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[daemonized]

[Then they'll be two immovable objects facing against each other, because Ardyn certainly doesn't intend to budge. He can be a malleable man when necessary, but he hardly sees any reason to (or feels any sort of inclination to be) when dealing with a subject like this. His past, the twisted, tragic thing that it can be. His memories, swathed in anger and spite, all fuel for his motivations on Eos.]

They made me out to be [a monster] unworthy of my title. Made the public believe that I was something I wasn't. And the gods, they deemed me as equally undeserving, tainted by the very thing that I tried to save others from.

[And what at all had been fair about that? Asked to have performed a task and then to have everything taken away simply because he had done what was asked of him. How he had hated them so, for delegating to him an impossible goal, only to punish him for it. As if he weren't already weighed enough by the Starscourge itself.

It angers him often just thinking about it. Outwardly, Ardyn doesn't show it, though the muscles in his jaw flex, his brows furrow slightly. This bitterness of his can be stirred with a bit of prying, but he will almost always manage to keep a lid on all the acid that threatens to overspill.

In the end, it's still enough.

Because something flickers in his vision, a form coming into view behind Rosalind. Something immeasurably large, something that belongs in the nothingness and everything of space and time -- he recognizes it immediately, and craning his neck up, it's an impossibility that it should fit in this room. An astral. A god of war.

Bahamut.]