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Great, and the fiery pebble shower before hadn't been bad enough. Now there were coals the size of Roth's own head raining down from the bull, and the creature was having a worse fit than usual, trying to stomp on Roth. The demon was so focused on avoiding being stomped (like the winged wonder over there), that he forgot to watch out for a new movement - the bull rearing onto its front legs and kicking.

A hard metal hoof struck Roth in the back, sending him flying into one of the crumbling brick walls. Winded, Roth panted for breath, belatedly remembering to move before the hoof came back for a second go. Propping himself up on his staff, he teleported a few metres further away - a definite mistake as his head began spinning. A hand raised to his throbbing temple came away bloody.

"Why is it always my face?" Roth mumbled to himself. Forcing the aches and pains into the back of his mind, Roth lifted the spear and ducked back into the fray. He took the opposite side of the brass bull to Dusty, darting in to add more slices on its underside and quickly darting away before getting caught in the rain of coals - or by another hoof.

The brass creature thrashed and kicked and howled and swung its head around, but it was no good. The ground was littered with glowing red coals, and the glow of the bull was growing dimmer and dimmer. Its movements could be described only as sluggish now, barely enough to lift its hooves from the ground. It was covered with scars and gouges, scattering coals from every which way and what way, and the glow in its belly was faded to a nearly-visible glimmer. Still trying to lunge at its would-be, should-be prey, its hooves stumbled, its balance was thrown far off-center. With an ear-rending cry, the creature slumped forward and fell.

Right toward Dustin and Caoimhe, naturally.

Dusty's arms felt like lead by this time, and his legs weren't far behind, but he still wasn't about to hold still and get squished in the moment of victory. Summoning up a burst of strength, he leaped back from where the massive hulk was crashing to ground, shielding his eyes with both arms from the surge of burning coal dust that was thrown up when the bull crashed on the heated rocks covering the ground. His hooves nearly stumbled on the landing, but he recovered swiftly. When he lowered his arms again the bull was laying on its side, unmoving. Dead...?

Nearly, perhaps. There was still a terrible sound creaking out of its unmoving mouth. In the silence brought on by the massive construct's stillness, new movement could be heard - a thrashing, scraping noise from inside the brass shell of the bull....

Sharp fingers shot out of one of the largest gouges on the bull's side, tearing at the hole, scrabbling for freedom. A wraithlike arm emerged, all black skin and poking bone, and grasped wildly in the air. Something shrieked and panted and screeched, the sounds both furious and agonized at once. More of the charred form began to pull free of the bull, acting with single-minded determination to force itself free - a hairless, blackened head and shoulders emerged, eyes filmy and unseeing, spitting ashen spit through its teeth. It was impossible that such a putrid and burnt thing could be alive, yet there it was, writhing as it tried to escape, bony fingers bent into claws ready to swipe at anything that came near enough to grasp.

Seeing it, Dustin felt his stomach twist, and began to feel nauseous. He backed a step away, not wishing to be any nearer to the creature than was absolutely necessary - "What the hell is that?!"

The only thing more surprising than the black figure crawling through the shell of the bull was the fact that Roth recognised it. Eyebrows flew up. This certainly put a new spin on things. And didn't bode well for the target of this construct, Dusty.

"What the hell is that?!"

Moving closer, Roth stopped at Dusty's side. "That," he said gravely, "is a soul. One of the damned, pulled out of Hell."

Not how they generally appeared in his Hell, but Roth could recognise the feel of it. Definitely a soul summoned from some other culture's version of Hell - whether enslaved or bound by Contract, Roth couldn't be sure.

His gaze slid from the wailing soul to the small deerkitten. "You have some very interesting, and very powerful, enemies. Watch your back, Dusty: rare is the person who stops at summoning only one soul."

Pulled out of...?!

.... Well, that made some sense, from what Dusty knew of Regas. But it was one thing to nod rationally and agree that it must be so, and another thing to accept it on an emotional level. That thing was sickening. It was all well and good when Dusty had been up against Animated, or wood-creatures, or the bull itself. Inorganic things, easily described as monsters, which could be dispatched without thought or empathy. Even mindlessly vicious as this thing seemed to be, there was an undeniable sense that it was thinking, sentient - had the same sort of essence that made a person a person, no matter how twisted it was.

It would have been nice to say that Dusty was moved by the apparent torture that the thing was living in, the turbulent anger and agony that made its howls. But Caoimhe's thoughts reflected his own - it was an enemy, and one that was making no small show about being aggressive. If it freed itself from the bull, it would be mobile and dangerous. Striking down a thing like this wasn't so thoughtless a move as combating constructs, but there was little choice.

His hand felt shaky on his hilt, but Dustin stepped forward all the same. "Right," he determined, wrapping his mind firmly around what both Roth and Caoimhe had said to strengthen his resolve.

