Welcome to Gaia! ::

There was quite a bit of yelling coming from outside followed by gunshots, which seemed to have distracted the dark haired woman as her Imp continued to threaten the daylights of the closest person that had been around her. She knew that voice, in fact she knew it too well.

Moving away from the man she had bumped into, the woman began to make a rather stalky sort of walk as though she were trying to be sneaky. Problem was she wasn’t exactly known to be the sneakiest of individuals as she had a variety of elements that made her stand out. Asides from having a rather foul mouthed Imp living on her shoulder she also had a dark staff that had a distinct glow on the end.

As she moved around as though she had her own theme music, there was a loud bang.

It burst and caused everyone’s ear drums to ache and whimper in pain. That was not a gunshot. That was something far worse.

"EVERYONE GET DOWN!"

Eyeball Paul had hit the ground at that point along with a couple of the patrons. Unfortunately the Camille she wasn’t as fast as the others (she was going to blame the booze on that one-Damn Imp).Glass shattered and danced around her. Although the woman had managed to cover her face it didn’t help that some of the fallen debris did manage to give her the few cuts onto her light skin. A couple bled, but they weren’t anything serious.

“Ya’ kay, Cammie?” Yecasta brushed away some of the glass from his lady friend’s shoulders ensured there wasn’t any too serious of damage. Sure her dress had the occasional slice along with her hands and such, but it could have been a lot worse. Almost a sigh of relief left her lips as she could only be thankful that she wasn’t in the direct range of any of the windows.

From the angle that she had been standing at the mage was able to see a couple of notable things with her dark colored eyes. First, there was the guy who stole her book earlier, a couple of bodies, and yet there was no sign of the voice she had heard earlier. This seemed to concern her a little bit as she could have sworn….

“….Yeah…I am fine…” She seemed rather zoned out for a second as she tried to get a closer look. The mage slowly made her way now towards one of the broken in windows. Now she wasn’t being too stealthy about things, she almost wandered aimlessly as she moved closer. Finally reaching the window’s edge, her head peered around the corner as she looked about, as a small bit of blood began to trickle down her forehead from one of the wounds on her scalp.

Almost instant she could feel the heat from the other building as flames danced about the street with the sounds of screams began to fill the alleys. But where the hell was that voice she heard? Rather than moving closer, for the moment she was going to stay put. It was probably safer inside rather than out at the moment as the cause of all this anarchy was still not revealed quite yet. Placing her hand gently against the window sill she prepped herself a bit, if she needed to move out of the way she could push herself out of harm’s way and beside the wall. Plus, this way her staff was also in easier access if her assistance was needed.

The speed at which it all happened was almost as startling as the event itself. One minute, the rain filled street was calm and quiet. Well, as quiet as it could have been what with Scrapper shooting three men and all. The next minute, chaos quite literally filled the street. Tossed aside like a dogs ragged toy, Darin barreled forcefully through the front wall of the tavern, a torrent of broken glass and splintered wood following in his wake. As he flew through the air, he felt that dam within him break. A feeling he had grown oh so accustomed to. He embraced the anxiety and excitement that came with it.

First, he made contact with a rather large table, the weight of his armor clad frame breaking the wooden surface easily in two, before the Justicar bounced with the sheer momentum that carried him, barreling into another table, and then another, only to slam into the floor, tumbling violently toward the establishments bar. His front made firm contact with the front of the bar counter, followed by any bits of debris and glass that had been carried with him.

The scent of blood filled the air.

Seconds passed and nothing. The survivors within the establishment began to shift and murmur amongst themselves as the fire raged on outside.

Suddenly, with a rather audible groan, the Justicar's limp frame fidgeted before one hand rose. Slamming forcefully upon what remained of the taverns bar counter, Darin quickly hauled himself to his feet, his chains clamoring at his sides against the armor encasing his legs. leaning his head from left, to right, electing a series of pop from the vertebra of his neck. He seemed to linger, back toward the front of the establishment, eyes fixated upon a nonspecific point behind the bar counter.

Slowly, his tongue slid forth, dancing across his upper lip, only to taste that coppery warmth he had, unfortunately, grown all too familiar with. His own blood.

