The being dove, kicked, dodged, and struck, leading the Slayer on a merry fight. He seemed to take many hits, becoming more and more injured, but he never slowed. Blood flowed from many wounds, but he showed no effect from it. It was almost as if he were fed by something other than the physical matter of his body. The fight went on... and on. And while it did, the voice continued. Except now, it sung a different tune.<br/><br/>"The rage... feel the rage! let it stir within you, let it please you! Relish in it! Feel the thrill! The pleasure. It feels so good... it feels so right. This is the way a true warrior should feel. Feel the rage of battle stir your blood. Let if fill you. Let your body come alive... Breath in the air around you and cleanse all else from your mind. Nothing matters but the pleasure of this moment. The thrill... the lust. This is power. Lust is what drives you. You cannot deny that you need it. You. Need. This. Finish him! Finish the beast!! Kill him and deliver the punishment that he deserves! Take your pleasure! Take the thrill that you deserve! This is your victory. She is your prize. Accept the Lust that you so deeply desire...."<br/><br/>Just as he was dodging another blow from the Slayer, the figure suddenly collapsed, as if the power had gone out of him. The blade dug into the flesh exactly where it had been aimed and the figure of darkness gasped and choked on his own black blood. He smiled, gurgled a dying laugh, then simply faded into a cloud of black smoke. This smoke immediately absorbed into the Slayer. It was the final influence she had sent. Her greatest illusion. Pure, primal, need.<br/><br/>As she watched, apparently beaten, bleeding and unconscious, the woman resisted a smile. He'd taken the bait. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the effort of Will she was maintaining. She whispered into his mind constantly, feeding more and more of the battle rage that was so natural to him. Only now did she begin to warp it. Where he held only rage, she began to form and mold lust. His need for the fight would become pure, natural need. His desire for blood would become basic, simple, primal desire. The victory of battle would not be enough. He would need more. She would make sure that he did.