Kritch felt uneasy, it was simply that there was only one guard that was protecting their prime prisoner rather than a group of guardsmen. That would have to imply one thing, this guard had much more experience compared to the last guard that Kritch had dispatched earlier in the last cell-block. Wiggling his toes, Kritch was wondering to himself if the rest of his life in this prison was really worth escaping hell and away from his home. After a few seconds of thinking, Kritch determined that it was worth it escaping his horrible reality in which he called life with his family lurking in the shadows. However, it seemed that the guardsman knew of his presence in the vents which made his sneak attack null and void for the small rat. Doing the same tactic wouldn't work twice against this experienced guard that knew where he was, but there was one tactic that seemed to work at least once against every person. It wouldn't kill them, but it would take some time for them to regrow the various body parts that would be missing by the time Kritch's plans where done. Stretching his back, cracking all his knuckles, and his muscles tightening from the tension, Kritch clasped his two hands together.

Outside, the guardsman could most likely hear the slight murmuring of something within the vents of the cell-block if they were listening closely to his nearby enemy. However, it wouldn't be long before Kritch made his daring move made by adrenaline of freight for his life. A sudden black smoke erupted from the vents of the cell-block, it wouldn't be as jarring not knowing there was something there but a sudden black smoke was still quite strange. The black smoke escaping from the vents soon rushed the man at blurring speeds, it would be hard to follow for minion standards but other higher leveled enemies could most likely see its movements, and these movements were heading straight to his head. The plan was, reform with any limb (preferably the arm) inside the head of the defender which would completely incapacitate the enemy and a lost limb for the attacker. The mouth would work the best, if not the mouth then the nose, if not the nose then the eyes, if not the eyes then the ears, and if they someone close every port to the inside of their heads would mean them to be defenseless against his razor sharp attacks from the putside. It was a win-win situation, it was a bloody mess that would only work once on someone, but that is all that Kritch needed to break through the defenses against the door and escape from the powerful monster that was wreaking havoc at the start to the break-in.

"You all have a good time killing Nefas! I'm going to free the rest of us!" V declared, once he had ensured that every prisoner that was willing had been armed with one of his quick and dirty enchantments. With that, he turned round to head even deeper within the prison asylum. His words were, of course, bold faced lies, but they would be good for this group's morale and thus increase their chances of surviving long enough to cause Nefas some sort of inconvenience. Maybe they would even surprise the poison spirit and kill the warden! No, of course not. Perhaps, if they were lucky, a serendipitous strike would weaken the cambion enough that V's entourage would be able to do os, but not them.

Villiam did continue moving further into the place though. He had someplace to be. Someplace where a certain rat demon had likely already gotten, and if V knew Kritch like he thought he did based on the small amount of analysis he could perform before this mission, he knew that Kritch was going to need assistance with the last line of defense. Somebody as important as Betty? There was no way even the most idiotic of cambion's would skimp on security.

Villiam was not disappointed. As soon as he melted his way through the wall into the maximum security wing, his eyes rested upon a bloody sight as Kritch was locked in combat with some random soul with a uniform marking him as the head of security. Though the man was bloodied and appeared to be weak, something about his posture and composure told Villiam otherwise. This was a man well versed in dealing with threats far larger and more dangerous than himself. Villiam smiled. Reminded him of his own nature. Then Villiam saw the name on the uniform: Mike Schmidt. That felt familiar, and his smile drifted away. "I feel like I know you..." V muttered, just loud enough to be heard by those paying attention. "That's no good. Familiarity is horrific for a man like me. You see, it means... Well, it means..." V's smile then returned in the most horrific manner possible. Muck and grime oozed and dripped down his face, connecting upper and lower lips together in a disturbing and threatening grin to combine joy and loathing.

"It means that I was incapable of finishing you before!" Villiam shouted a guttural growl of those final words as he released a gaseous glob directly at Head Guard Schmidt's head, the same gathering of pure ozone he had been saving since his first encounter with Poncho.

Nefas admittedly didn't expect the deflection of the attack. He knew he didn't look like someone to be meddled with but most would block a strike like this. That had been what he was betting on but Deprave instead countered with a sort of throw, landing Nefas squarely on his back and winding him a bit. As soon as he recovered Nefas was being spun, and facing down the barrel of two shotguns. He quickly pulled upwards as the first shot was fired, all missing his eyes and some pellets instead making their way into his open mouth and piercing his tongue and gums.

