[Suzerain of Sheol]

Diogenes slowly turns his head toward the mercenary, raising his heavy goggles to fix the lidless diamond artifice of his gaze upon him.

"Whereas I kill, and shirk not to perish." He clears his throat, unused to vocalizing his thoughts. "Even still, if there are demons for true, death is a mercy to the many alternatives of torment they can inflict. They must... be shown no mercy, in turn."

He assesses the man for a moment, the only one of these ragged mercenaries he truly considers worthy to join them. This... Lev's overt menace bothers him not at all. To stand against the terrors of Hell and the pitiless Night, Man must become as the Devil himself.

With a sudden, horrifically-fast motion, Diogenes pulls free one of his spare magazines and tosses it toward Lev. "Each of these munitions is individually consecrated and wrapped with a binding of Theurgic power. They will not only pierce the numinous flesh of fiends, but you can count on them reaching their target -- I've seen far too many storms of automatic fire disintegrated to dust with a single look from higher demons." He raises his head a fraction, the closest to an acknowledging smile he is willing to offer. "I trust you've something in that arsenal to fit them."