[fancypost borderwidth=0px; margin-top: -14px][justify][font=georgia][size=8]Like the rest of his brethren he was, when drifting aimlessly through nothingness, a shapeless black mass, shifting and shimmering and floating with no real destination until he reached a portal into ÆĮ and could safely transform into an overall more solid spirit. Sometimes demons never made it to a portal and remained in the sanity-sapping void that was blankness and they were the unfortunates that were drained of their life forces and used as power boosts by the stronger evils that occasionally went hunting for weak demons to prey on. Angels were altogether more civilised when it came to the hierarchy, but in the demonic world, if a powerful creature scented weakness they would devour it and grow. Brutal yes, but survival of the fittest was crucial in hell, and the better the remaining albeit small army was, the closer they would be to overthrowing God. It was a delicious goal to have, but most demons weren't bothered, merely feeding to satiate their bloody hunger as they were moved like pawns about a chessboard. Most were unaware of the bigger picture and even the most intelligent were kept in the dark; and for the most part this could only be good, for rebellious demons were forever bad. Those who were let in on the plot were likely to go astray - easy pickings for demonhunters and angels on the loose. Satan had to be cautious.
That day was a remotely positive day for the young spirit as he drifted to ÆĮ, entering the gravitational plains and allowing himself to take on the form of a young man; he was about sixteen or seventeen, more or less, with milky pale skin and jet black hair. He donned a black suit and white gloves, and for a moment he just stood still, uniform; then a partially amused light came into his hooded cyan gaze and his mouth partially upturned into a devilish smirk- the youth of a demon is most incredible, their inability to control and abolish whatever petty emotions they naturally wish to feel and their lack of control over powers makes for a dangerous concoction; if one were to anger and explode with pure and unadulterated rage and then unwillingly unleash the full extent of their dastardly abilities it could make for great and unneeded carnage, a war nobody could afford to fight in. Most were contained and secured tightly until they matured; he had escaped that fate with naturally high status in hell, his vacuum like qualities and tendency to unknowingly absorb the pathetic aiding him in his Manifesting, his birth. He was still unfinished and still very strong. A complete and fully trained Coracinus Lucifer would not be a pretty sight for the enemy at all.
The young man known as the Black Devil flicked out an ebony forked tongue and swiped it over his lips, wetting them with drool and giving them an odd sheen. As he did, he grinned slightly, morphing that smirk into something worse and revealing all pointed fangs, all made for tearing and plundering, all dangerous and white. He then moved forward, slow rhythmic steps, hands clasping behind his back as he wandered through ÆĮ.