Rather suddenly, the Justicar turned about, leaning his head from left to right once more, another series of pops electing from his neck. Immediately the change would be noticeable. His pupils had shrank, now oblong, animal-like slits within an ocean of yellow. The whites of his sclara had been consumed by a deep crimson, not unlike the blood that now ran freely down his face from the rather large shard of glass embedded in his upper left forehead. Smaller shards had pierced through the flesh of his lower jaw, and one even punctured his right cheek. The rest of his body however, seemed much better off, the leather of his jacket and the armor that covered the rest of his body did well to keep him from getting sliced up further by the debris, however the sheer force of the impacts still rattled him slightly.

His nostrils flared.

Crimson and yellow orbs danced across the establishment as he took a step forward, immediately falling upon the closest, and strongest scent pool. Which just so happened to be the now legless scrapper. His eyes narrowed further as the man suddenly yelled through the nice new hole in the front of the establishment. Even in that rough a shape, the man continued. That, the Justicar could respect. While he had disagreed with his actions in the street, no one deserved to be in the condition he was in now. No one. His eyes followed the mans yelling toward the opening, now wanting to get a good look at what they were up against.

And thats when he saw her.

His nostrils flared once more, his eyes narrowing further as he inspected the woman from a distance. Her dress had been torn, blood clearly visible upon what he could see. His chest heaved as he drew his breath, his gloved hands flexing at his side.



Darin took another step forward, his hands clenching tightly at his sides. The sudden booming of Scrappers voice filling the establishment caused the Justicar to tense, falling back onto the balls of his feet, his lips drawing back into what could only be described as a smile. With his teeth bore, the changes in them would be clearly visible to those willing to look. The eye teeth of both upper and lower jaws had elongated, and the rest seemed to have sharpened to an almost predatory state. Surprise followed as Scrapper now stood before him once more, supported - quite literally - by divine power and the mans own sheer force of will. His stance immediately straightened, and that snarl faded, those dark eyes falling to half mast to sort of protect themselves from the intense light that radiated off the man.

That powerful blast then ripped forth, taking all the man had left in him, and sending it directly at the creature in the street. Darin's gaze immediately snapped from Scrapper, trying to follow the blast toward its target. The wind kicked up by such a feet took hold of the Justicar's jacket, and the chains that hung around his waist, sending them fluttering about.

And with that, the mans final effort had left him, bringing him back down to the floor once more. Without a second glance, Darin turned rather abruptly toward the newly formed hole in the wall once more, and started toward it. His left hand rose and slid into his jacket, digging around a bit as his face contorted into mild thought. A faint smirk formed at the corners of his lips as he found what he sought by the time he had reached the opening, stopping right next to the brunette and her ghostly imp friend. Withdrawing his hand from his jacket, he lowered it toward the Necromancer, his gaze locked upon the flaming torrent, and the one responsible. Four vials sat in his palm with a thick, opaque white liquid that Camillie had become rather familiar with. She knew what it was for. As he extended them to her, his remaining hand rose, taking firm hold of the large shard of glass embedded in his forehead, before dislodging it with a firm yank, only to toss it aside.

"Camille. Take these and tend to yourself and the legless man."

His voice seemed...different. Lower, almost guttural. A growl. His tongue shifted within his mouth, sliding across the surfaces of his now elongated teeth as growl rose within his throat, but didn't manage to break free. With a quick glance down at the small woman, that crimson and white gaze seemed to pierce right through her, demanding she follow his instructions.

And with that, his leg rose and he stepped up onto, and through the newly created 'doorway' of the Hildebrand, landing on the concrete just beyond with a light grunt. The moment he landed, he drew a deep breath, his eyes flickering shut for a moment as his focus was monetarily diverted elsewhere. The violent downpour washed over him, caressing that blood marred skin, washing the already coagulating fluid away.



Falling silently to the ground, the remaining shards of glass embedded in his face were pushed free by invisible hands as the wounds upon his face began to slowly, and rather audibly, stitch themselves together as he slowly started toward the creature before him. His stride didn't last long however. About fifteen feet away from the creature, Darin stopped, crimson and yellow eyes leveled upon the cigar smoking beast.

"Talk about one hell of an entrance..."

He growled, his brow furrowing more before his left arm shot out to the side. With a sudden series of rapid clicks, followed by the whine of metal scraping against metal, wreathe of brilliant white energy enveloped his left wrist, emanating from within the sleeve of his jacket. The light intensified, enveloping his arm before fading with a sudden outward burst of pressure, leaving something in his wake. A rather thick, armored gauntlet now encased his left forearm, extra plating extending further up his bicep, leading into an armored shoulder pad. The plating was almost mirror like, not unlike the armor that covered his torso and legs. Long, armored fingers flexed, the rain that cascaded down upon him dripping off those pointed, claw like fingertips.

