Emanuelle was shocked by the emotional bitterness in Belials voice. There was something there Emanuelle had never heard before, nor had ever imagined a Demon could ever be capable of. Emotion, inner pain, guilt, distress. Love. She was more surprised to see the whisper of water on the lid of his eye.
Both Greaves and Emanuelle understood one truth. Belial was sacrificing a lot of self discipline, and a lot of himself, to go back to her. The journey may be fraught with danger, but only one heart, and one soul was on the line. They both belonged to the Demon she suddenly respected, and even felt for.
Once again the weight of the last day (was it really only that long) pressed against her mind. She had learned a whole library of nothing, it seemed, in the centuries previous. Now she knew so much more. An understanding of the depth of Mercy crept across the shadow behind her forehead. There was a pit inside this Demon. The travel down is dark and fraught with anticipation and confusion, but the bottom showed a dim light of something. Something almost tangible, something she could almost affiliate with, something she yearned to be a part of. Something she needed...scratch that...obsessively had to understand.
Greaves had listened raptly to a tale, he had deemed himself a romantic. A learned man who craved the craft of romantic literature and poetry. He had it here, a Demonic soul, capable of passion and moral upstanding even toward his enemies; a vicious killer, a brute in fact. A complicated and twisted melange of Angel and Demon, lover and murderer, poet and thug.
The silence was deafening now, but there was a glowing and pulsating mixture of respect and sorrow hanging in the air. This was all broken by a simple instruction.
"We leave tomorrow morning, get some rest." Belial opened the door to the earthly grey misty world and disappeared temporarily from view.