“What do you mean every time I’m given the opportunity? You took the only one I’ve had so far and cut it short. You nerds don’t understand how these things actually happen, I hope you realize. I remember doing things by the book. In fact, I implore you to use that big fucking head of yours to look into my efficiency rates since Larentia. The amounts of hunt I complete is record setting, my strategies are statistical outliers. I’ve been keeping track, I assure you. It’s nearly tripled. Fuck your rules, your tests can only glimpse at what a true hunt is. Your pathetic tests don’t cover everything. I do.”<br/><br/>The simple rage he had was hard to old in when Sam had raised his voice. Faelan was sure he was probably feeding off the demon as well, but he suddenly was just… Livid.<br/><br/>“You go out there for a bit, you earn your scars, your weapons. I haven’t gotten my A rank status just by being a pawn. I’m damn good at what I do, and if I needed your tests to tell me what I can do, I’d let you run them.”<br/><br/>The images of his sister ran through his head again, the way he knew she would’ve hated to see him doing this. Bonded. Drinking. Everything. But what he was saying wasn’t wrong. Since he hasn’t hesitated to do what he wanted on her behalf, his numbers have gone through the roof. He hunted day and night. It wasn’t healthy, not by any means. But he’d be damn wrong if he tried to say it wasn’t effective.