This motion had two effects, dodging the blast, and harming Deprave, hitting him square in the sternum. This winded the man-demon enough for Nefas to wrest free, both of them losing some skin in the process. He would not be let up on though. He began to be sandwiched between a rock (Old N) and a hard place (A swarm of prisoners). Though they would clearly limit Deprave's movement and attacks, Nefas now had to deal with many enemy combatants at once. He would deal with Old N first, hitting him with an open arm strike that would knock him both back and down. Turning to face the swarm, head cast downwards to avery the gaze of Grog's cannons, Nefas began slaughtering the wave of freed prisoners armed with small blades. Many bounced off of him as he began decapitating men, women, and demons with swift chops from his hand. Every now and then he began to feel a bit weaker as a contact poison struck him, but that was far from enough to kill him.

His gaze being cast down though, Nefas did not notice the two assailants above him, the King from the side, and Poncho from above. As both of them struck simultaneously, Poncho with a double axe handle and the King with a backstab. Neither did much, except getting Nefas to gaze up at them. Nefas grasped Poncho's poncho and threw him at Deprave and Grog, before elbowing the King with enough force to crack all of his ribs at once and knock him back a bit. But that didn't mean all was for not. the King's draining had weakened Nefas's skull. If a significantly powerful blow hit him there, it would pierce his hide.


Listening intently, the Headguard (his nametag identified him as Mike) gazed wearily around the hall, listening and watching intently for the first strike, cattle-prod in hand and poised to strike. His ears perked just so as Kritch murmured in the vents. He prepared himself, ready to dodge or strike, maybe even defend considering how small his opponent must be. He couldn't prepare for what happened next though. A black cloud of smoke shot from the vent, at him. Mike shut his mouth and eyes tight and swung his weapon at the intruder, but neglected to block his nose. As the smoke entered it, and flowed into his brain, Mike realized he had probably fucked up.

Kritch's hand began manifesting a split second later, smashing Mike's grey matter against his skull and stopping most higher brain function. As Kritch pulled what little of his hand was left away, all that was left was Mike's lower brain. It was all he needed to know that the other man approaching was bad news. He could no longer recognize or remember the man, V, but his eyes dilated and his arms seemed to move up to protect himself even as his rod dropped to the floor. As he attempted to breath in, a great effort with such a mashed brain, Mike would breath in the ozone, almost destroying his lungs as well. He was down for the count.

Retrieving the keys from the body, either of them could now open up the door and put Betty in the bag. Someone ought to call Bartender and tell him to get the car ready.

LightBro ran over to the swarm of the Nefas fight, and watched as the rest of the onslaught at that moment ran. Currently, the crusader was preparing for a charge in to help deliver the final blow to Nefas, with applying a bit of the napalm onto his shield. Hopefully the impact would cause a direct hit to Nefas and cause him to stumble, allowing someone to land a final blow and take the destructive demon downtown. When ready, the crusader turned to face Toby once more as he exclaimed "Light be with you, Tobias.", and LightBro charged through the only opening he could see, just barely landing his shield against the knee of the once-feared warden, causing the sudden ignition of the napalm to add force and bring the giant down. Unfortunately, the side-effect of this was that LightBro finally had enough napalm under his helmet to cause him to start choking, and the knight had to rush outside the prison and he fell to his own knees, removing his helmet. Anyone who would see the knight now would be surprised to see who LightBro truly was.

Deprave wanted to suggest to himself that the hit to his chest didn't affect him that much. This, however, would be lying: he was winded, if only for a couple of moments, and for that he'd lost a bit of skin on his hands. Not that much of a problem, but clearly, this Nefas would be tougher than expected. And he had a guy strapped to his back preventing him from grabbing his strongest weapon. Blog had to go, then. Without so much as a word, he undid the chains tying Frog to his shoulders, then pulled the man off his shoulders with one hand, grasping the chains in his other hand and putting them back where they belonged.

