Bartholemew turns, as the man falls. He shakes his head, and then grimaces- letting out a short, hellish scream of agony, as chains burst through his flesh, and his swords gleam- the chains begin to whirr and rev like a Chainsaw.. a Chainsaw cutting in to most of his body, wrapped around him like an outfit, or armor. He bares teeth. "Oh no you don't. You are a Lunatic. A Madman- AND YOU RUBBED YOUR CROTCH ON MY SWORD!" his voice deepens as he begins- and his garments seem to rip outwards in to a shadowy mantle- and yet his body is still covered, by an inky shadow.<br/><br/>"Releasing Control to Level One." He says, in a deep, masculine voice that ripples forth with undeniably masculinity. It ripples forth with all the raw manliness of Crispin Freeman, followed by a howl of rage and pain.<br/><br/>His sword, speaks- an unholy voice that grates down your skin like fingernails on a blackboard.<span style="color: #800000">"I WILL FEASTTTTT ON YOUR BLOOOODDD! RUB YOUR CROTCH ON ME WILL YOU!?"</span>It bellows forth, joined by the manly tones of Bartholemew in his enraged combat state. His short temper has gotten the best of him, and through a haze of blood and pain, he blurs for his Target. From his form writhe shadows, unholy twisting tendrils and mouths- teeth snapping, his chains grinding across his flesh. His blood takes to the air around him, and encases his form in twisting, shifting armor, as he launches himself at the Dayman.