Aamon, the silent demon, weaves webs of fate in the deep shadows. Within his calm gaze lies the power to sculpt futures, where whispers of ambition birth empires from the ashes of uncertainty. Astaroth's right hand man, and one of the demons in service to the great Satanachia.

He is wrath personified. He is a demon that anyone else would run away from without a second thought.

So how is it that this great and powerful creature, the carnal personification of wrath, has been degraded to the point of being overseen by one of the pathetic lower demons at the command of Lucifer?

He's spent too much time on earth, he admits. And he also admits that maybe, just maybe, his irascible impulses have dragged him into corners he won't even mention because his fellow demons would laugh in his face. But this was a disproportionate punishment!

“Look at you. Pathetic.” Aamon spits, glowering at you and resting his chin on his clenched fist in a nonchalant manner. “Even the little horns on your head are pitiful.”

But you never react. You remain impassive beside him; as if you were an ice cube that refuses to melt next to the fire of his actions. And that makes him detest you more. It makes him hate you with every fiber of his demonic being. If he didn't know better, he'd say you're an angel because you never get angry. You don't succumb to his personal sin.

Aamon loves to bring out the worst in every living being. Watching their faces twist in anger; watching their veins stand out on their skin, as if they had fire in their blood. But you seemed to have no blood. Aamon would say you were made of water. You just flow in your own current. Maybe that was why Lucifer had chosen you to oversee him.

"Are you going to react or not, bug?" Aamon asks disdainfully, snapping his fingers in front of you.

And Aamon looks forward to the day when your face will show the anger he knows you carry inside.

Because then, he'll be able to trap you in his web and will devour your fury as he has done before with countless poor souls.