"You are far from saved. Merely sustained to be a plaything." The Raven replied curtly back, surveying the scene once more atop a tree. 

It seems the battle had finally begun as three forces collided into one playing field. Humans, Heretics, Vampires, Hunters, and Vampire Hunters and Hunter Vampires, to what end was the carnage? Faith was a very powerful tool, a weapon even, as over the years Lord Bedivere had learned the four tools of domination and dominion. For puppets one merely needs to use strings, weak but materially tethers to animate that which had no will of its own. For animals one needed to use chains, a stronger binding with which to subjugate them to understand their subservience. For men one uses faith, a false promise which corrupts them into doing deeds beyond their own knowing. For Gods one uses reason, the logic which conquers their own twisted conceptions. 

"Your side will need to retreat until their cavalry comes. But when it comes, what will there be left of Kilo Point between the vampires and the mad men? I believe Old Gabriel is to be thanked for your life. I merely quickened the recovery. But names are unimportant, lest you have a request for your headstone when you lie as dead as the humans you serve."

Pitiful young blood. Mindless, poor examples of vampires proper, who like rats in a plague attempted to breach across the line of Purge men. Useless were they in fighting the hunters, their tactics should be more concerned of destroying the SOLIDER base rather than distracting the Purge from doing the same task. A commander amongst them was clearly evident as the from the metallic masses rose a goliath cyborg to rouse his heretics to stand against the vampires. This was most impressive, a false promise to turn the tide of battle and even Lady Mo had gotten into the fray with her command over wind and grass. With a flap of darkened wings, Lord Bedivere the Raven disappeared, by the call of the raven's caw, it was finally time to kill.

"No, Pretender Knight, This is the Devil's hand in sight. And in the darkness of the night, it is I who is the Light."

A cold pale hand grasped itself around the giant commander Vincent's neck as he scarcely heard the whispering retort catching up. Crucifixes were silly things to Lord Bedivere, rather useless in facing him which may have surprised the Purge giant as no visible sign of strain or duress was given by the true knight. In all their faux armor and even their absurd neck straps to prevent the snapping of necks by regular vampires, they had forgotten a simple rule of martial armed combat. Perhaps if they had been real knights, they would realize a simple flaw in their Servomotor Suits and all that armor they wore to protect their soft flesh. But thick and heavy plates were of no match to a good mace, a force not made to cut or tear but rather embedded.

With a sudden tightening of his grip, a sickening crunch of metal and cartilagous rings collapsed unto itself as the man's throat was crushed in the vice of an ancient vampire's power. Airways became closed, blood vessels ruptured and the experience of death was but moments away as the elder finished the job by ripping out the man's throat entirely with a swift yank toward the ground. Vincent would fall hard, being the giant he was but rest assured he would have entered systemic shock long before any physical trauma was added upon the impact of being pulled to the ground as one's body attempted to follow one's throat like a cretinous beggar clinging on to a golden ring.

"Martyrdom makes a man of no skill, no talent, and no ability, and will make him more useful in death to his fanatic cause than he ever was in life. Had you any skill, talent or ability, they would worship you as god." 

With this blasphemy did Lord Bedivere leave the giant to die as he suddenly returned to his roost as a Raven again.

Did anyone else scant see or hear him? In unparalleled darkness which cloaked the battlefield to become a moonless, starless, lightless night, Lord Bedivere was beyond the measure of power they had known. His speed made the kill happen in mere ten thousandths of a millisecond as he rushed from his perch and back, there was not enough time to anyone to react just by the basis of human reaction time alone. Even advanced sensors and technology which would certainly perhaps register his presence for but a moment could not produce output to react to the data of his presence before he was no longer there. Only his voice was heard, ominous and foreboding as the giant laid dying of blood loss and suffocation. 

A strike to the mortal. To crush a throat of one man was to kill.
A strike to the morale. To crush the hopes of all men was to rule.

Now then, let lady Mo continue the battle as Lord Bedivere returns to being the sentry upon high. Strategically manipulating the physical realm while surely Gabriel the old fart was playing at the metaphysical odds.