[Suzerain of Sheol]

His perfect concentration is shattered by the peal of a rifle somewhere nearby, and quickly, the rattling of the impotent rounds against the beast's armor, as effectless as his own projectile had been.

Laurent must take a moment to still his frantic heart, the thought of the havoc those high-caliber bullets would wreak on the beast's innards, spilling bile and acid into valuable tissues, enough to nearly drive him into a fit. With shuddering hands, he retrieves a bottle of sedatives from his belt, swallowing several without counting. Hopefully he won't be requiring any stimulants in the future; even his conditioned body has its limits.

Waiting for the tremors to fade, Laurent observes a new calamity at the site of the monster -- he has yet to spare a further thought on what precisely to do about it -- the brash one from before attacking with renewed fervor, butchering the beast with his mechanical swords. Laurent is now too sedated to care.

He fights like I do after imbibing the were-marrow. What an abject lunatic. Now where has Mansfield gotten off to? We will attribute this night's expedition a failure.