[ Conviction has always been intoxicating to Set. Ambition sits just below it, the driving force behind an unshakeable belief — the Archangel may be a madman, but he speaks in the same absolutes that Silco does, that Hayame does. That any number of those Set gravitates towards do. Is it any wonder, that despite the revulsion he feels, he feels the shiver roll down his spine — his nature drawing him closer, closer still.

He does not desire the Archangel's salvation ( some part of him does, aching and yearning ), but he does desire his services. They are Savant, and polar opposites in faction, which means they are primed to handle one another's Discord. Set's own is a rising flame, steadied by the crush of a petal belonging to Yima's flower within him. Archangel may be able to sense it, the soft thrum of Zenith potential below Set's skin — just before he traces his fingertips over the bridge of the man's nose.

Across the bow of his mouth. ] Do you prefer the conquest or the spoils, Archangel? The field of battle, or the temple built upon the ashes? You want to hold me, but I feel you enjoy the chase more than you would enjoy genuinely having me.

[ He drops his hand, and though they are in Communion, seizes the blonde by the throat. ]

— what a stupid question, I thought you were a clever man.

[ There's no heat in the words, something mournful and bleak dwells within him. Something practical, pragmatic, and perhaps slightly tired of the fact that Archangel is the only Zenith Savant that he knows ( Cid is another, though he has yet to meet Cid; perhaps one day, though ). And he is perfect for this use, to soothe Discord and invite in harmony once more. ]

If you want to sneak into my mind while I sleep, at least make yourself useful and soothe my Discord, you bastard.