Denouement

[Stefan Wolf-Bane]

Stefan spit on the ground, fuck he thought. this was getting more and more complicated by the minute. He wasn't looking to start a fight. There were to many risk factors. One the girl could get very hurt in the fight. the other being the fact it could draw a lot of attention. Four lycans going at it wasn't something easily hidden. without moving his head his eyes shifted from each of the other lycans. Unlike most of his kind, his pride wasn't what kept him here. No, he only stood because he wanted the girls safety. But upon hearing the other response and the sudden arrival it was becoming a very big mess. "I just want her safety", he said his muscles rippling in his arm as he clenched tighter and tighter. "theirs no need for a fight", though the burning in his chest told him other wise. The growing worry that this girl would be harmed made then anger inside of him begin to boil. The memory of his bloody children and wife tore into his mind as it did each and every day of his life. "c..Cathrine", he muttered through now clenching teeth. He wasn't seeing anymore. he was being blinded by memories, guilt, anguish and anger.

It had been cold that day. Just like tonight. Only then it was snowing. He had just come home from war. He couldn't wait to hold his twin boys and to kiss his lovely wife. But as he approached the house and the door was busted down. As he hurried inside he could see a trail of blood and at it's end he found his family, his wife, his babies. drained and dead. Dead at the hands of a bloodsucker. And now here he stood in front of those of his own kind, those with the same want as him. a want to rid this world of those filthy disgusting bloodsuckers. Except one of them was poised to hurt his Cathrine. No...no she wasn't her, he had to remind himself. but still she looked so much like her that his heart could not bare the thought. "those bloodsuckers took her from me, I want lose her again", he said in a low growl.

[Peter Sharpe]

Honestly, Pete was fully prepared to make his last stand there. Though he hadn't abandoned all hope, he'd accepted that it would be an honorable death. He would die on his feet like a man, and neither his enemies nor the blood-soaked ground beneath his feet would forget his name. After all, how could he ever face Arai again? It was for her sake that he chose his life of constant strife... to fight the battles so she wouldn't have to. He would fight until the very breath was gone from his lungs, and his body lay broken and bleeding in the mud... if not for his own survival, then for Arai. He promised to protect her, how could he ever face her again if she thought he was a coward, running from a mere two adversaries? Death was a much more favorable option. Honestly, an eternity of unspeakable torture seemed like mid-summer afternoon sipping tea in a lawn-chair compared to Arai's scorn. Fate, it seemed, had other plans. Apparently as if by some sort of gravitational attraction, yet another dropped in on the stand-off. Quite literally. He dropped in from the roof of the neighboring building. Of course, under normal circumstances, he would have appreciated this sort of theatrics... but he had more pressing issues at hand than critiquing dramatic entrances. Though the streets were illuminated, the light that managed to reach him towards the back end of the alleyway did little to reveal this newcomer's identity.

"So, I didn't think you were expecting company" The man chided.

Between the cocky attitude and the signature flat-brimmed hat, it was obvious that he was standing before his protégé, Jason. But he wasn't supposed to be here... More important than how he managed to find Pete was why he'd abandoned his post. Pete had given him instructions to keep the Swiftpaw Den secured, and to act in his stead while this strange business in Europe was being worked out. Obviously Jason had ignored these instructions. He made a note to question Jason about this at a later time, assuming they both survived long enough to see a later time. Jason and Namir were similar in that way... they often followed their instincts in lieu of orders, and just as often seemed to show up just in a nick of time when their progenitor was in danger. Admittedly, in the end Namir had not only abandoned him, but declared war on her mentor. Those particular memories always left a bitter taste in his mouth. Pete shook his head; it wasn't the time for nostalgia, however appropriate it may have been to have segments of his life flashing before his eyes.

"Listen, you've landed yourself in quite a bind Jason. I don't have time to explain, but I can't shapeshift, and we're surrounded. The one on the rooftop is ancient, I'm in no condition to fight him. Keep him busy while I deal with the other one... we'll likely need to take him on together. Keep your eyes on the girl, we can't let her escape with either of these men... but most importantly... don't get killed." He conveyed over the mental link.

