For a moment, Jane stumbled backwards, clutching his weapon in his hands. His breathing came fast and heavy as he slowly backed away from the fight... but then, as the great beast roared and the sounds of battle reached his ears, it began to steady. He stared at the massing horde of black slime, watching the Harbinger tear through it, and something flashed into his mind.

The pain of death. The thrill of invincibility. The indescribable glow of immortality.

It was not the first time that a smile had come to Jane's face. But that... that was not a smile.

Jane's breathing began to come heavy again as he reached into his pouch to pull out his radio again. "Get me a sword," he growled into it. "You know which one."

Jane shoved the radio back into his pocket and stared at the rising tide of ink, waiting patiently for something to arrive. And soon enough it did -- a dull, uninteresting scabbard appeared in the air in front of him in a red flash. He caught it expertly and, in a single motion, affixed it to his belt. "You know," he growled as he gripped the sword's hilt, "I do not think I have mentioned lately how much I! [b]HATE![/b] [color=ed1c24][b]MAGIC![/b][/color]"

Jane screamed again, but this time, there was not a drop of fear to be heard. He drew his weapon with a loud, dramatic scraping of metal on metal. He thrust his fists skyward and beat his chest like a wild ape, slicing open his cheek with his sword in the process. And charged forward, sword in hand. He smashed into the tide of ink like a battering ram, randomly swinging his katana at neck after neck after neck, coating his sword in a sickly black ooze.

And, for the first time in a long time, he fought.