[center][h1]Gilliam DeWitt[/h1][/center]

Gilliam wrenched his head back in obvious terror as Alto appeared in front of him, sword of light blazing in his hand. He let out a hissing chitter, teeth snapping together as his jaw twitched in agitation. Terror and loathing coiled together like a pair of snakes making lone. He hated that sword. He hated anything that could cause him pain, cause him to flee in fear like this. Hadn't freedom from this feeling been why he'd fought so hard? There was only one way to be free of this terrible fear. He had to absorb it. He had to internalize it. He had to consume it! Once he had he'd know he was stronger than that. [i]Survival of the fittest. Eat or be eaten![/i]

He couldn't allow himself to be touched by the sword, that had been a painful lesson. Like an animal once bitten he wouldn't make the mistake of tanking it again. Instead he inflated one large stomach in his body and set it to overdrive, filling it with caustic stomach acid and connecting it directly to his throat. Vittorio's attack gave him the cover he needed, but the cop was charging now. Gilliam's eyes locked on the moving target, so focused on Vittorio. Fast. So fast. Inhumanly so. This wasn't any of his concern. He shouldn't have interfered. He flexed all the muscles around his new stomach and smashed it.

When Gilliam shot the acid it didn't come out as one continuous stream. No, no, that would be too easy to dodge or block with his book. Instead he widened his jaw, grew a hole filled layer of skin in the back of his throat, and fired in a rain like spray to get complete coverage. 

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