[Salone]

Lev removed his knife from one of his many pockets, gripping it firmly in his right hand. He stared at Rue, eyes unblinking as he ran his knife against the skin of his left arm. Blood began to trickle downward, dropping slowly on to the floor. His eyes began to dilate, his voice once again speaking more naturally as his words flowed along with his blood.

"I see this blood. I feel the warmth of it, but I do not feel the pain of it. It would seem that I am flesh made manifest. And yet as this flesh is stricken from my bones time and time again, I do not disperse. There is every chance that I am dead already, that my corpse rots on a rotting cross. But until I see that empty crucifix for myself, I am dead. And you, you are merely a construct, an attempt made to alleviate the sufferings that Hell brings. For if I am dead then you are nothing, and if I really do still breathe, then you have at your disposal a man who has been shoveled in to many graves and left them all. If graveyards are filled with the indispensable, then I fail to see the harm in siding with the one who never seems to stay."

Lev took a moment, taking several breaths. He sighed after a while, his speech returning to what it had been before his tirade.

"I just say, I know you possess intentions. I best chance for achieving."