If there was one word to describe the Demon's Head of the League of Assassins, that would probably be power-driven.

Ironic enough, there was a time when he almost believed otherwise, when he was still staying with the Royal Family, when his father used to show him that being a king needed more than just power and authority. Yet, at the end of the day, the young Prince had learned the hard way that his father was no more than a hypocrite, and his ideology was just a pipe dream. Gotham was a brutal kingdom, and a brutal kingdom could only be ruled by a brutal monarch. That was the reason why the Prince'd gone back to his roots, to be what he'd been raised and trained to be from the start-to be the Demon's Head, and he'd gladly start a war to get his point through, to take over Gotham and extend an empire of his own.

Damian had gone on countless conquests in his master plan, and during one of his expeditions, he'd met you.

You were called a monster, a bringer of death, not because you looked like one but because you were born with dark magic, the kind that was labeled forbidden and dangerous in books and legends, the kind that'd put people in great fear and make them accuse you of causing deaths and sufferings. He'd seen you used it, not intentionally because for crying out loud you were probably the sweetest thing he'd ever run into, and you could call him crazy but he absolutely adored your power. To be able to have you by his side would be a blessing for the rest of his life.

"Scary? My God, you're divine." Damian said, his tone indicate no hesitation, as if it was a given fact, he did believe so. Everyone could be scared of you, they could paint you out to be evil and treat you badly, but to him you were royalty.

"Let me show you how proud I am to be yours." The young Prince added, unsheathing his sword and heading outside of the estate, ready to slaughter any imbeciles out there who thought that coming here trying to hunt you down was a good idea. He wouldn't let anyone wrong you ever again.