I'm so nervous about this one... Any comments would be greatly appreciated, since this is the first time I'm working with this kind of story (and fandom).

He survived.

And he's waiting.

After all the pain he's endured, all the fantasies snatched from his fingertips, he knows everything will work out, in the end. It's all coming together, now, and he's ready to claim the power that he deserves. It practically comes to him—and rightly so! The village at the base of his palace is being rebuilt; the insects dare not venture into his castle, and he is free to watch them. They're ants, struggling to reconstruct their demolished colony.

Well…mostly.

When he first saw them, he was unsure what to think—even now, he's stuck between hating the thought, and sullying his status by fanboying over the concept. His Imilian angel. The slayer who'd captured his heart. Seeing them…together was such a bizarre experience.

He once loved her, he knows. Those days are long gone, but he can't let go of the past—of what could have been. How long ago was it, that he feigned illness or injury, just to see her? How much time had passed since a mere twitch of her lips sent his heart aflutter? So many years, so much has changed… a chasm separates them, now, and he is well aware that he is no longer welcome in her sanctum. Quite a pity, really, since she is more than welcome in his palace.

Growing apart has worked just as well for him, though. The object of his affections has changed, for better or worse. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realizes that the infatuation is simply his power longing to be complete; it's the will of the natural world. Every now and then, he embraces this epiphany; if it is for this reason that he so desires the slayer, then the warrior must also yearn for him. Other days, he is less accepting, fabricating theories and elaborate stories to explain why he's pining away for another.

He's certainly had time; that's one thing that can't be refuted. It took so many months for him to be able to stand by his own power, to rise from the rubble of the once proud peak. In that time, he'd dreamed, and done little else.

His visions taunted him, offered him little suggestions and ideas that he'd wanted so desperately to accept or act on. It started with power, an absolute law under his command, the ultimate truth coming from his mouth. In those early visions, he'd fantasized about killing his slayer- a thought which horrifies him, now- but they slowly evolved into what he sees today.

Today, he delights in his fantasies; he waits with bated breath for the next scene to play out in his head. In his mind's eye, he captures the other's heart, night after night, and harmony is created when the fourth of alchemy he does not control comes to him—of its own accord!

So many nights, and not one has passed where his mind is under his complete control; now he finds a strange pleasure in stealing into his warrior's dreams. With his power, altering the other's visions is practically child's play. He cheats, and freely admits that; he acts out his dreams in the mindscape of his warrior. He steals the slayer from recollections of the past, just to get a glance, to take a taste; he barges in on true dreams- complete fiction- to play a game; he lurks at the edges of conscious thought, just to see if his warrior will one day join him.

Deep down, his heart acknowledges what his mind refuses—in the depths of his being, he knows he's insane.

And he doesn't care about that.

Not one bit.

It doesn't matter to him because he can accomplish anything, now. Whatever he wants, it's his. In his warped mind, Mt. Aleph's ruins become his castle. Though his eyes, only a select few are worthy to exist. In his world, there is only one goal; and he is so close to attaining it. It doesn't matter what anybody else thinks, what they say, what they do; he knows they exist for the sole purpose of entertaining him.

He survived.

And he's waiting.

Nothing else matters.