Daimon, Rogue, OTA
The carcass remains of a demon hit pavement, soon raked away into withering debris by the wind. A tall, slendor form marred by bites and scratches continued down the road; dripping in hellfire, the very same wounds slowly worked to stitch back together and he rolled his shoulders as he sensed another demonic entity creeping nearby.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are..." he lilted in a slow, raspy drawl, glowing red eyes scanning the damage Hell's spawn had created (and continued to create) this night. He'd expected that of these creatures and yet, at that moment, couldn't find it in him to be completely disgusted by it. The demonic part of him thrived on this chaos just as they thrived on it. Sometimes he enjoyed it, and it was just another struggle, staying behind the line that kept him from acting as another Devil's minion or worse - acting as the Devil himself.
Present thoughts diminished and Daimon came to a sudden cease. Wanda crossed his mind and he wondered then, how she was handling herself. A shame, he thought, that he wasn't around to see how his pupil would put her new skills and knowledge to use. To protect her if needed to. His brows kneaded together and he might've grumbled a little indignantly before his body tensed and he whipped around, the triplet points of his trident meeting the ugly face of his demon.