Rebel: Okay, your armor deflects bullets--somehow--it might make you stornger--faster-- but my gun's pointed at your mother--you're not fast enough to stop me-- Boy: Mom--be ready--Forceful: I was seriously tempted to land directly on you. --Make you a grease spot. --But a good man may be dying-- Rebel: Whaungh!! Kid: Now! Forceful: You don't deserve to--accompany---him.

Vengeful: Hold still. As much as you're able to, anyway... Thomasina: I knew you'd be here. Your soldiers are losing against villagers--I'm your only chance to recoup your losses.Thomasina: Put the gun away. You can't shoot me. I wish you could--but any attempt to touch me--will make you fade away. Sad. You might as well be--dead.




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