"Shall we?"

The rain continued to pummeled its soft song on the city of Castle, a melancholy caress against its inhabitants; elation for a Devil. Kains face tilted heavenward in mocking pleasure to the residents above, pure bliss washed against his face. Cry, he thought, weep and soothe me with your pain. The divines have tried and failed their assassination attempts before, their desperation against him gave strength and satisfaction with every fallen agent. He could feel it, so close was his time, the pulsing of the object in his hand gave credence to that.

"Well, hello there ye wee beastie, come ta play a game eh?"

Hmm?, those blue orbs that robbed the unfortunate technicians of their lives opened, falling towards the speaker.

"FIEND!. I call you out Kain! You will pay for blood with blood. As He has decreed."

"Oh?" a bit of surprise accented his comment. The corner of Kain's mouth widened, could it be the geezers upstairs were trying again already and THIS was their champion? They really were getting desperate. That or the exploits of his past was lingering, afterall, the boy knew his name. None recently had been able to maintain that information in their minds as their heads were promptly removed after learning it.

"LUCILE! Thunder forth the trumpets blow of battle! Come Devil! BE PURGED IN THE LIGHT!"

Really...Kain had watched as the man readied himself to attack, giving The Devil more than enough time. A rush of wind, the flap of wet leather, and a white toothed grin were all Kain needed, his wings propelling him to the right sidelong of the projectile, accepting the residual holy burns to his left side. The light was intense and forced a wince from him, the attack was, indeed, strong but fell exceptionally short of shocking. The righteous were always arrogant to think those of infernal nature dense, this one, Kain decided, belonged on both sides of that.

The tailor's shop was obliterated, felling the secret hatch to the lab below into rubble. More debris rained on the street, more casualties were made. The building collapsed, screams of those struggling and dazed from the initial blast were squelched once they were crushed underneath. Bits of stone and wood pelted against his wings, legs and back drawing various cuts , colouring his white dress shirt and torn blue jeans.

After the wave dissipated, Kain took a draw on his cigar while his skin steamed, a mixture of holy power touching the infernal skin and continuing precipitation hitting a now very angry fireling. Bustling embers from the devastation danced between the downpour, enjoying their deadly game of avoiding being snuffed out. Fitting, as one of Devilkin would metaphor Scrapper's position.

"Talk about one hell of an entrance..."

Kain's eyes fixed on this new one. The bliss was gone, he had been provoked, discovered, and made deadly serious. Mirth was washed away from his face with the streams of water and blood down his chin, his eyes beset with calm savagery, the light on the end of his cigar glowing brighter.

"Shall we?"

The Devil's eyes narrowed with a pensive gaze wondering if another longwinded sermon was coming his way. No. This was experience and...a challenge? Yes. The contours on Kains face softened, those blue orbs widened in joy! He rose from his brace of the blast to standing, releasing the smoke from his lungs to the damp air. A thick, muscled arm flashed perpendicular to his body, black smoke amidst red followed the movement and then extended from his opened fist. Kain's left hand rested at his side fully armed, a brilliantly burning bright red blade adorned with colourless gems, gold hilt and black grip rested firmly in his grasp.

"Alright---"

"DEMON I THROW MY HART AT YOU SO YOU MAY--"

"COME ON!" Kain pointed towards the dark elf with a clawed hand, very much annoyed, "SHUT UP. FF--.." Smoke blasted from behind his fangs with an exasperated grunt. "Sonsabitches start blastin' s**t at the first person they see...the hell is their problem...," grumbling all the more to himself almost waiting for more talking. "Alright?" Daring someone to say something, hoping that all would be just dandy enough that he could turn his attention fully onto the Justicar, "Alright."

Start it up, Hero. he silently bade Darin.

Hayden watched as the other walked out in to the street to confront the devil. He also noted the man now laying on the floor with no legs, and the look on all the faces of the people in the bar. A feeling of dread welling up inside him. It was all too familiar to him. He had seen the power of the monster before, he had watch his friend die at the fiend’s hand, blown to peaces. Hayden had even been hit by the dismembered arm. Now this steel clad man was going to try to fight him one on one. It was madness!!