'I'm gonna throw you, Jog,' he stated bluntly. 'You've gotta distract Nefas whilst I get to him. Here’s two more clips-’ Deprave push a couple more clips of ammo for the shotguns, lead slugs if he recalled correctly, into the drugged-up maniac’s jacket pockets- ‘And don’t break my fucking guns.' And with that, he tossed the man straight at Nefas - coincidentally, right as the bitch-looking poncho demon from before was tossed back at him. He had half a moment to process that he had his hands out anyway, so he just moved them into the right place and caught the poncho-wearer out of the air, flipping him the right way round in one hand in preparation to put him down as he then began pushing through the abrupt crowd of prisoners towards Nefas once again, his free hand reaching for Blackgore.

And, quite suddenly, had a brilliant idea about what to do with the demon.

‘Alright, maybe I won’t rape you, you armless freak,’ Deprave started, pointedly not putting Poncho down as he drew his weapon, ‘but in exchange for that, you’ve got to get this rabble calmed down. I’ve got an army approaching this place, and every sod in here’s gonna be signing up to help take over Hell. Maybe beyond that, too. You can even be a high-ranking sorta guy in it, if you like, you seem kind of tough. And you know what I’ll do otherwise, so...’

And now he put Poncho down somewhat roughly, and what would you know, he was now standing pretty near Nefas, right as the paladin guy slammed some burning shield into the fucker’s knee. He waited for his moment to strike, then, when it presented itself, lifted Blackgore over his head and brought it down, full force, two handed, blade rather than flat, towards the enemy Cambion’s head.

Old N's vengeful charge turned out to be quite short-lived, as Nefas was fast enough to deliver a potent blow to the crab-demon before the latter collapsed his armoured bulk onto him. Normally, such a strike would easily have sent Old N sprawling to the ground, not unlike an oversized beetle having fallen from a stalk of grass due to its unawareness of (or delusions concerning, in the case of a vainer insect) its own weight. However, there was at least one factor bringing circumstances from “normal” in this case, and namely that the crustacean was bearing down in the direction directly opposite to the blow. The combination of his ponderous mass and the momentum of his rush was sufficient to balance the two forces, with the result of reducing the effect of the warden’s blow to stopping him in his tracks and causing him to stagger backwards a few steps.

While Old N was recovering his balance, the knight, who had somehow managed to light his shield on fire, struck Nefas in the knee – a move which, along with the onslaught of the rioting prisoners, would at least be sufficient to divert the Cambion’s attention. Taking advantage of such a propitious turn of events, the crab creakingly bent over and once again charged at the warden headfirst. This time, would his target even be fast enough to react, he would find it more difficult to land a direct hit on the round top of Old N’s carapace; at all events, the demon was fully certain that the maimer of his pincers would not escape his righteous fury another time.

After he watched Light run off, he wondered about what he said. "What's the light?" He said. But Light didn't hear him. So he decided to fire off a few shots at the large warden. He made a good target. The bullets were penetrating, but doing absolutely nothing but slightly drawing his attention. Giving the team a second to catch their bearings. "Whats the status on Betty?" He asked, hoping someone had a answer. He then looked around and it was complete chaos, he oddly enjoyed the sight. Then he heard a explosion that came from Light, and watched as he took his helmet off and saw his face. "Oh my god... LIGHT!" He yelled at Light as he ran towards him, gun in hand.

With as much of a smirk as his semi-viscous face could muster, Villiam approached the downed head of security slowly and menacingly. The man's brain had been mostly obliterated, his face and lungs melted by ozone; he wasn't going to be getting back up and fighting anytime soon. However that was not enough for the poison spirit. Villiam lowered himself down on one knee, held out his right index and middle finger, then placed the digits in what remained of the guards' mouth. He stretched and forced his appendages as deeply as he could through his victim's body then released it. Manus. Pure as he could force. Villiam would ensure this victim's end right here. Right now. In full view of Kritch and potentially Betty if the demon could see anything outside of her cell.

More and more and more flooded Mike's body, inflating the human corpse like a balloon until there was no place left for the material left to go. It was forced to ooze and spill out of the man's orifices. His mouth, nose, eyes, ears, even his very skin pores and yes before you ask even his unmentionables. Once the deed was done and V convinced that Mike would never be a problem again, V removed his hand from the victim's mouth, grabbed the keys, and tossed them in Kritch's general direction. "Here you go, my esteemed rodent colleague," he commented in a rather friendly tone. Far too friendly for someone that had just murdered a man's very soul in cold blood.

