"Thomas wants to play with the prince." The man replied, voice yet childish in contrast to his grown form. His head tilted to the side in a brief, twitch-like motion. "Dorian never shares. He should share." Thomas' speech was sloppy, choppy, and in third person. His eyes were held wide as if in awe of the man standing there, broad smile on his face sinister as he showed rows of sharpened teeth. While many of the demonic superiors were at least mostly human in form, Dorian by far the most so, this man showcased more of the aspects of the warrior class. He was twisted internally, as well as externally. As he lumbered forward into the room and over the rubble, his motions would seem awkward and disconnected, as if he were a puppet on string. Yet, they were sturdy and quick and the same time.

His gaze rolled to one side of the room, then the other, then finally towards Akio again. "Play!" He demanded suddenly, taking up his sickle blade and leaping towards Akio, swinging it with a lack of skill, but a lot of force. The devilish smile on his face never left, only appearing to brighten as he lunged. Thomas had nothing going on mentally, truth be told. All that ran through his head was what he spoke, and he spoke all that he felt. His was a lost soul, and certainly a corrupted one at that.

Dorian continued walking casually enough, not having heard any specifically startling sounds again. Perhaps Byakuya was just toying with him, or maybe he had brought along a servant, but Dorian was assuming in thinking the noise had been him. Perhaps he had nothing to be up-in-arms about. Yet, what if he did? He paused on the stairs for a moment, brows furrowing. Body frozen there, he lifted one of his hands to his face as his thoughts clouded. So what if Akio were to come to harm, then what? He shouldn't care. He couldn't care. Demons were not capable of love.

In an instant, Dorian was set into a sprint up the stairs, gritting his teeth as he moved with haste now up to the first level of his home. Demons were not capable of love. His feet bounded up the stairs desperately, the seal on his chest burning as he threw himself around the curve of the staircase. Demons were not capable of love. When he came to the door, he ran for it with his elbow before him, knocking it open and nearly off of its hinges as he nearly stumbled on his landing on the marble flooring. Demons were not capable of love. Soaring down the hall and skidding at the point where it hall forked, his breathing began to labor itself as his one of his hands rose troubledly to run up though his hair. Demons were not capable of love. From the end of the hall, he was already able to see the destruction that had occurred-- the gaping hole in the wall that was Akio's bedroom. Dorian was not capable of love. Clutching at his chest as fear struck him, he began at a sprint down the hall.

Akio, they will pay for this.