The thing was nearly freed now, just trying to force its hips from the crack in the bull. Its claws made long score in the road where it grappled for purchase, trying to rip itself free without regard for the blackened flesh that that would be torn off on the gouged metal behind it. Even its stench was hideous, Dustin realized, approaching cautiously to just within sword's reach of it. Was there nothing about this thing that was even slightly redeeming?

The damned soul ceased its struggling. Its chest heaved with wheezing, angry breaths, and it craned its neck back to glare up at the Arthurian child. It knew what was coming, and it was waiting. And Dusty's nerve... wasn't entirely ready for this....

Sword held at ready, not yet upraised, the child glanced to Mik, as though searching for approval. His brows were swept up, eyes worried, a lost and faltering look on his face. This was what he had to do now, wasn't it? If anyone should know, it would be the angel... wouldn't it?

The scene playing out was something Roth never would have expected. He raised an eyebrow as Dusty turned to the angel for guidance. The other half of the pair rose to join the first, as Mik stepped forward and held out a hand for Dusty's sword. Not to halt Dusty, but to do the deed in the child's place!

Was the angel trying to spare Dusty his first kill? (Did a soul even count? It wasn't as though it was 'alive' like a person was.) Or did it simply feel that eradicating condemned souls was the domain of Holy beings, not ordinary beings. Well, as ordinary as a Fa'e could be (which wasn't much at all).

"If this is going to cause a moral quandry, may I remind you that I am likely the only person here who doesn't have a hangup over killing?" he drawled.

Although honestly, he was looking forward to seeing if the angel could go through with it or not. Would Mik be morally righteous about doing his angelic duty? Would he regret the need to 'kill' anything at all, even if it was a damned soul in considerable torment? It was time to see what this particular angel was made of.

If Dustin had any idea of what the other Fa'e were thinking, any of them, he likely would have abruptly changed his mind and done the deed himself. As tenuous as he was about it now, if it made the difference between being thought of as a warrior and a kid, it was a necessary deed. But, luckily, Dusty was far from a mind-reader; and at that moment, he was only too happy to give up the hilt of the sword to Mikhail and back away from the foul creature.

Of course, now the adrenaline began to fade from his system, and like Caoimhe, all the aches and bruises and pains began to seep up to his conscious mind. The tail was the worst, even nearly numbed as it was - crushed and kinked at its shortened end. Even bloodless as it was, it was a grisly sight to Dustin's eyes, something wrong and irreparable about his being.

If Nil were there, he'd probably have just told the deerkitten it was what he deserved. Even so, Dustin rather did wish to hear the spirit - if only because there were some rather reasonable concerns he had, which only Nil would know. Keen on his mind: Did this mean that Regas knew how to find him now? Would there be other creatures sent? Was it even safe for Dusty to go home and sleep in his own bed tonight... or would he just be bringing something worse than this onto the heads of his family?

The damned soul, sensing conflict in the group, began to thrash and squirm again, trying to get the last bit of itself free. Mikhail's ankle was almost in reach - it grabbed for the limb, intent on nothing more than to rip up the angel's flesh if it could, bony teeth exposed up to the roots bared in a fierce grimace. Dusty's hand went unwittingly to the hidden hilt of his obsidian knife, now his only real defense until Mikhail returned his sword. If it were Roth or Mik or someone else that committed the act, he didn't care, as long as it was done before that thing worked free...!

Oh, we were playing the "I'm ignoring you" game, were we? Roth snorted in contempt. How very five-years-old of the angel.

He watched as the angel sidestepped the soul's desperate attempt to grab onto someone. As the sword swung down, Roth wondered if that would be enough to kill or banish the soul. Hopefully so, though it was surprising that the angel didn't just blast it with Holy power.

... Assuming the angel even had Holy power? Roth considered that for a moment. Slowly, an evil smirk crossed his face. Could it be that the angelic newcomer was rather powerless? Oh, Roth definitely had to test this theory out. Later, of course.

Still, at least the angel hadn't chickened out of beheading the soul. Was a polite (and ever so patronising) round of applause in order? Hmm, perhaps. He'd wait and see if that was enough to get rid of the soul, first. No sense giving even sardonic praise for something if it didn't work...

The blade caught the creature almost perfectly at the neck, slicing just barely through the shoulder before tearing through flesh and sawing at spine, wrenching unpleasantly Mikhail's hand as the creature's screaming took on a note of despair --

And then the sword fell through without any further resistance. Only a slight dusting of ash on the blade suggested that it had met with anything at all - the soul was gone, its body swallowed in on itself. Back to wherever it had come from, most likely.

Dusty exhaled slowly in the thing's wake, glancing away. That was done with, at least. One challenge hurdled, even if he had little hope that it would be the end of them.