Esone paused in his devotions to Malfeas, reveling in the slew of carnage he had wrought through the Collector ranks. Fulvous ichor stained him from head to toe, a foul bile that hissed and spat as his boiling anima banner induced cancer post-mortem. It was overkill, but then that was the definition of his Patron.<br/><br/>And Malfeas would indeed have approved of the battle. It was mindless, brutal, and senseless. It was blood-soaked and deafening. Most importantly, it was artistically VIOLENT. The mounds of corpses their tumult had raised were tastefully arranged to scribe prayers to the Embodiment of Rage, and -where not dipped in Collector blood- the pattern of char marks that adorned his brass exoskeleton had painted him practically black. He clutched a Collector in each hand, although it would have been more accurate to say that he clutched a limb attached to a mangled mess in each hand. Neither had survived the bludgeoning they had been used to inflict upon their brethren, but their hardened, chitinous shells had made excellent hammers. The part of Esone that was rational -and subsequently sequestered in a quiet corner of his tumultuous mind- was considering coining the term 'Gore-maul'.<br/><br/>The pause -while precipitated by his monstrous martial arts persona- lasted long enough for the frenzied lieutenant to notice the Lovecraftian horror that stood before his commander. Even in his manic state the wretched deluge of souls whispered a warning of things to come. The Beast saw only a larger, more powerful foe, and felt cowed by the influence of the Primacy of Essence. So much of the persona was based on his Coadjutor, and clung to the restrictions of it's kind. But the rational shard within saw his commander faced with a foe that neither of them could survive alone. Before The Beast could turn away the shard set to work, uttering oaths and provocations against the enraged savage.<br/><span style="font-style: italic">What? What's this, is the big, bad Monster scared? Is he going to run away from the soul-spewing horror like a <span style="text-decoration: underline">whipped cur</span>? Look at that. <span style="text-decoration: underline">LOOK</span>. The little Solar is looking the abyss in the eye. He's going to <span style="text-decoration: underline">stare death down</span>. The little, worthless, INSIGNIFICANT Solar exaltation is going to do what you are too terrified to even attempt. Look at that beast, and tell me that that wouldn't be a <span style="text-decoration: underline">fun</span> little challenge. So are you going to turn tail and content yourself with these minnows, or are you going to hunt that foe that must be torn limb from limb? You always claim to wake salivating from you dreams of such a foe, and now he stands before you. <br/>GO. <br/>REND! <br/>AND! <br/>TEAR!</span><br/><br/>The ululation that extricated itself from the maw of The Beast was deafening, but NOTHING compared to the fury that unleashed itself internally. Internal Esone cringed, but his not-so-proverbial poking of the sleeping lion had succeeded in shaming the berserker. It wound up, loosing one of the two still-twitching Gore-mauled at the Abyssal with enough force to Crack the Sky. It hit with enough force to send the UberCollector stumbling back a step or two, but only managed to illicit an annoyed snarl-soul scream from the chitinous freak. As his misguided body coiled to charge Esone prayed to Yozi that Del Pilar managed to stay out of reach. Of either monster really, he didn't really care which.<br/><span style="color: #000000">Oh you poor, delusional fool. You know that's not how they operate. And you KNOW they won't help a Solar.</span>