He shouted at the steal clad man.

“DON'T DO IT MAN. THAT b*****d IS TOO POWERFUL!”

But Hayden sensed that the man would not back down. This man was either very brave or very stupid. He didn't know what to do. He was no coward. He wanted to fight, but he knew that he was not ready for this, not ready by far. He was still working on his abilities, and honing his skills. He would not last 5 minutes against that thing.

What can i do, i don't wish to see another man killed by this a** hole.

An idea came to him. He did not have to fight directly. He could lend aid to the man if he needed it. Who knows this man could defeat the monster. Though he could not make him self believe that, as much as he wanted to.

Hayden walked up to the edge of the opening to servery the soon to be battle field. He noticed the young lady and that annoying imp on her shoulder, if they made it through this he was going to make it a point to talk to her and teach that imp some manners.

It had been raining before the blast, that was good. Though Hayden was still learning to use his ability’s he could still freeze the water on the ground, or cause a mist to cover an escape. If all else failed he still had his daggers, though they may not do much damage to the devil, they may cause an opening for the steel clad man.

Leaning against the wall Hayden reached in to his coat and readied his daggers.
He was scared, but he was also excited. Heart racing, a cold sweat on his skin, it brought back more memories, making Hayden clutched his amulet again. Hoping luck was going to be on his side again tonight, he readied him self for the coming fight.

Idiot.

He was looking at himself. Except he looked a helluva lot better than he did right now. Younger. Certainly healthier. He couldn't help but feel a pang of anger at the injustice of it. Ten years ago he already seen his fair share of violence and evil. Of filth that thought itself above the rest of creation. He remembered all too well the events that had transpired between then and now. The losses he had suffered through.

"Where.. What is this!?"

Looking to the sky, he saw the sun shining down on him in a blue sky. a field of green went on in every direction, endless in its simple vibrant beauty. The wind was gentle, a cool breeze that smelled of the sea. Then his other self spoke.

"Shut up and listen. You're dying."

"I know. S'alright. Man... how the hells did I do that with Lucile.. Tha's not what was s'pose ta happen..."

"OI! I said shut yer flap and listen! You're pathetic! Worst part is, you KNOW you're pathetic. So what, you see one too many boogey men in the night slithering around and you decide to call it quits? Look here hoss, you know as well as I do that it ain't gunna end. But you made a difference. WE made a damn difference! Or are you conveniently forgetting what we do?"

" I.. I don't even know now. You have no idea the things that will happen. The people you'll lose."

"I know that hiding from it don' make the beasties scurry back to their holes."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Scrapper wanted to do just that himself. He was dying. Why in the hells was he having to go through this game? He just wanted to go home and work in his shop, make his money, and go on hiding from the world around him.

"GODSDAMNIT SOLDIER PAY ATTENTION!"

No. Seriously?

Opening his eyes, he noted he was back in his field outfit, equipment hanging off his vest, weapons draped casually upon his belt. He could feel the crushing weight of Heinrich, one of his earlier toys he had helped design and field test. A flashback to a time of certain death, of chaos and screams and blood hit him like a shot, jarring his mind, and causing his to stagger. He remembered the first time he had met a real demon...

"Stand up straight when you are being addressed by your superior Sergeant."

Looking back up to where the other him been standing, his face displayed his shock at seeing his father standing there in full formal attire, his mustache immaculate, his steel colored hair cropped short, his sword at his side. Every bit the powerfully built, roguish and jovial man Scrapper remembered. Right now though, he looked pissed. Jonathon had only ever seen Col. Marcus Thoms angry a handful of times, usually when discussing an atrocity... the last time was when he said he was leaving the military. They hadn't spoken since. In an instant, he'd reflected on his childhood, on the stories his father had told him when he was young and wanted to know more about the world around him. His father had waited for a long time before sharing some of the harsher truths of this world with his son. It had been one of his deciding reasons to follow in his father's steps. He had always known there was darkness outside of light. He'd always wanted to keep people safe.

"SERGEANT THOMS! You have a job that needs doin', or're ya too busy wollowin' in yer own head to remember that? I trained you better than that boy. You aren't supposed to just lay down'n die when adversity comes your way! NOW STOP BLEEDING ALL OVER THE FLOOR AND FINISH THE MISSION LIKE I TAUGHT YOU!"

