[Salone]

"My Father gave these men free will to do as they see fit."

He stepped closer to the thing, listening to Shealtiel's ramblings. The descriptions used mattered not. The Father was being challenged as an imperfect creator. As he walked, he removed the magazine to one of his many pistols from a pocket, followed by his rusted knife. With one hand he slashed across his chest, blood quickly following. In the other hand he held his magazine, holding the top just below the cut. He watched with growing lust as his blood flowed in to the magazine, coalesced between the eight rounds he held. After he was satisfied he removed the magazine, slamming it in to the TT33 Tokarev at his side.

With another few steps he closed the distance between he and the Defiler. He spoke again to the 'man', making sure his voice was loud enough to hear.

"You say I will weep. I do weep for the Earth. But you and your people's flesh are forfeit. You can give them, or I will take them. The Father is not insulted without his attackers struck down, returned to the dust from which they came."