Astaroth frowned at Damian's answer, but he did not immediately argue. The wind sweeping across the hill tugged at the edges of his crimson hair and Greek robes as he slowly settled back into his throne, his dark claws tapping against the armrest while his eyes remained fixed on the young prince before him. The confidence Damian displayed was unsettling because it did not feel like blind arrogance. There was calculation behind it, and that made him even more difficult to judge.
"How am I supposed to trust what I do not know?" Astaroth finally asked, his tone calm but firm.
He had lived far too long to gamble the future of his people on nothing but impressive words and a few mysterious displays of power.
"Because if you do not trust me, all demons will die at the hands of that man. You don't have a choice." Damian responded without blinking.
Astaroth's frown deepened as his fingers slowly tightened around the armrest of his throne. "We have Kaizer for that."
