In the depths of the Demon Cult's lair in Olavaguel, one figure simmered in the heat of his jacuzzi, his chiselled and breathtaking body laid bare for his female servants to ogle. Not that they dared to raise their heads from their subservient position. He floated in the tub, sipping on chilled wine as he sprawled both legs up on the tub's edges. Smiling in satisfaction, he rested his tired muscles while brushing his dampened grey hair.
"I didn't know you had a habit of peeking," Samael suddenly spoke with his eyes closed, stunning his servants into a nervous breakdown. One of the more lustful girls felt her heartbeat accelerating, as if she had been caught committing a crime. But fortunately, the Apostle's words weren't directed at her.
"There's nothing to look at," an ethereal voice called from the void as a misty figure emerged from the edge of the bathroom.
"What do you mean by that?! My dragon is easily the size of a baby's arm!"
