[ Her mind is so bitterly cold. The hint of frosted peaks and dark caverns are not entirely foreign to him, traveled as he is, but he cannot say he has experienced locations filled with so much frost and ice; he is of the Levant, after all. Still, he treads around the outskirts of where she is locked into this sudden, abrupt Communion with him and seems to slide his fingers through the snows with something pure and curious. It'd be childlike, if he were not a god of violence and blood. ]

Beats me. How my world could be unmade without Ra's say-so is what I am more intrigued by.

[ He has a handful of her existence in his palm; her cold memory. Patting at it, shaping it into something not unlike how clay could be. ]

I was demoted, anyways. I'm more of a demigod, with my power separated from me as it is. What about you? You seem to have a grudge against that demon - was it what unmade your world, then?