Whatever I Can.

Saving Kurt is the only action worth considering, as your chance of survival without him is nearly nil. You set your jaw, ready your mind, and finally sprint at the bitch with the sword as your world turns red. Although she is still naked from the waist down, the last thing on your mind is resuming what Clive had begun. She and one of her friends begins to turn at the sound of your approach, but your supernatural speed is too much for them and you quickly overtake the woman in a furious grapple.

Finally in your natural element of combat, your mind kicks into overdrive.

The woman has raven-black hair which reaches down to the small of her back, complemented by emerald green eyes. Her face is one of intense shock as you lift her off of the ground with minimal effort, but it still exudes a deep beauty and natural sexuality. You have no doubt that outside of your battle haze, you would unfalteringly attempt a more... pleasurable way to deal with her. As is, she is a threat that must be neutralized.

Her friend is much less pleasant on the eyes. His face is drawn tight over his skull, almost like it was added as an after-thought. His sunken eyes seem to express both loathing and self-denigration, and his liberty-spiked hair is dyed a fatal green. His frame is unnervingly frail, and thus, you label him as a minimal threat. You quickly decide to hurl the woman in your arms at her other companion.

The man you throw her at would certainly be the greatest threat in the room, if it weren't for the bitch's flaming sword. He stands almost even with your massive 6'8", 310 lbs. stature, and his eyes suggest a long past of killing. However, as the anthropomorphic missile of his compatriot's body crashes into him, his eyes only express shock, and his massive frame is taken down by the **** of the throw. Soon after you throw the woman, the punk behind you lets out a surprised gurgling noise as Kurt leaps for his throat in Urshul form. You quickly follow up your human-shotput by striding over to the fallen assailants and dragging the large man to his feet.

With a grin, you press your claws into his throat and begin to squeeze with abandon. His eyes fill with involuntary tears, which spill over, and then begin to redden from the pressure you're placing on his arteries. Finally, the effect you longed for, tears of blood, begin to run down his face. He begins futiley swinging at you, but you deftly swat away his fists and continue your brutal strangle-hold, until he ceases in his movement. Finally content, you cast him to the floor and turn to check on Kurt and his victim.