He's beginning to grow bored already. There are some familiar games to be played in Ceres, but that is exactly the problem with them. He's played them all before. The fighting arenas underground are paltry and unchallenging compared to Heaven's Arena. The games of ViVID are merely that, games. So patently frustratingly false in their utter lack of true consequence. He watches men and women and children go about their daily chores, laughing and smiling and telling each fairy tales. So bland. So banal. He finds himself daydreaming about random acts of violence, utter petulance, and the only thing that keeps him restrained are the few others like him. Discontents who itch to flex their claws. Birds of a feather.

There are some spiders which like to catch birds in their webs.

He knows the name of one and is tired of his hiding. There is no call to be so shy.

His presence glows like a beacon at Chrollo's back, no longer bothering to be subtle as long-suppressed desires rise to the surface. He's waited for this, so patiently, so pure in his one focus. It was a kind of love. Maybe he's just being funny when he throws the suicide king directly at the back of Chrollo's head.

I see you. We can play here, or we can play in private.