What did it mean to be alone? Was it isolation away from the existence of another being? Or was it solitude, where coexisting becomes displeasure and isolation is appealing? Saltieré did not know. The answer he sought for lies dormant within. He felt it wiggling under his skin—An itch. A foreign feeling.

He stared at you in a dumbfounded expression, "I'm not a bad guy. What separates me from other bad guys is that i only kill bad people. Usually. Unless there's a mistake." Saltieré craned his neck to the side with a Cheshire grin, "Now, do I sound like a fucking maniac?"

For an archangel, he really has a foul mouth. How ironic.