Raice holds his ground as apprehensive beasts and men alike circle him.  Looking for trouble, all around him, he's met with manaical expressions in each eye.  And he was growing to his wits end, to boot.  He'd rushed in headfirst, and while knowing his skill, he had forgotten his limits.  He licks his lips with a grin, smiling so wide, his human lips seem almost to reach the scales beginning behind his cheeks, over the edge of his ears and down his neck.  "Faith almost always a lie.  Mercy is the only truth.  If your faith holds no room for compassion, then I'm going to have to teach you." He starts to spin the chain over his head, faster and faster, suddenly bringing it low, and changing its direction, its height, with each revolution.  Unpredictable, fast, and heavy - as one cultist steps in to catch it, it goes reeling back, face-first in the dirt.  Now he was just biding his time.  But he was good at that sort of thing.<br/><br/>*     *     *<br/><br/>Arget kneels on the roof, choked in his own vomit in the corner, unable to take it anymore.  He dare not contact the others, as their position was now delicate, but waited faithfully albeit impatiently by his radio.  Taking a deep breath and spitting, he crawls away and sits back.  (If you guys died on me... I swear to God...) He growls.  "If there is a God..." He grits his teeth, mumbling to himself to keep Chiro from hearing.  "Go easy on us today.  Give my pals a hand, could you?  Please?"  He feels like he's begging to empty space.