[color=#1A1A3B][b][u][h1][sub][sub][sub]Farren[/sub][/sub][/sub][/h1][/u][/b][/color]                  clenched his jaw, the muscles tightening painfully as a door opened and an ominous whistling issued forth–clearly originating from a blood-drenched man. However, Farren didn’t wait for the figure to come fully into focus. Instead as his eyes locked onto the opening door, the end of Farren’s rifle twitched to the side, training on the man’s center mass. His trigger finger half-clenched, eye trained down the barrel, and then he fired.
[center][h1][i][b]CRACK[/b][/i][/h1][/center]
The sharp, incredibly loud, report of his rifle was something Farren registered, but he moved rather than waiting for the result of his shot. He dropped the rifle and it was as if everything were in slow motion as adrenaline slammed through his blood, the Piercing Rifle slowly falling through the air. In an instant one hand had come to his belt and drawn the Blade of Mercy.

He wished he could have notified Ophelia, telling her to hurry…or wait–in the unfortunate event that the two of them died and ended up back in the Dream–but there was no time for such things. So instead, Farren simply shifted his grip and with a sharp snap, separated the singular blade into its twin-form, the joined blades separating with a jerk as he kept his bright gaze on their adversary.