"The mission eh? ... I'm sorry sir, I just.. you didn' see it, you didn' SEE HIM! We've both seen some terrible s**t, but this guy.. he scares me sir. More'n the demon who ripped my guts out. More than being shot, stabbed, burned or mutilated. I just.. I'm sorry pa, I am, I can't keep fighting through all this crap, it doesn't end, it doesn't ever end.."

"Are you sure that wha yer nah afraid of, had anything to do with what is out there? I think Sergeant, you're more afraid of what's in yer heart."

Sobbing, he felt nothing but pain and shame. He was dying, and his last moments of thought were of telling his father that he was weak. His father, who had trained him. Who had helped him. Who had understood all to well when Scrapper would come home, and just cry. His dad had been a career warrior. He'd been the one who taught him how to handle a weapon, how to handle himself, and how to handle the pain. He regretted not trying to get back in touch with his parents. He was going to die, and his family wouldn't know. Hell, he might already think he was-

"Shhhh, shhhh honey it's alright. There there child, it's okay. We love you. We know it hurts, it's alright."

The hand on his shoulder spun him around into a loving embrace. With a start, he smelled fresh baked pie and flowers, scents of his growing up. It came as little surprise then that she was the one hugging him. She seemed to tower over him.. and he realized he was nine again.

They were in his mother's garden, the place where he'd watch her work her magics on the soil, in more ways than one. He'd always felt a connection to the world when he saw the beauty it produced.

So then why was there so much ugly?

"It's okay sweet heart, I know it hurts, I know. But we love you. We love you so much Jon. When did you forget that?"

Camille. Take these and tend to yourself and the legless man.

"What was that?"

Taking a step back, she looked down smiling at him, as small in stature as he felt inside. They were surrounded by flowers. Marigolds, roses, tulips, petunias, daffodils, lilies, and so on and so forth. It was a delight to see that it looked just as he remembered.

"I can still remember when you were little, you'd always come here to hide. Remember when you set the garden on fire when Father Dewitte was teaching you? Hahaha oh my but you were so embarrassed you wouldn't try using your magic again for weeks, until I bribed you with your favorite cookies, remember that?"

Choking out his response, "Y-yes mum, I remember.." he could recall the event in question. Father Dewitte, a friend of his family, had tasked himself with training the young man so that he would have a handle on his gift. One day, when practicing with earth magics, young Jonathon had accidentally thought it was boring trying to move dirt around, and inadvertently set his mother's violets on fire. He'd run away in shame, and hid until his parents, both laughing had come and found him, and comforted him. Father Dewitte had remarked "It was unexpected. Starting a fire with no source? At his age? Certainly an uncommon feat." They had all laughed and carried on while Jon had obliviously devoured his cookies with zeal, thinking that if he got cookies for starting a fire, maybe he'd try it on the furnace like his mum suggested.

"Jonathon sweet heart? You need to be my big boy. People are going to get hurt if you don't help them. There's no reason to be so ashamed of the past sweet heart. It's alright to be scared. It's alright to feel lost. But whenever you do, just know you aren't alone. I love you. You are my son."

At this, Scrapper could feel the comforting warmth coming from the sun. He felt it wash over him, enveloping him. It was serenity. Closing his eyes, he murmured "I love you too."

"Well, you always were the charmer, darling"

Why? Gods why?

Tommmmm Jonnnnnn, what are you doing you silly man? Come here! I need to show you something!"

Please. Please don't make me do this. Please don't!

"Oh Jonathon! Are you alright? You're shaking dear! Oh I do hope you aren't coming down with a fever again. For such a big strong man you can be such a baby about some sniffles!"

Her lilting laugh triggered a panorama of thoughts all colliding. She had been his source of strength, the beacon that he always fought to come home to. She had saved him from the shadows in his own mind, had brought the highest form of joy he knew to his life.

She had been taken from him and he didn't know why.
But he would know someday.
The brilliance of the sounds around him, of the feeling of the sunlight and the smells on the breeze, they restored him, granting him peace.

"Come onnnnnnn Tom Jon! You are taking foreverrrrrrr"

Letting out a choked laugh, he replied "Aright aright, quit teasin me ya harpy, I'm comin, just.. gimme a moment to catch my breath aright love?"

