Damien narrowed his sable-tinted gaze, displeased by the deranged remark of the demented pope. "That would imply I was loyal to them, to begin with. But I am not."
"I awakened as myself, unshackled by whatever hierarchy these abominations have made themselves."
"My title as a traitor doesn't bother me. However, the implication that I stood alongside them is troublesome," he asserted with indifference.
"It doesn't matter what you consider yourself to be. You will always be an Aberrant. Sooner or later, your false name will burn asunder. Am I wrong, Oberon?"
Hearing the words of the deranged pope, Damien held his unravelling emotions. The two of them have never met before. How?
That name was the one he had chosen after his awakening. It was the title granted to him, the name his monsters bestow their loyalty upon.
Unless... It had become his legitimate name as an Aberrant. A title concealed to most and recognized by some. The New World has always been brimming with mystery.
