Why not?
This had been Jeoffrey's motto since his ascension within the Sicarius. Why not strut in to a meeting of hostile Sic? Why not practice with multidimensional portals? Why not step inside an unstable rift? Why not fuck with angels? Everything he did could be reasoned off with "Because I felt like it." Why not fuck with the angels? It's after he saw them that he decided that.. Maybe this world won't be so pitiful. So instead of seeking of a way to return home, he donned the Reaver Armor, and stepped out in to the city of Damascus. Jeoffrey had proven to be a terror rather quickly; No Demon could match him, and no Angel could drive him off. All who stood in his path were quick to fall, and in the past week of his being here, his Reaver blade had tasted so much Demon blood that it existed both on the mortal and aetheric plane, capable of wounding the supernatural and deities. The blood of the demons stained his leather full-body cloak, leaving it a cruel blackish-red tinge, and he rather liked it. Jeoffrey was always one to garb himself in dark, 'edgy' colors, as the infernal color scheme struck fear in to the hearts of men. Fear was a large part of what he did.. Intimidation went a long way in the world of combat, a world that never changed, even throughout the multiverse.
As time had gone on, Jeoffrey had been striking the angels down. They proved to be a far greater challenge, seeming to appear in fewer numbers than the demons did. This lead him to believe that they were the better game, and so even through his nightly sprees of demonslaying, he took it upon himself to challenge and claim the heads of angel scouts and warriors that arrived to the scene rather late. The Dominus was quick to move out when he heard the howling of wind and the roaring of magic, all he had to do was follow the swarm of demons racing through the ruined city to find the cause.. And he held back quite a few feet as another spell was prepared. The Demons were driven back, and with a fancy show, this Angel had garbed himself in rather interesting armor. He could feel the supervillain inside of him rise up as he grinned, and decided that perhaps a little drama would go a long way. Thus, his figure began to stride forwards, appearing to onlookers as if he were gliding across the ground what with his full-body cloak encircling his person and disguising his feet from view, and at his approach the demons in his path shuffled aside. They could feel it, the blood of their brothers coating his body, his confidence and disturbing presence leaving them to choose life over death in his case. From the mass of demons stepped the hooded Dominus, the weighted Reaver blade sheathed on his back. The hilt stuck up behind his head, the pommel shaped in to the visage of a human skull. The blade itself pierced the leather cloak, and stretched down along the Dominus' back, allowing him to grab and draw it by the blade, and 'unsheathe' it without reaching out from his garb. His head tipped upwards, glaring from the shadows cast by his hood at this Angel, and from this angle the light that hit him showed off his face below his nose. He proudly bore a Van Dyke, black oily hair encircling his mouth, which was slowly curling up in to a wicked grin. If he spoke, it wasn't loudly, but an adept lipreader would be able to see, "Come on, little bird."