He was ready. He would see his wife before him. He knew that whatever came, he'd be alright in the end. His father was right, he was only afraid of what was in his heart. What was so terrifying about seeing the woman he loved again?
What if it was all just a dream?
He opened his eyes and saw-

Destruction.

There were screams. Screams of pain. Of fear. Of confusion and panic.
Crying.
The stench of blood, a smell of burning.

"Well. Balls."

He could remember her laugh, clarion clear in his heart. He felt the tears welling and blinked them away, noting a few things;
He was holding a book in one hand and Lucile in the other.
The young lady he'd stupidly embarrassed himself in front of had a ball of light in her outstretched hand.
He was laying in a pool of his blood, feeling like hammered crap, but all he could feel was the sun. In the middle of the night.
His legs were still missing, but they felt warm and numb.
There was a bottle of something next to him.
Lastly, despite everything.. he felt... great.

"Well. Might as well make myself useful for now. I'll come see you another time love I s'pose."

Struggling to sit himself up, he reached into his pocket to put away the even more battered book, resigning himself to its care until this confrontation ended.

One way or a-bloody-nother.

"Hokay.. need to get movin.. but first let's deal with these flames.."

Scrapper reached out to the world around him, gathering in the essence of what he needed for his working while drawing a circle in his own blood on the ground around him, and infusing it with his will. He laid out his desire, for the flame to become his. For it's nature to be bound to his purpose.
In order for Scrapper to use his basic magics, he needed a focus, and not much more. But this would be trickier. He would be changing the nature of a chaotic natural force. He wasn't calling on it to intensify or consume. He was trying to change the nature of fire, to oppose it with his will. If he was any good with water or earth magics, he'd simply smother it, and he didn't have time to waste on working with the wind. He didn't think he was in any shape to control a swirling vortex.
But he knew fire well.
He had the burns that showed just how intimate he was with the flames.
Releasing his will from the circle, he could almost see it rushing outward to lull the flames to sleep.
Without taking time to appreciate his own efforts, and before fatigue set in, he set to work binding the life force around him and furnishing it's power with his own desire. His determination. His reasons to fight. He would not be ashamed of his past. He would not be disgusted with himself any longer. Every person had their scars. He realized he couldn't change anything by hiding. He was here tonight, because he was supposed to. Because he was needed.

And come hell or high water, he would do his job.

"Pelor, thank you."

His spell complete, he released it, feeling the surging power entering his body, connecting him to the world on a higher level again.
With a flash of silver sunlight, the world around him shifted in tune with his new perceptions.

I will not falter again, you have my word.

Standing upon legs made of the sun he rose once more, and with Lucile in hand he pocketed the bottle beside him, and walked up to the young lady.

Necromancer. Interesting.

"Excuse me, Camille? Thank you. Sorry bout the book. Glad you're alright. Imp. Watch out for her."

Moving towards the smoking storefront, we took note of the people around him moving to engage Kain. Calmly switching clips in Lucile and noting that what he had done earlier scorched her barrel.
His eyes lingered for a moment on the shaken man beside him, revealing a conflict lying within. Scrapper called out;

"Hayden. When this is over we need to have a talk."

It's touched you some way, hmm?

Striding out into the street, he took note of a peculiar sight. A massive beast of contained hate facing down a casually indifferent Once-man. Both of them radiated with their own intense feelings; primal rage imprisoned within a mind of reason and logic facing against a cold and pitiless alien mind. Kain had a visible disdain oozing forth, trying to smother the light of the world around it. It was like looking at an infection that tainted the world around it.

I'll nay let ya spoil this world for long Devil.

Strapping on Veritas as he walked towards the coming encounter, he could still touch the sun, though it was no longer present in the sky. A storm had come to them this night.

He could hear Kain call out, seemingly irritated. He could see that the Devil was ready for a confrontation, and liable to be an adversary unlike any he had dealt with before now. But he would be dealt with in the same way as the others.
Without mercy or reprieve.

"Pelor, may your blessing be the beacon in the night."

Taking his time to get line of sight and a clear shot, Scrapper readied himself for the task ahead.

"Heironeous, I call on ya to guide me true."

So we're done hidin' then eh?

"St. Cuthbert, I thank you for your example."

It din'ah change anything. I'm through bein' a coward.

"Alright then."

Charging forward, he issued a silent challenge to the Devil before him, leveled Lucile, and cut in to speed up the tempo of their dance.