Devon stares at Jacob, and his eyes burn black in rage. He paces about, in and out of the shadows, summoning and banishing his scythe at random, muttering to himself. He walks back into the room after a few minuets, and stares at Jacob in rage and loathing, with a hint of regret. He taps the hilt of his scythe into his hand, not blinking. His hands clenching hard enough to white knuckle the shaft of his scythe.