Of all the scenes Phobetor had been envisioning he might appear in, this was not one of them. He had only a brief moment to look around, feeling the danger in the air just as heat on his face, before Asmodeus spoke. Though the room appeared to be a study and the demon's seat a cushy rocker, Phobetor had only to consider his words to realize that this place was a throne room. Though not quite as obvious as a normal great hall, the parts were all there: the luxury, the grandeur, the excellent posterior accommodations—a show was being made, and not just in Asmodeus's speech. Were he facing such a being in reality, Phobetor might have quaked and backed down, but in the realm of dreams he wasn't so easily cowed.

Phobetor took the seat. Unbound by of the restrictions he faced in the real world, he let his power seep freely from him, quickly coating the chair and staining the surrounding carpet with murky black. Despite having a distinct advantage in his eyes, the God of Nightmares was wary with his reply. “Hi there,” he waved sarcastically. “Good fortune meetin' someone else from the underworld. Practically makes us family. Though, since you're thirty-second demon and I'm number-one Nightmare God, there might be some...difficulties. No hard feelings, though.” Two gleaming purple irises never faltered from Asmodeus's flaring viridian eyes.

“I had intended to fill...Andrew, was it? ..his dreams with terror, to make him tremble and scream, to make him awake with a start and a cold sweat and to savor it all. If he's not available, though, there's no point in stickin' around. If this is gonna happen every time, I might not even come back.” Phobetor didn't reveal his name, though if Asmodeus had been paying attention to the roll call back in the waking world, he'd know it anyway. Not that it was his true name, at any rate.