Blackfeather Woods hang your head upon my throne

His mother is presently unaware of the thoughts that invade his mind, dictate his choices and overrun every relationship he has or will ever have with those close to him. It is a cloud of something violently dark, a malevolent phantom haunting his every thought, a disease of hightened imperialism that travels unrelentingly throughout his inner workings to engulf his heart in an instant. But he does not shy away from its spread, he embraces it. It is the fabric of his being, splitting Vaati from Clavicus with each passing moment. When he turns to his mother next, it is without remorse in his eyes, that if the demon underneath the surface of his skin could change his eyes to black, it would. "That they favour me and my cause against the imposters within our ranks," He spits, condecendingly, violently. What he seeks is pure and just anarchy, a trial blessed by their Gods and encouraged by the sacriligious actions of those he holds accountable. It's impending result is unstoppable, the gears of downfall is set in motion and cannot be halted. Perhaps he will ruin himself in the process, he cannot bring himself to care. Even if he must burn everything to the ground to start anew, he will. And he will do so with a wicked smile on his face.