As he sat on his thrown, looking upon his wide range of his own meticulous collected artifacts of wars, beings, and pots from his previous life. A life that seemed to old now. He stood up, walking down the hall that had his Swarmlord, Knrok, the preserved head of Sebastian Thor, ossified husk of an Enslaver that hovered over him. He looked at each one with a shine in his still and inhuman eyes. Each step, each glance, held power that becomes clear with the thought of his age and power.

But he then stopped, looking back to his throne, then back forward, to a figure that was... hard to figure out with what else was behind him.

"What do you want? I've haven't been informed of a new arrival."

He spoke to the figure, waiting a response as he headed the Empathic Obliterator in case of an attempt of harm.