[color=#1A1A3B][b][u][h1][sub][sub][sub]Farren[/sub][/sub][/sub][/h1][/u][/b][/color]                  coughed up more than a little blood, the rest swiftly being metabolized or otherwise reabsorbed as he felt a flush of heat roll through his blood. He gritted his teeth, groaning and exclaiming as bones began to snap back into place, knitting back together with a series of horridly sharp, itching, agonizing sensations. Farren snarled out a string of curses as he forced himself into motion only a half or so second after he’d begun healing, thrusting a hand into a pouch and extracting enough bullets for his blunderbuss and pistol. The first he brought in front of him swiftly, cocked it, reloaded in a series of swift motions, then dropped, hand blurring down to his pistol as he pushed to his feet, glanced behind him and then back stepped in a half-leap into the elevator. Farren knew intuitively that there would be no retreating from this, they’d either succeed or they’d die. Thus, as he landed on the elevator’s activation panel, he pushed back forward, ducking out of the cage before it slid shut–the lift already starting to ascend behind him. As his fingers nimbly finished reloading his pistol, Farren took a half step forward–moving swiftly–his body bending down so he could snatch up the blunderbuss as he broke into a dead sprint. He could see Skinner still feasting on the giant’s innards, but that couldn’t last, so he made every second count, transitioning into a slide and snatching up the Piercing Rifle as he did so, the bullet to reload it already in hand even as his mind reached out for the Messengers.

Skinner had both of his short range weapons and Farren had an idea, so as he reloaded the Piercing Rifle, he called upon the image of Bulwark as his slide let him easily transition into a position on one knee. [i]Sliiiide. Clack,[/i] the bullet fell into place in the rifle and Farren braced the underside of its barrel on his upraised knee as he reached down with his other hand.

He felt nothing, which surprised him, having expected the sensation of clammy, wrinkled skin–then fingers–asf the Messengers touched him. Instead he only heard the strange telltale noises of their arrival as agonizing instants ticked forward while he stared ahead at Skinner, subtly lining up a shot with one arm. At the same time, as Farren kept his eyes fixed on the bestial madman, the gnarly, disgusting squelching racket of Skinner’s feasting made his bile rise even as his stomach growled. Farren spat to the side, the glob of saliva and mucus slightly pink from lingering blood.

[color=#1A1A3B][b]“Not gonna die that easy,”[/b][/color] he growled. Then the distinct sensation of leather and metal met his right hand, and he gripped Bulwark’s hilt, muttering his thanks to the Messengers. With any luck, the blood-mad bastard wouldn’t be familiar with the weapon.