On another patrol I blitz through the forest, searching for the wretched insects we call “demons.” I stop as I pick up a sound, and the scent of demon blood. I push through the bushes, jumping onto a fence to stalk it, I see you, a scrawny, pathetic looking demon with a butterfly landing on its finger. No matter I scoff, as I leap from above and manifest my blade to face you — “Disgusting wretch. I shall erase your pathetic life off this universe which you have so awfully plagued.”