Sharp rushes of wind, deafening cracks like the wicked roar of thunder, and a tremendous pain in his calf. Only one bullet found province in Abe before he began moving away, his reaction to the sound was almost instant. That awful noise of gunfire and death had driven him away from his usual prey, making human a delicacy in these times. They always fought back with their dishonorable tools, relying on the strength of gunpowder instead of their own bodies. They always kept him at range with their invisible projectiles, they hit him before he could react every time. This was no different, a hot wave of suffering crept from his leg to his brain. Instinct drove him to leap over the building's ledge, back the direction he had just come. Away from it, run from the sound, flee from death and hunt the source. The same thoughts as always. Magic, gunfire, power, whatever kept him from his quarry only ever held him off for so long. 

Again he had found himself on the hunt, he had called out for vengeance from the rooftops and his call had been answered in haste. Rounding the curve of the building in a blind rage, no idea where his prey was hiding. The only hint that graced his presence to Abe was the direction of the sound, and that was quickly slipping from his mind. Bent at the corner, down an alley and into another. Around a building and back down the road where the sound originated. His billowing robe giving the illusion of flight as he rocketed down the road, his speed unhindered by his wound. Dust was thrown aside by his feet as he sailed across the dusty road, the gritty feeling on his bare feet was so familiar and comfortable to him. 

It had come from this way, guns don't work on their own, they need a finger to work them. So there had to be a source behind the sound, tracking it down would be the easy part. Successfully capturing it was going to be a nightmare, considering he was unable to dodge bullets. Rampaging towards the sound, he began to step from side to side, bobbing his head and torso up and down. 

Abe could not yet see his prey, but he was sure it could see him. It had already wounded him, so he began to move in sporadic and unpredictable patterns, moving as quickly as he possibly can just to avoid the vicious bit of another gunshot. 

Word poured from between his clenched teeth, a hiss and lisp decorating the words. A cloud of toxic fog leaking from the corners of his mouth. The words meant almost nothing to him, but something compelled them to be spoken. "Come to me, lascher of death and fire! I'm schtarving, usche your blade of flamesch to cook your own flesch!"