Though he couldn't tap into the vast reserves of power afforded to him by his 'gift', Pete was still exponentially stronger and faster than any human could ever hope to become. Even if he lacked his razor sharp teeth and claws, he still possessed a fraction of the crushing strength of the Lycans. Whatever strength he had left would be more than enough to deal with his enemy. He hoped. Turning to face the man at the mouth of the alley, he threw out his arms and let loose a bestial battlecry, dashing towards his adversary. Judging by the look on the man's face, he hadn't expected Pete to close the distance between them so quickly, moving nearly as a blur to the human eye. Noting his reaction with a sick grin, he rotated his body, bringing his fist down in a chopping motion towards the man's head with enough force to easily shatter bone. This fight needed to be over quickly if he was to survive... mercy was out of the question.

[Stefan Wolf-Bane]

This post has been saved on my local drive, but has been temporarily removed from the site due in part to lack of clarity in the above post XD. Feel free to contact me via PM/Facebook for the full explanation.



``~ Rusty

[Darius]

Darius' heart nearly skipped a beat. How hadn't he noticed this other Lycan prowling the rooftops? He must have came from downwind as to hide his scent... and it was simple enough to mask the sound of one's approach in a city like Athens. But this wasn't good news. Darius was confident in his abilities, but should things take a turn for the worst, he knew he wouldn't be able to fend off three Lycans at once. Assessing the situation, Darius refrained from running headlong towards the Swiftpaw. Though the element of surprise could be a great advantage, this newcomer represented too risky a variable. Perhaps he could be convinced just as easily as the other fool, Darius considered... his revenge would be just as sweet, even if the Swiftpaw fell to two strangers from an alleyway. Dead is dead, he mused. But if this man was an ally of the Swiftpaw's... dead is dead, and Darius would never live to see Sharpe's corpse strung up like an ornament on a Doomhowl Christmas tree.

It appeared that tonight might be more interesting than he thought. The mysterious third Lycan dropped from the rooftops, and landed directly in front of Sharpe. Though the blonde didn't appear to be pleased in the least, neither of them assumed a defensive stance, and instead greeted one another. "Shit." Darius exclaimed. It seemed that this man was an old friend of the Swiftpaws... which mean a new enemy of the Doomhowls. He was torn between disgust and apprehension... to think that Sharpe had allies to protect him even here and now made the bile in his gut rise. A fair fight would not go well for him. As much as Darius loathed to admit it, Sharpe was likely much stronger than him... he had been completely relying on tricks and wiles to win this battle. Worse yet, the Swiftpaws were together, while he and his would-be ally were separated by their opponents. Shound they choose to, it would be child's play to simply turn their attention to either Darius or the stranger and attempt to kill them before the other could intervene.

Before Darius could open the mental link to communicate with the stranger on the opposite end of the alley, Sharpe was on him, striking at his unprotected head as quickly and violently as a bolt of lightning. He barely had enough time to raise his forearms to block the blow before Pete had closed the distance between the two. The impact felt as though he'd been hit with an aluminum bat, and he lost feeling in his left hand as he redirected the blow away from his skull. He might have stopped for a moment to marvel at his luck, if the Swiftpaw's assault hadn't continued. The blows continued to fall upon him, quicker than he could keep up with. Darius was able to protect his vital parts, but he was losing ground. Noticing an opening, he threw a hard cross towards Sharpe's head, but it was simply a ruse, and he paid for it dearly, taking two punches to his exposed midriff and a hard kick to his outside leg, nearly causing him to lose his balance. He couldn't fight back like this. Sharpe clearly had the advantage, yet he hadn't even made an attempt to shapeshift. Did he honestly believe that he could fight another Lycan one on one without making use of his other side? Was he really that cocky? It was the only explanation, he was taunting Darius, mocking his weakness. Enraged, Darius roared and shook aside Sharpe's blow, tackling him to the ground and landing a solid blow to the side of the man's head. He didn't return to his feet immediately, clearly still dazed from the impact. Seizing the opportunity, Darius stood to his feet and kicked the fallen lycan in the ribs with all his might before grabbing him by the ankle and slamming him into the side of the brick building that formed one side of the alley. Spitting a mouthfull of blood on the ground, he roared once again. "Play time's over, traitor!"

Knowing full and well that the Swiftpaw wouldn't be able to get up in time to stop him, he began his transformation, lurching forward and crying out in pain as his ribs cracked and rearranged, his muscles already beginning to bulge outward even before the thick black mane grew from his now naked body. He attempted to laugh, but it likely sounded more of a punctuated growl as his body finished the transformation. Pete had by this time risen to his feet, but hadn't moved, and hadn't released his inner beast either. Perhaps... perhaps the Swiftpaw hadn't transformed because he couldn't for one reason or another. The scent of blood had filled the air, and he couldn't put off his revenge any longer. The man was defenseless... Darius had already won. He would be sure to kill him slowly, as to enjoy every last drop of life that he spilled from the man's body.

