[color=#007FFF][b][u][h1][sub][sub][sub]Farren[/sub][/sub][/sub][/h1][/u][/b][/color]		    felt his attacks land, saw them pierce, felt them do nothing. His heart sank, an explosion bright as his once glowing eyes–brighter–ripped through the head, but the abomination recovered.

Farren’s entire body erupted, twisted, warped, grew, then–and only due to the blood vial he’d prepared–recovered. Foolishly, he’d unconsciously been suppressing the stabbing rhythm of pain from that monster’s phantasmal quills.

Another struck him, a breath, another. Farren slammed another vial into his leg with one hand, then slotted a quicksilver bullet into his blunderbuss, leaving one of his True Blades of Mercy lodged in the monster’s bulbous head.

Torquil faded and a violent desperate rage took hold. Farren didn’t aim for the head, he slammed the barrel into its much narrower neck and fired even as he held onto the other blade–still lodged in its pulsating flesh through one of its many eyes.

If, for even a moment, the neck was rendered nearly into a gaping hole, Farren would move his sword arm, violently attempting to tear the bulbous core from the rest of its humanoid frame. The blunderbuss he’d shove through whatever hole its spray had formed, trying to prevent it from easily recovering.

Unbeknownst to him, Farren had begun to scream, raging in a wordless sound that despite the lack of language [i]felt[/i] as if he were roaring [b][i]‘Diiiieee’[/i][/b].