[Suzerain of Sheol]

Shealtiel stares at the unveiled demon, torn between confusion and horror. By all measures, a demon of Amaymon's stature should be as nothing next to the manifest might of Uriel, and yet, it certainly seemed as though the fiend was convinced Asasiah's was stronger for him being in control.

Unless she cannot master Uriel's power or wholly channel it through her body. If the demon's will commands the angel's might and further girds the flesh...

But would it be enough? Could it possibly be? Looking at the wraith was like staring down a tunnel straight into the depths of Sinai, into the very throne and seat of Abaddon's fullest sovereignty. Undoubtedly, Cain was among the chiefs of the Emim. Somehow, the old man doubted the Angel of the Abyss would allow one of his preeminent servants to perish so vainly.

And yet, that unholy lust in Amaymon's eyes... that hunger...

He can feel it, now, the pounding pressure of the life he consumed earlier. Even though it fills him with power and possibility, it stretches Shealtiel's mortal frame to its limits to contain it. For a moment, he ponders consuming a dead essence to counteract the force within him. What would be the consequences? Already, Sheol stains his very cells to their core.

He had never been one to dare, to tempt fate, before the end of the world. But lately, the necromancer found himself caring less and less about his own survival. If he was right... the results of drinking Cain's ancient soul could prove... fascinating.

He would merely need to wait for his moment.