Villiam then produced a dataslab from within his own body and made contact with Barkeep. "The last line of defense is down, we are retrieving the package as I speak, though judging from the sounds I hear Nefas is still an obstacle. For the moment, at any rate."

With as much of a smirk as his semi-viscous face could muster, Villiam approached the downed head of security slowly and menacingly. The man's brain had been mostly obliterated, his face and lungs melted by ozone; he wasn't going to be getting back up and fighting anytime soon. However that was not enough for the poison spirit. Villiam lowered himself down on one knee, held out his right index and middle finger, then placed the digits in what remained of the guards' mouth. He stretched and forced his appendages as deeply as he could through his victim's body then released it. Manus. Pure as he could force. Villiam would ensure this victim's end right here. Right now. In full view of Kritch and potentially Betty if the demon could see anything outside of her cell.

More and more and more flooded Mike's body, inflating the human corpse like a balloon until there was no place left for the material left to go. It was forced to ooze and spill out of the man's orifices. His mouth, nose, eyes, ears, even his very skin pores and yes before you ask even his unmentionables. Once the deed was done and V convinced that Mike would never be a problem again, V removed his hand from the victim's mouth, grabbed the keys, and tossed them in Kritch's general direction. "Here you go, my esteemed rodent colleague," he commented in a rather friendly tone. Far too friendly for someone that had just murdered a man's very soul in cold blood.

Villiam then produced a dataslab from within his own body and made contact with Barkeep. "The last line of defense is down, we are retrieving the package as I speak, though judging from the sounds I hear Nefas is still an obstacle. For the moment, at any rate."

Kritch knew that the pain of willingly reforming his hand in a small confined space would be immensely powerful from the dangerously low thought out plan, but he was hoping that the massive amount adrenaline and fear running though his body would null his senses for this very grueling moment. This wasn't the case this time. A familiar feeling of searing pain soared throughout Kritch's hairy malformed body causing it to jolt and contort around several angles. The rat's hand had quickly shot out of the destroyed guardsman's brain, his bloody ruined hand exposed to the suffering rat's eyes caused him to curse within his language chittering, clicking, and squeaking seemingly at the same time with its rapid sounds. Kritch didn't even notice the semi-liquid cloud of death toying with the already defeated guardsman, he was just tightly clenching his limp wrist staring at his ravaged hand. It had been quite some time being subjected to his amount of pain, one of his main goals was to actually avoid being hurt as getting hurt is quite bad! Still, after his cursing subsided for the moment, Kritch's even more blood red eyes landed upon the mess that gas-cloud thing had produced with the last guardsman.

While normally Kritch would run away at the sight of such horrors from an untrustworthy ally, the amount of pain, fear, and adrenaline coursing through his veins threw away his caution to the winds of chaos and merely wanted this nightmare to be over. Letting out a simple snort to V's words, he grabbed the flying keys with his good hand before stumbling towards the locked door. "Lizard-thing better be of use-use," Kritch muttered to himself, unlocking the prison door and unleashing Betty to the prison hallways of temporary freedom. "We must flee-escape building now, monster too power-strong for us, we go to escape-free driver,"

At the sight of his restraints loosening, the crazed Grog began to flail his arms wildly, shotguns still firmly gripped and all. Of course, a few stray shots landed here and there. As his trusty steed hoisted him over his head and explained what was about to happen, Grog reacted the only way he could. More rage-induced spasms and mouth frothing. That was not to say he didn't like the prospect of serving as a gun-totting human fucking cannonball, in fact, he welcomed the idea with open arms and... Mouth? Of all times, Grog just -had- to use the Pint now. With one gun held awkwardly under his shoulder, it seemed that the (un)masked hooligan had just downed an entire tankard of what seemed to be pure scotch.

And just like that, he was launched. Barely having enough time to secure his tankard, he felt his face being pulled back by the force of the throw as he flew ripped a hysterical path through the air. The crab-man had already began to launch what seemed to be a counterattack against Head Honcho, and Sir Badass had valiantly napalmed the fuck out of Nefas' legs, or something. Grog was too absorbed in his own high to properly notice. Though the whole scene was truly fun to behold, time was of the essence, especially now that the leather-clad bomber was momentarily airbourne.