[Peter Sharpe]

He couldn't help but grin at Darius' reaction. He wasn't prepared for this fight by even the most minuscule of margins. Certainly, he'd held off the first strike, but judging by his sluggish movements, this Lycan had neither the training, nor the experience to match him. He was likely the sort of Lycan that preyed on weak, unsuspecting humans. An undisciplined mutt, hardly worthy of counting himself among the wolves. But who could he be? Even more interesting than the woman following him across the ocean was this man. The man called him a murderer and a traitor... he had the tell-tall accent of a western New Yorker. Sharpe was all too familiar with this accent, as it happened to be from his birthplace. A murderer? Perhaps. But a traitor? Clearly this man hadn't a clue as to the most recent happenings in Europe. He'd found the wrong brother, it was Geoff, Not Peter that had betrayed his kind. But perhaps not... he'd been called a traitor before, back in America.

It all began to make sense. There were other Lycan clans in America... reckless clans who would kill without a second thought. Clans who wanted to reveal their existence to the humans, though just long enough to enslave them. They wished to see a world where it was the humans that cowered in the forests, huddled together in fear of Lycanthropic hunters. A world where human were little more than cattle. A splinter cell of Lycans led by their deranged mentor, Sharpe's one time protégé. This man was one of Namir's Doomhowls. They were all spitting images of Namir; unrestrained, impulsive, and dangerous. They represented the side of the Lycans that he so despised, the bestial, unthinking harbingers of death. Of course they were diametrically opposed to Sharpe's Swiftpaws, who went through great lengths to suppress their animalistic urges and retain their humanity as best they could.

Sharpe's breathing was controlled, and his strikes were well timed and true. Many lycans relied on tooth and claw, but it was the Swiftpaw way to hone both bodies, as each had distinct advantages. Each blow he landed gained him a little more ground as he pressed his unforgiving assault. A human adversary would have eventually fallen from such a beating... They were both sweating profusely, but despite a small gash above his left eyebrow and a broken nose, the stranger seemed no worse for the wear. But Pete's breaths were coming sharp and quick. It seemed he'd reached the limit of already weakened body. It wouldn't matter how skilled a fighter he was; he simply couldn't do enough damage to overcome the Lycan's ability to regenerate wounds. Worse yet, in this state, he would eventually be overcome by this stranger. Tapping into the very last reserves of his strength, he continued to lash out at the stranger's undefended side. To his horror, the stranger was much quicker than he had anticipated, and roared, knocking both of them to the ground. He wasn't sure if it was his head hitting the concrete, or the stranger's fist, but his vision blurred momentarily, his ears ringing as if a grenade had just gone off. Before he was able to roll over to protect his exposed midriff, he felt the impact of the stranger's boot in his chest. The pain was incredible; it overwhelmed the senses, and he smelled coppery blood as he coughed fresh blood onto the ground. The second kick gave rise to a cry of anguish, but by the time Sharpe realized he was no longer lying on the pavement, he was unable to make a sound. His momentum stopped abruptly as he collided with the wall, and he slumped back down, struggling to maintain consciousness let alone stand to his feet to defend himself. He couldn't open his left eye, and the vision in his right was partially obscured by blood that he could only guess was streaming steadily from a gash on his head.

[Jason Lagana]

It was certainly like Pete to get himself into a fight. Even in the short time that he'd known the man, he had a certain penchant for getting himself into trouble. They were both risk takers, but despite finding himself in sticky situations, Pete never seemed to get himself into something he couldn't slip or beat his way out of; his risks were generally carefully calculated. But this was unusual... not only had Pete managed to find himself surrounded by the enemy in a dark alley, alone, but he managed this while his Lycanthropic powers were weakened. He was strong, Jason had to admit. He'd never met the Lycan who gave the Swiftpaw the gift of immortality, but he or she must have been both ancient and powerful. Many Lycans struggled to shapeshift at will, and very few ever managed to take the form of a dire-wolf. For Peter Sharpe, born a human and bitten as a teenager, to accomplish what he had in such a short time... he was nothing less than a prodegy. He was an alpha. He had built his own den from the ground up, and led his own pack, all of this he had accomplished before the age of 30. The man had been an ispiration to Jason, from the day the Swiftpaw saved his life so many years ago. It was Peter Sharpe that had given him the power to avenge the brutal killing of his entire family. It was Peter Sharpe who made him realize that throwing away his own life in pursuit of said vengeance was no life at all. It was Peter Sharpe who had given him a new family, one that he would fight tooth and claw to protect, and who would do so for him. He was strong, and even given his current predicament, Jason had no doubts in his mentor.

