone. "Lords of the Underworld! I have called you here as a means of celebration, of merriment, but also as a means of rewarding those who have stayed true to our goals."

The Devils all shifted at the declaration of their lord, interested in this so-called 'reward'.

"Leviathan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub." Lucifer declared, "Come." He beckoned to the called out names.

A seductive woman with pale-white skin and blue scales covering selective portions of her body, only managing to make her look even more enthralling sauntered forward and bowed before her Lord.

A man with perfect proportions, alluding tangible lust and desire seductively bowed, grinning up to his Lord.

A robed man buzzed as he stalked forward, his eyes hidden under a floppy wizard's hat a reflective collage of a fly's multifaceted eyes. At his side six wickedly serrated blades hung on a belt that secured his robe to his body. He bowed, flies buzzing around the man as he did so.

"When I think of our leaders, the leaders of the future dominate race of the realms across Draconic Deus; I think of those of us that are powerful!" The crowd of Devils roared their approval to Lucifer's tone.

"Behold, the peak of our Race. Rise, as Satans; The Lords of Hell."

The Three Rose, and One became Four.

All the while, Lucifer played with Aim's hair.