[Salone]

Lev grasped at the hand, his strength waning as he let her pull him free. He was a ragged mess of flesh barely held together, deep gashes adorning him plenty. His loss of blood was quickly becoming a pressing concern. During this brief respite he switched the hammer over on his revolver, trying to pull the trigger. His fingers slipped, not seeming to want to work right. His head swam as he became dizzy and confused. He managed to fire off a round in to the closest Dybbuk, barely hitting it and dropping his revolver in the process. It clattered to the floor, free of his grasp for the first time in four years. His left hand was home to a bloody hole, the stake that once occupied it driven deep in to the eye socket of a Dybbuk. To everyone but Lev, his life was fading fast.

The broken man looked confused, trying to comprehend what was happening, just before his body was once again assaulted - this time by Dante.