Though he had the utmost faith in his friend and mentor's ability, there was little one could do to protect one's self against an unseen assailant, which is why his unwavering gaze never left the Lycan on the roof. His orders could not have been more simple, ensure that his fight remained a one on one duel, not a free-for-all battle royale. It would be simple enough. Though his back was turned to the Swiftpaw, between his enhanced senses and inherent link between he and the one who gave him the gift, Jason was fully aware of how his sire was fairing. Even as he stared down the stranger on the roof, waiting for him to make a move, the Swiftpaw was slowly but surely breaking down his opponent's defenses. He wished he could have watched the fight as it unfolded. Despite being the larger of the two, and having trained to hunt Immortals from a young age, Jason was never able to best his mentor in hand to hand combat. The combination of his extraordinary technique and blistering speed were nearly impossible to deal with.

Though his mentor's breathing sounded labored, he still didn't let this stranger gain an inch. On the contrary, he was still backing the man into a corner, soon he would be trapped like a crippled animal before the wolf. That is, until he let down his guard. In an instant the stranger had incapacitated his mentor, knocking him to the ground and likely breaking a rib or two. "Shit! I have to help!" Jason thought. But there wasn't anything he could do for his master right now. He would likely be fine, and if Jason disobeyed a direct order, he'd never hear the end of it when they returned home. And besides, if he turned his back to the stranger on the roof, he would be left completely open to an attack, and wouldn't be able to intervene on his mentor's behalf regardless.

He snapped around when Sharpe cried out in pain. His hair stood on end, and his teeth were clenched as the stranger grabbed his mentor by the ankle and flung him like a ragdoll into the wall. He'd completely forgotten about the man on the roof. "He'll pay for this." Jason said silently, unable to retain full control over his body. Tiny droplets of blood fell from his closed fists as his nails enlongated, leaving a small trail from where he'd started running. His scream of fury had turned into a roar even before his clothes were shredded revealing the long silver fur beneath. By the time he'd nearly reached his mentor, he was charging on all fours with his target in sight. Quickly finding the stranger amidst the chaos of the Lycan's mental link, he forced himself into his mind.

"I'll tear you limb from fucking limb!

[Stefan Wolf-Bane]

Stefan watched with a calculating gaze as the fight ensued. The man known as Darius was fairing pretty well against the other stranger. Though by the sent he was getting off of him, the lycan wasn't young. He was thoroughly surprised he was getting the jump on him, seeing as his fighting style was so reckless and uncontrolled. But his gaze didn't linger on the fight for to long. He hadn't forgotten about the other man on the ground. He was a danger, part of the others pack. He could tell by the way he smelled. Stefan clenched his fist his muscles twitching as he stepped close to the edge ready to leap down at a moments notice. His eyes drifted back and fourth between the two fighting wolves, the other stranger and the girl. He could care less about whatever feud the others seemed to have. All he cared about was the girls protection. Catherine, or at least a beautiful resemblance of her, stood before him. She was in danger, he knew this man would kill her if she knew to much. At this point in time she knew enough to make any lycan take her life. He couldn't let her get hurt again. He failed his wife once and he wouldn't fail this girl now.

He breathed in deeply as his muscles rippled and his eyes flashed from there normal icy blue to a bright vibrant blue. He had been through many wars, many battles and killed many men from every race. This fight was of no concern to him. He wasn't a fool he wouldn't over estimate his opponent, but he felt no need to show him everything he could do. So he wouldn't completely transform he wouldn't even fully go into half stage, no only if it was essentially necessary. He let his gaze fall back onto the fight and watched as the stranger seemed to be losing. No It wouldn't be long now before he was done. He glanced back over to the girl. Soon he would have the perfect chance to get her. Then he would get them far away from all three of them.

