[center][b]Uriel Delacroix - Aryanpur[/b][/center]

[hr]
 
Uriel glanced back and upwards to Lucius and looked to him, mouth a thin, grim line. "... in its fullness and when privacy permits, yes. For now..." he smiled weakly to the Prince, an expression of weariness-weariness from torture, from the weight of demons and fate, of persecution and nobility and the guilt of his own arrogance. "... you may call to me as Uriel." 

With that, he steps up the stair a bound to right next to Lucius-and offered him an outstretched hand; his voice, however, rang both of shattered nerves and hope. "Weak as I am right now... I am not going to let you collapse. Let me help you."

There was no time for Lucius to be hobbling after. Scared as his mind was, as the fear and anger boiled in his blood, some part of him [i]thrived[/i] in this den of carnage and cacophony of destruction and screams-perhaps the demons, perhaps for whatever was inside of him that attracted them so to him. He knew not, in the end; however, neither did he have the time or care for even [i]that[/i] mystery right then, not while one of the two men in all the world who he held some dearness for stood so close to his death. Desperately, he looked pleadingly to Lucius, praying to whatever God had chosen to forsake him and whatever demons plagued him with their strength for the man to trust him. There was not [i]time[/i] for Lucius otherwise and damned be the fires and heaven itself, he was not going to just abandon him here.