Once again, due to the combination of his own peculiar mental functions and the drugs still going strong within his system, Grog began formulating a course of action that would guarantee maximum damage on the raging half-demon-thing. First, he'd empty his shotguns while there was still distance between himself and Nefas. His heightened awareness made it painfully easy to successfully aim for key points such as the throat, mouth and eyes. With that out of the way, the next thing to do was to somehow avoid being caught by the beast. Luckily, he had just the trick for that. One of his three nailbombs would do the job. He'd simply toss it with all of his (now somewhat formidable) strength towards the baddie. Even if he were to catch it before it hit his face, the force from the impact would still set it off, resulting in a high-powered, nail-filled burst that would certainly give him these precious few moments needed in order to slip by.

Though that seemed a tad hard to pull off.

Poncho struggled fruitlessly against the muscled man holding him captive. For a second he considered trying to strike before gazing up at the behemoth and seconding guessing himself. At the proposition the demon sneered, but as he was put down, did as told. His shouts began to fill the room, attempting to calm the rioters.

While this was happening, Nefas was being beset upon again. First, the knight of light slammed a flaming shield into his knees, forcing him into a stumble where Old N caught him off guard. This forced him onto one knee, the bullets being fired from Grog grazing his head and causing it to bleed just a bit. The coup de gras came from Deprave, who stepped up and swung his mighty blade down, cracking open Nefas's skull and carving through some grey matter. Nefas slumped over on the blade and his eyes closed themselves. It seemed he was down for the count.

The prisoners began cheering. Long live the king, the king is dead and all that. While some immediately ran to the exit, Poncho blocked the exit and began corralling and calming down the masses, as per Deprave's polite suggestion. Although he did have to punch some of them out, the vast majority seemed to be pretty hype about the whole thing. Mob mentality was running wild, as was adrenaline. As soon as Betty arrived, the group was free to go.


As the lock clicked open and Kritch swung the door open, the two would be greeted by a 4 foot tall green reptilian demon, dressed in a small shirt and a skirt. She bombastically stepped out into the hall before taking a look around at the rebels that freed her and frowning. "I was expecting someone a bit more heroic, and less dirty and uh..." Gazing down at the the smoldering corpse of the head guard. "Jeez, was that really, like, a requirement? He was nice. Gave me a drink sometimes."

"Well, whatever, we need to get out of here?" She asked, looking between the two men. At that moment, Barkeep cut in. "Weaver is on her way, should be there in about 30 seconds or a minute. Make sure Betty doesn't get hurt." Betty nodded at this, seemingly knowing who this person was. She began lackadaisical trekking down the hall towards the entrance to the prison.

The crusader had thrown their helmet across the ground in a desperate attempt to get the cloud of air infused with a napalm out of their eyes and lungs. The young Toby saw that the knight was struggling to breathe and rushed over to see if he would be alright after getting all of this crud out of his system, but as Toby would soon find out, the knight was not the man he seemed... or a man at all.

Where Jonathan Light once stood, a slightly ravishing woman was on her knees and hands, coughing up smoke. Her hair was cut shortly in order to fit into the thrown-aside helmet. Through the coughs that were expelled from her, you could hear a confident and slightly feminine voice, and her frame was actually rather slim, and under the armor you could barely see a fair bit of padding under it. This was Jennifer Light, the crusader that faked an identity to join the ranks of the Pope's army many centuries ago.

She looked back towards the prison, now loud with the chanting of once rioting prisoners, still coughing away with a slightly accented voice. "Nefas is - hyeck - taken down now... we have a - chyech - chance at getting out of - bleck - here... glorious." The knight continued to cough after that.

...Yeah, Grog's fancy trick didn't really work out. He had time for five? Maybe six shots? Before falling face-first on the cold, hard concrete floor, breaking his nose as he landed. Fuming with a junkie's fury, he began to half-skitter in an attempt to turn belly-side-up, in order to at least have some sort of clear shot against the-

Oh, wait. He's dead. Goody. Aztec dude shoved his big rock-sword-thing straight in Head Honcho's skull. In an instant, the majority of frothing fury and adrenaline that had been accumulated inside Grog suddenly vanished, leaving behind a heavily injured idiot, drunk and high out of his mind, but still somewhat pissed off.

"Alright, gentlemen. That's a wrap. That was pretty brutal, Pravey. Yay, woo-hoo, great success and so forth. Now, can someone please get me the fuck out of here? I think my legs are broke."

