Kalamar’s expression flickered - an amusement, an interest, something sharper lurking beneath the surface. Jurgen’s pride was admirable, though pride had a tendency to curdle into something uglier when left unchecked.
"Retaliation born from pride is still retaliation," Kalamar mused, fingers drumming lightly against his side. "Whether it is fear, pride, or simple arrogance - it means they acknowledge your strength. And acknowledgment is the first step toward bending the world to your will." The devil tilted his head slightly, studying Jurgen’s face with the lazy fascination of a cat watching a mouse just out of reach.
"No, that's what I want." Kalamar laughed: fear and worship, the reverence that was due to a devil that would become a God. He let the thought settle, watching how Jurgen reacted to it before continuing. "The truth is simpler and far more difficult to accept. The Dark One does not 'want' in the way you or I do. He is beyond want. Beyond ambition. The Shadow does not seek - it simply is. It is the space between, the hunger that gnaws, the absence that demands to be filled. It does not need justification, nor does it need to be misunderstood." Kalamar's lips curled into something resembling a smile.
"The Dark One's will is measured in eons: an end to all life, the breaking of the Wheel. No more turns, no more rebirths. Blight and death." When Jurgen cut someone down in violence it served His will, when a Devil collected the Shadow was satiated. With every soul drawn into the Abyss and in every act of corruption, He won - little by little, soul by soul.
Something resembling tenderness lifted the devil's hand and cradled the general's cheek, though there was an irreverent cold to Kalamar's touch that couldn't be denied. "We all have our ambitions, but there are many paths to walk through the night."