"Comrades! Today the great enemy is slain! It is their blood that covers this land, the blood of the heretic! Find solace in that we have driven the dogs from this area, and avenged a great man! Today! Peace is not within our vocabulary, for we do the work of the Emperor himself!" Mikail was fervently zealous in his shouting, raising his gore-covered shotgun into the air with a defiant roar of victory, the sorts that you'd probably expect the enemy to be making if they stood in your shoes right now. His wickedly bladed bayonet is still in the possession of a rather bloody chunk of chest-flesh from the heretic he so savagely speared. His face said it all really, a man so possessed by the sheer thrill of what had just occurred that his earlier madness seemed drastically less menacing than this.

Glaring at the corpse of the flesh-brute, Mikail simply laughed at the thing with all the humour that he had before, yet his words bore spite far beyond anything else. "You will atone for your sins! You will thank me for allowing you to die!" Every word dripped with a demented fusion of utter venom yet also happiness like he was talking to an old friend. It mattered little to the Valhallan, as he drew forth a tiny bottle - more a shot than anything else - of the potent spirit so famously associated with his homeworld, he chugged the thing like a fish from water before simply...calming down. To surrounding people, he literally just went from bloodthirsty rage to...utter calmness, in a fraction of a second...

With a warming laughter, he bellowed the friendly words of: "Come comrades! To the fortress, yes!"