Once the door was swung opened by the crippled rat, Kritch soon met the person that was being rescued and was genuinely surprised by their appearance. Kritch always thought that he was going to be the shortest in the entire bunch of temporary meat shields, but it seemed that the lizard-thing was shorter albeit only a few inches shorter than the rat. Well, anyway, the injured Kritch watched the lizard-thing step out of their chamber, commenting on his rather ugly appearance and the desecrated corpse of the latest murdered guard. Kritch didn't care too much of the guard's gruesome demise as he was trying to basically end his life in the prison, but the cautious rat was more or less paranoid about the gas-thing and any action that they would do forward in the journey of escape. That thing was going to be the death of him with their violent actions, and the last thing that Kritch wanted in his life was death, especially by the hands of the venomous gas-thing filling his body with whatever happened to the guard. So, giving V one quick glance, Kritch followed the lizard-thing to the escape vehicle and out of this prison filled with almost-dead bodies of guards and prisoners.

And like that, Deprave's foe was dead. "Unconscious", rather, and much more easily than expected, but nonetheless defeated and out of the way. And when one has destroyed a dangerous foe, what else can one do but throw both fists into the air and release an almighty, primal roar of triumph that echoes throughout the entirety of whatever building you're in right now? Which is exactly what Deprave did. Shortly after which, he scooped out the brain from the Cambion's skull with one massive hand, stuffing it into his mouth and savouring the fatty taste and chewy texture before he swallowed, blood and gibs running down his chin throughout the endeavour.

'AND THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING!' he continued to yell, once his initial triumph was indulged in, somewhat directing his speech at the ex-prisoners of the place whilst gesticulating with Blackgore. 'THERE'S AN ARMY COMING, AND YOU'RE ALL BEING ENLISTED INTO IT! GUNS, DESTRUCTION, CONQUEST! EVERY FOUL ACT YOUR HEART COULD DESIRE WILL COME TO YOU, AND ALL YOU NEED TO DO IS WAIT OUTSIDE THE WALLS OF THIS PRISON!' As he spoke, he noticed Snog's attempt to talk to him, and eventually sheathed the macuahuitl to pick, first his two shotguns, and then the groinless drunkard up from the ground, resheathing the weapons and hoisting the loon over one shoulder in an effortless fireman's carry.

'AND THE PRIZE AT THE END?' he continued, caught up in his glory even as he began heading back to the exit. 'EARTH! ITSELF! WILL BE OURS FOR THE TAKING! THE REIGN OF THE DAMNED OVER THE LIVING WILL BE GLORIOUS, INFINITE, AND ETERNAAAL!' Once more, he allowed a primal scream to emanate from his throat, just to further encourage the already-screaming crowd, before finally taking leave of the building, heading out to the front to holy crap Jonathan turned into a girl. That was... no, surely not? It was his armour, but the head which would otherwise have been inside its helmet was female... or was he pretending to be a guy all along? He didn't know.

But honestly, he didn't care either. This was an opportunity that couldn't just be passed up so... wait, no, shitting bitch tits. If he raped her, the rest of the party would probably try to kill him. "Try", of course, being the major term in that sentence, but they were useful for their abilities! Easily some of the strongest pawns working for him so far, other than the little bitch-boy who was missing an arm- and what a coincidence, he'd been next to the girl-knight the whole time- and that flimsy rat-thing Kritch. He didn't want to waste effort on reacquiring new minions, not when these ones had decided to willingly work for him, and they were necessary evils anyway, considering the ever-so-important nature of their rescued prisoner. So alas, he'd have to hold back on any sexual assault for now. On the other hand, manipulating them into sex was always an option too, not that he often had need of it, so he'd have that to work on, for her and the other women travelling with him, and there were others, of course. For the time being, though, he simply strolled over to where maybe-probably-girl-Jonathan and the arm-lacking bitch were, ready to go whenever the transport got there. Where was that, anyway?

"Acknowledged, Barkeep. No harm will come to your friend." With that Villiam shut off communication with his dataslab and absorbed the piece of technology back into his body. He then gestured for Kritch to follow and caught up with Betty. Once by her side he spoke to her. "I understand your apprehension miss, but please understand that that man is not what he appears. I am familiar with him from before the mortal coil. Nice he was not. I even have reason to believe he had been lacing your drinks with a toxin to make you more... Agreeable."