Not to be misunderstood he was thankful for Darius's help, but all he knew from his years of being alive taught him not to trust other so quickly. He may help now, but he may also still try to kill the girl because of what she knew.
It wasn't long before the other stranger began to converge on the fight. He didn't seem to like the way his friends was being beaten senseless. But to gang up on someone was without honor, and Stefan wasn't having it. He jumped down from the roof and stepped towards the man. He growl ripped out of his throat as he watched the other began to converge. "It wouldn't be very fair for you to intervene now would it", he said in a low voice. His voice dripped with acid, and he continued to growl at the other. Despite all this his face showed nothing. It was blank other then the slight twitch of his upper lip. He was called the silent killer and known for his called calm composure in battle back in Sparta.

[Kali Caldarelli]

That was the only possible explanation that Kali could think of. He wasn't a man at all. He wasn't human. She hadn't just been tracking down an ordinary, run-of-the-mill murderer... no, this... freak was the living embodiment of chaos, not a serial killer. Clearly she'd made a grave mistake. She had intended to bring this man to justice, but she was beginning to think that he wasn't the cold-hearted executioner that she'd thought. Why else would he have said that? The man was right, Kali reasoned. He could have easily snapped her neck, stabbed her, slit her throat, or any number of things before leaving her to die in that cold alleyway. But he didn't. But heedless of any murderous intentions he may have had, the fact remained; This man caused chaos wherever he went. It was as if he was emanating some sort of dark, magnetic force that attracted freaks and thugs to him like a black hole from which the normalcy of everyday life could not escape.

There were people literally falling from the sky. These men seemed to have crawled out of the woodwork, dropping from the rooftops of Athens into the exact same alleyway as she had foolishly walked into. She might have paused for a moment to sigh and ask her self "What are the chances?", but she knew beyond the shadow of a doubt who these people were looking for... the same man that she was looking for. Well, they found him.

Though it was difficult for her to tell from her hiding place behind the dumpster, it sounded like some of these men weren't pleased to see each other. In fact, despite the two being completely obscured by the dumpster, it sounded to Kali like some of the men had taken to blows. Perhaps this was her chance. Silently, she crept up from the shadows, taking great care to muffle her steps, even breathing as quietly as possible, as not to draw an iota of attention to herself as she made her daring escape. After what seemed like an eternity, she'd reached her salvation; a fire escape ladder just a tad out of arms reach, leading to the rooftop where she could either climb down a fire escape on the other side, or if she was lucky, take refuge inside the building itself. She had to jump to grab a hold of the bottom of the fire escape ladder, which was badly rusted from exposure to the elements. Kali gave a cry of pain as the rusted metal cut into the flesh of her calf as she climbed up. Quickly she turned around, expecting that one of the men in the alley may have heard her cry out. And then she saw it. Kali slumped down, clasping her hand over her mouth to muffle to sound of her gasp. Her captor lay motionless on the ground, bleeding profusely, and next to him... whatever it was, it wasn't human. Realizing that her fate would be the same if she didn't make haste, she stood to her feet, struggled to keep her heart from beating out of her chest, and quickly moved across the rooftop to the fire escape ladder on the other side of the building. Once she made her way back onto solid ground, she began to run, not daring to look back.

[Darius]

This was his element. Darius had grown up on the streets. He lived in a world where you killed or were killed, a world where the weak died off, and the strong often fell to the cunning. Eyes still wild with murder, he took a moment to revel in his bloodlust, to bask in his long awaited victory. Namir had finally been avenged, but this moment was so much the sweeter than he had imagined. He'd done it! Alone in fact! He would return to New York a hero, his hands stained with the traitor's blood. He was so caught up in the moment, he nearly forgot about his surroundings. He'd shapeshifted in the middle of a densely populated city without a second thought. Thankfully, it was nearly pitch black, and even if a passerby had wandered past that particular alley, it wasn't likely that they would be seen by a human. But there were others here. There was the girl; previously cowering behind a dumpster, she was now making a beeline towards the fire escape at the rear of the alley. It was more than likely that she'd not only seen his face, but witnessed his transformation. She couldn't be allowed to leave. And then there were the other two Lycans... an old stranger, and the Swiftpaw brat. These were problems that he simply wouldn't be able to handle with brute strength alone.

