Asteroth assumed his rightful place among the circle, his armor sleek and refined compared to those of his comrades, even those who preferred the female shape. They seemed to possess a darker more barbaric air, thickly plated in bone and other more macabre materials, hooves, horns, claws. He was also, unsurprisingly , the smallest of Hell's knights, dwarfed at his station and yet demanding more respect all the same. He held himself as if every demon in this realm were beneath him, and so they were. Lucifer found his creation amusing, Asteroth's unbending will a challenge. It's what he'd been created for, the personification of pride.<br/><br/>Asteroth was un-phased by the bloodbath below, the sacrifice of mortal flesh and soul a necessity for the ritual. The lust and violation served no other purpose than demonic pleasure, and while the activities around the dais certainly interested his more basic demonic instincts, he still held no gaze but for Roarke, who seemed to be stirring, naked upon the stone slab as he cast about in terror, likely having never even imagined the horrors surrounding him as the mortal fodder fought futilely for their forsaken lives. Asteroth smirked beneath his mask, almost feeling sorry for the human mind trapped within Balam's shell.<br/><br/>Almost.<br/><br/>It wouldn't be much longer now until Balam returned to his rightful place at his side. And in his bed.<br/><br/>As an ocean of blood rose from the feast below, figures carved into the stone began to fill, and the ritual began, Andromeda's chosen beginning to writhe and contort as she regained the strength to possess her new mortal form. Excitement coursed through Asteroth, his eyes still on Roarke. He'd waited so long, nearly a decade . . . and tonight, finally, his waiting would pay off. Any minute now the mortal would begin to twist and fight his invisible attacker. His eyes would fall shut . . . and reopen to that familiar yellow gaze that Asteroth missed so.<br/><br/>Except he didn't. Instead, the man stood and left the dais for the snarling mass of screams and bodies below. Asteroth's eyes widened beneath his helmet, inside his mind screaming at him to move, that if this human disappeared and got his body mauled or completely devoured, Balam would have no flesh to return to. Outwardly, he didn't budge. He knew the others were watching him, judging him, and if he showed such weakness as concerning himself with the fate of another, even a fellow Knight, he'd never hear the end of it. And yet the thought of Balam's wicked heart being lost to the voids of Hell forever haunted him, destroyed him.<br/><br/>Asteroth shot from his position at the circle like an eagle, diving into the pits in search of the infuriating human. Anger and frustration fueling him, his spear materialized and Asteroth didn't bat an eyelash as he sliced through the lesser demons in his path, no doubt on the trail of fresh meat as Roarke fled to nowhere. The only thing awaiting him here was death. On the outside, Asteroth remained as cool and unfeeling as ever. Below the surface, he was livid. Not only had this pathetic man put Balam at risk, but he'd also forced Asteroth, a demon of hell, to embarrass himself by cleaning up this mess. If he even found him in time. "Roarke! Balam! Heed my words when I say no mortal can escape this place on his own. A man stands no chance here. And while I prefer your body in one piece, I care not if it's been violated or tortured. So I suggest you show yourself and accept your fate the easy way." He landed among the legions of distorted creations, even their feeble minds smart enough to give him a wide berth as he parted the sea of feeding demons, most dropping their victims, or what was left of them, from their mouths and bowing in his wake. "Roarke, let me help you," he purred.