At that moment V heard the unmistakable howling of the cambion Deprave. It was not a howl of pain, but of enjoyment. No doubt such a sound signaled the group's victory over Nefas and the rest of the guards. Most excellent. "That would be good news for us. Betty, Kritch my friend, it appears that we have smooth sailing from here." The spirit managed as much of a smile as he could given his physical state in an attempt to show off a friendly demeanor.

Swaying slightly to recover his balance after his final assault upon the now collapsed Nefas, Old N reflexively twitched his entire frame as his wrathful thirst for revenge, having been satisfied, subsided. Someone with a neck would not have had to go through all that trouble to regain some clarity, but, loath though one might be to admit it, being encased in an inflexible carapace had its disadvantages. His mind no longer preoccupied with meting out retribution, its focus slowly flowed, or, rather, dripped, towards even more immediate objects. Such as the dull, pulsing pain in his fractured pincers. The demon disconsolately shook once again, his forelimbs dangling limply (and causing no small amount of further agony as they struck against the rest of him, though he barely deemed it worth to register it). After all, since they would not be of any use to him for a while anyway, what good was it to waste his strength holding them up?

It would probably not have occurred to Old N for a few minutes yet that he was still standing in the prison's hallway had he not been jolted back to his senses by Deprave's bellowing. Throwing a glance in the brute's direction which, with the help of a vivid imagination and some potential for mind-reading, could have been interpreted to be supposed to display irritation, the demon turned to surveying his surroundings. The chamber was partly filled with escaped convicts, who seemed determined to out-yell the Mayaztec Cambion (not that this helped them any), whilst the latter, having shouldered the finally subdued Grog, was making his way past the one-armed fellow, whom Old N had not seen doing much, and the knig- Wait, that was the knight? Weren't the people wearing armour supposed to be- The unexpected novelty of "Jonathan"'s sex dealt the final blow to Old N's already reluctant attempts to appraise the situation, and, waving an imaginary intact pincer at it all, he shuffled towards the apparent gathering-point.

Fucksville's a hell of a drug. When it's not amplifying your aggression and rage tenfold, you're left with a world in slow motion and one hell of a high. As Grog dangled limply from the Mayancatec's shoulder, he casually examined his surroundings, since he had nothing better to do, and, well. It was sort of amusing seeing all of these emaciated and generally battered prisoners rioting. Grog really hoped they'd just start beating each other senseless, but alas, that was not the case. Deprave had began to rally the inmates, and started going on about conquering Earth and similar things. Well, he had pretty much all the aspects of a super-villain, so it made sense, despite being a totally dick move. As Grog's eyes darted around the gathering team, from the ambiguously psycho spirit, to the poor Mushroom crab who had the mother of all booboos, the kneeling Jon with the kid by his side caught his attention. Higher than a kite, all he could do was let loose a lazy giggle. He perked up as much as he could, made a finger-gun pointed at the visibly distressed knight, and twisted his head in a sort of upright manner, which definitely did not seem good for the spine.

"Eeey, Jon. Lookin' good man!"

He immediately fell limp once again, his half-masked face slightly bouncing against Deprave's back. Grog's only remaining thought was rather simplistic. He should have a nice pint of beer. With that out of the way, he began giggling between gulps, that he somehow managed to down with the aid of a crumpled pink straw kept in his pocket, and narrowed his eyes, absolutely certain that he had forgotten something important.

The knight was being surrounded by the group she was attempting to leave Hell with, and it was a bit disconcerting with these faces looking at her as her true identity was revealed and it was a bit late to take back what she had did, but she had to or she would've definitely suffocated from the smoke in the helmet. Her face was still rather dusty, but she wiped her forehead with her arm while she spoke to those who had gathered around. "M-my name is Jennifer Light... if that helps to clear this up."

After speaking, she stood up from the ground and bent over to pick her helmet up. Well... bent was a bit of a fabrication. She instead crouched down to get the helmet, still facing Deprave. She didn't exactly trust him with how he had given her a bit of a perverse leer a few moments ago. With that aside, Jen held her helmet with her mace sheathed and waited for the rest of the Hell-scapers to arrive, including their ride to the next mission.