It took all of his self restraint not to cackle madly at his brilliance. He'd found a solution to all three problems. The stranger seemed to have an unwarranted interest in the woman, he would likely be easily persuaded to retrieve her... which would leave the Swiftpaw in the alley. Though Darius had no way of knowing how formidable this boy was, the fact remained; there would be no avoiding that fight. He'd all but delivered the coup de grace to this man's alpha. Besides... the thought of killing two Swiftpaws tonight was enthralling. The young man was obviously thinking in similar fashion to Darius, as he didn't waste a moment shapeshifting. Darius reached out to contact his strange ally's mind. "Intervene? Let him, I'll see to it he wind's up just like his friend over there. But you need to move. Quickly. You and I both know that we can't let that woman run off to tell god-knows-who what's happened here. Find her, and I'll catch up once I've dealt with this pup."

There wasn't time for pleasantries, or further discussion of the matter, as Darius and the Swiftpaw pup collided. The boy had blood on his mind, and a fire in his gut. Not that it would help him any. He was in a blind rage, lashing out left and right at Darius, razor sharp claws seeking the satisfaction of slicing through flesh. In spite of his excitement, Darius remained calm, he couldn't afford to make a mistake... Lycans were simply built to be the perfect killing machine, and a mistake would likely cost him his life. His opponent was clearly well trained, he fought in similar fashion to his fallen comrade. Only that his comrade's blows were carefully calculated... this young man was simply lashing out in fury, often leaving himself exposed to counterattack. The fight had taken both of the men away from the mouth of the alley, towards the rear by the fire escape. The young lycan likely hadn't realized it, but Darius had been funneling him into a dead end all along.

The man was cornered, trapped between walls on three sides, and Darius blocking his only path of retreat. Darius grinned, revealing his fangs, and with a roar tucked his head in and tackled the other man into the wall beneath the fire escape ladder, crushing the air out of his lungs. Before the Swiftpaw pup could return to his feet, Darius brought his heel down hard on his sternum holding him pinned to the ground. "Give my regards to your worthless master." Darius spat, ripping the fire escape ladder from it's rusty lodgings, and bringing it down into his opponent's chest. The Lycans were a resilient breed, but not unkillable. Darius was certain that these two were no exception, and reverted to his human form before the blood had even begun to pool. He had no further need for mocking words, the memory of this victory was more than enough. Gathering what remained of his torn clothing, he hurried after the stranger. There was still one more problem that needed attending to.

[Jason Lagana]

He should have listened. Had Jason listened, he might not be lying on the ground contemplating his last thoughts. He'd disobeyed orders for the last time, don't die he said. For years, Sharpe had told him to keep a level head, to think before flinging himself into battle. He'd constantly droned on about how he'd made these mistakes in the past, and nearly paid for it with his life. 'You're lucky you don't have to learn this the idiotic, nearly dying way.' He'd always say. In fact, if Jason had listened, had he followed orders, he wouldn't even be here. He would have been in the relative safety of the Lycan den that was his home for so many years, not pinned to the ground, his lifeblood spilling out faster than his regenerative powers could mend his wound. He wasn't a medical expert, but he knew that death would come to claim him shortly... but he also knew that his mentor yet lived. There was that, at least. If he hadn't come, it would be Peter Sharpe, his oldest friend, dying in an alley.

As his body slowly reverted back into it's natural state, he realized the full extent of his injury, and the excruciating pain that came with it. The rusted metal had pierced his lung, and pinned him to the ground. As his vision grew blurred, his head lolled to the side, granting him a glimpse of his fallen mentor. Jason tried to call out, but blood filled his mouth, and he wasn't able to move. Even if he were able to dislodge the rusted metal... it would likely bring an even swifter death as his blood would weep unobstructed. Reaching out to his mentor through the mental link was exhausting in his current state. His mind was usually as a blazing fire on a clear night, but now it was as if searching for a fluttering candle in an endless fog. Jason wasn't entirely sure if the man was even conscious, but his time grew short. Even if his final words were lost upon the night, this way it didn't feel like dying alone.

"You know... when I chose the life of an immortal, I hadn't planned on biting the dust this young. The way I figured it, you and I had a good thousand years or so left. I thought I was destined for greatness, I thought I would live to see my family avenged... I thought I'd live long enough to start a family of my own. I suppose it's too late for all that now. But you know, I don't regret a thing. After my family was taken from me, I didn't know what to do. I was lost. But then you and your band of degenerates took me in, gave me a new life. I know if I would have survived this... you'd never let me live it down. Don't get ahead of yourself, don't rush into the unknown blind and without backup. Well, you can take your orders and fuck yourself with them, I'm going off ahead of you again. I don't know if there's an afterlife waiting for us... but if there is, I'll let you know if I find her there."

And with that, he was gone.