<strong>Name:</strong>Highborn<br/><br/><strong>Location:</strong>Dance Floor<br/><br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Jack, Ayr, Ariel, Clarissa<br/><br/><hr/><br/>With the angel sufficiently distracted by the appearance of a new creature, it could only seem that the highborn would have an easy time moving in for a killing blow, but it seemed someone up in Heaven was looking out for this particular poppet. Had he been slower, he may have been decapitated and had a body pumped with werewolf venom, all but ensuring his death. A minor inconvenience for a demon, sure, since he could just return to the Earth from Hell, but that would waste half a day at the very least. Not that this particular task was going all that swimmingly, anyway; Marc had built up a much stronger security force than he had expected.<br/><br/>His thoughts were interrupted by one of the lycanthrope's claws painfully raking across his face and leaving a slow-healing gash about half an inch deep, though hopefully the wolf would have found one of his own horns cutting into his side at the same time as he flew over him. Werewolves rarely showed any pain, of course, but at the very least it would sting like a bitch, and that made the demon happy. "If you had taken my eye, I wouldn't have let you live this long," the highborn threatened back, turning to face Jack fully. The end of his club dragged along the ground as he turned, the spikes screeching softly against the impenetrable material of the floor. He listened as Jack touted his historical infamy, a smile of amusement forming through the blood dripping down his face.<br/><br/>"Whoever you are, you're talking to someone born of Hell; I hunted more terrifying things than you for food as a kid, and I was already ancient while your ancestors were being born. I wouldn't even remember your name."<br/><br/>Of course, if he had actually known who he was talking to, he might have reconsidered his statement, but even then, he didn't really have time to deal with some asshole scientist who turned himself into a furrier Dr. Jeckyl/Mr. Hyde scenario. Right now, he was here for the man with the most dangerous weapon: information. The man upstairs.<br/><br/>The lycanthrope had served as a very conveniently timed distraction, though; Ayr's makeshift Holy Hand Grenade landed just a couple meters behind the demon, and as he turned to see what had caused the noise, a burst of blessed shrapnel exploded out from the weapon and embedded itself in his back. The concussive force of the blast itself didn't even move the demon, but the holy shards sticking themselves into his skin and even his horns was enough to elicit a shout of pain as he staggered off and fell to his knee, his club-wielding hand resting loosely on the floor while blood stained his already red suit. He wasn't dead yet, but, much like anyone who was stabbed, he needed a second to recover.<br/><br/>The angel's blade arched toward him as she found her focus again and the highborn managed to roll himself out of the way, but left his club behind and only managed to dig the shards even further into his back, and even into his rotten horns. His energy was leaving him by the time the dragon appeared and snatched him up from the ground, drawing a deep growl of both pain and furry as that aggravated his wounds even more. Had he been at the strength he was a minute ago, he would have broken her claws open, but right now, he would take the brief respite from the fight and use it to his advantage.<br/><br/>Until the elevator door opened...<br/><br/>===<br/><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Marchosias<br/><br/><strong>Location:</strong>Office to Club<br/><br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>All<br/><br/><hr/><br/>The fight was practically over now, and Marc saw that; the only one who was even marginally a threat anymore was the demon, and he was close to being overpowered in his current state. Standing up, the nephilim gave a knowing smirk to the Haunt and gave the beast a pat on the head, acknowledging his concerns and letting him know that he had been called in for other purposes. "Yes, it's time to clean," he told Drulok, stepping over to the elevator and going down to the main room of Gehenna, practically unnoticed as he stepped out and walked over to the bar. "Angelo Bianco, please," he told the bartender, who simply handed him the entire bottle of white wine; white wine made with holy water, an angel's delight.<br/><br/>Popping the cork with the slightest shift of his thumb, Marc sipped from the open bottle and made his way down the stairs that led all the way from the top layer of the club down to the dance floor at the bottom and center. "Put him down, Clarissa, dear," he requested, waiting for the dragon to drop the highborn before he gestured to Jack and Ayr. "Pin him," he asked them next, quite sure they would have no problem with it if it meant more pain for their enemy.<br/><br/>The Brother Fallen drew in ragged breaths as he lied on his back, meaning even more pain for his wounds, which only got worse as Marc stepped over and pressed his foot on the hitman's chest. A deep rasp of agony was the reply, but Marc didn't seem guilty at all, sipping from the Angelo Bianco again before he looked down at the assailant. "When you get back to the Don, let him know how many people he fears now work for me, and tell him we'll keep our distance if he'll keep his." It was kind of a bluff, considering none of them actually worked for him yet (only a couple had actually met him before tonight), but it worked nonetheless.<br/><br/>The highborn's only reply was a very pissed-off scowl. "Nice seeing you again, Saleos," the nephilim said before upturning the bottle and pouring all of the wine down onto the demon's face. Naturally, the holy water reduced him down to nothing more than a bloody, steaming skull, the kanabo bursting into flames and following its master back down to Hell.<br/><br/>Dropping the bottle aside, Marc took his foot off the corpse and walked away, gesturing to his bouncer. "Stock up; you won't need it all tonight, but it'll be good to have on hand." Nodding, the kitsune drew out a syringe and moved over to the demon's body, getting to work on draining the blood while Marc spoke loud enough for the entire club to hear. "Take a break everyone; get a drink, heal up or feed on some leftover flesh if you need to. We'll meet at the bar in a few minutes and discuss the plan," he announced as he made his way back up the stairs.<br/><br/>===<br/><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Necromancer<br/><br/><strong>Location:</strong>Upper Level<br/><br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Adam, Izzyra<br/><br/><hr/><br/>The necromancer let out, perhaps, the deepest sigh of relief had had ever breathed as the apparently undead man finally fell back on the floor, feeling genuinely concerned that he had pissed himself. He tried to stand up again, but the pain in his torn-up leg was too much, and he ended up dragging himself behind a table for cover from anyone that might still notice he was there. He had begun to reload his two weapons when he looked up to find a demonic-looking girl watching him and speaking to him curiously, causing him to cry out in fear and raise his half-loaded weapons. "G-get back!" he shouted, even though she probably would have helped him if he had played it smoother. Sure, he was with the Brothers Fallen and worked for demons, but demon were terrifying when you weren't on their side.<br/><br/>===<br/><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Shifter<br/><br/><strong>Location:</strong>Upper Level<br/><br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>None<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Finally waking up from having her head torn off, the lady shifter felt quite groggy, but forced herself to be alert. From the sounds of things, the battle was just about over, and judging from the fact that none of the people still moving were her allies, revealing herself probably wasn't the best idea. Keeping low, she moved over the ground and ducked into the nearby bathrooms, hoping she could wait the threats out...