Hᴇ ʜᴇᴀʀs the threat for what it is, but he’s not worried. Of course not. If he miscalculated anything in his rites, he would have known by now; if nothing before had been enough to tip the demon over, this now sure would have been. It shows in the subtle change on expression, on the wings unfolding (make yourself even bigger to intimidate any predator, hu?) and if he had done something wrong, then he’d likely bleed out on the floor already, not for the first time. Certainly slower than the last round, though. Or maybe not. He doesn’t know enough about the swarm to know if They would stand any chance against a proper demon, doesn’t know the full extend of his own powers now, and he’s certainly not too keen on a practical test of that.
They certainly don’t share his confidence in nothing going wrong, though. Clearly They don’t like this situation (although he doubts it’s him seeking to know more about Them; hunting for knowledge had always been the defining trait of his character and if it bothered Them enough, then he is sure that he wouldn’t have sustained as a host for as long as he does, would have been of a more temporary solution), but he can feel parts of Them settling on his skin. Not like insects crawling over one, making Their way out of the wounds and setting like a heavy, buzzing and moving scarf around his neck (a scarf, or a noose?), but it’s the closest thing a human mind might be able to compare it to. Something he hadn’t thought about before, and to be frank, he’d rather They wouldn’t; showing like this might be opening up his cards too much. It’s not like he can tell Them to stop, though.
Oh, well, he might as well pretend like it’s been the original plan all along then.
"Guess you can guess why I’ve got an interest in talkin’ t’ you, specifically.“ He raises one hand, places it near his own shoulder, and almost as if They actually listened to some command, a part of the swarm readily curls around it, covering it in a cloud of black moving parts when he moves it back away. "It’s not like there’s a lot o’ experts up here, after all. Or well, th’ few self-proclaimed ones I met always got so scared when meetin’ th’ subjects o’ their studies, an’ as fun as it’s t’ have ‘em crawl down their lungs so they can’t scream, it doesn’t exactly tell me much.”
TO BE honest, he was expecting to be asked a different sort of question. There’s two kinds of people that usually summon him up here for the most part: the hopeless in search of a cure for their aching desire, whatever it might be - whatever wound it might have left on their soul - and the hungry for any bit of knowledge they can sink their teeth into. The desperate and the greedy. The latter especially always have so many expectations when they finally see him standing before them, and can barely wait for him to be properly present before throwing all and every question at him, demanding for an immediate explanation. It doesn’t work like this. He knows more, much more about the Great After than they ever will, but just as much is obscure to him. They don’t have to know, though. He likes fucking around with them, either being cryptic or spitting out bullshit and seeing how it plays out.
This, though. This does awaken his curiosity and has him try a little harder to remember if he’s ever seen anything like that in the Pentagram. Insect or even swarm demons were barely anything new, but this was unlike anyone he’d ever met before. Possession is out of question for his kind, that much he’s aware of. Then - he wonders as he squints just a bit, just enough to see the dark bug-like creatures crawling about the man’s hand like bees on a honey vase - what the fuck is this he’s looking at?
If there were any advantage for him there, he’d straight up bend the truth a little, but for once he has nothing to gain out of this situation. Not yet. He’ll look for a way to get some, even the smallest crumb of soul or satisfaction, but for now he’ll play slow and vague. (The mention of violence doesn’t elicit a reaction from him. Satan knows he’s done worse than suffocating a man to death.) “So you thought of goin’ and askin’ for a different expert’s opinion, didn’t ya.” Dry humor. His gaze still doesn’t move away from the ‘scarf’ around the other’s neck, trying to get a closer look and a few more details out of it. “Where did you find it?”
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