He had no one but himself to blame, for he’d opened himself up to it. Just a fraction at first, like a crack in a window. But the funny thing was, once you welcomed in a breeze, there was no stopping what came next. A wind, a storm, thunder and lightning, until you could no longer reach the window to close it—and didn’t really want to anyway. That’s what this new darkness was. Evil in its purest form... -Paris

Hate. Huh. He'd never hated himself. If anything, he'd always liked himself a little too much. Once, a human female had even accused him of picturing his own face while he climaxed. He hadn't denied it, either, and next time he'd slept with her, he'd made sure to scream, "Strider" at the pivotal moment." --Strider, keeper of the demon of Defeat--

„You,” the female on the bed said, her timbre shaded with irrittion. „New guy. Angel Boy. Colonel Curls, or whatever you want to be called. I'm done asking, so now I'm commanding. Free me.

Let me tell you what I just heard. Talk, talk, talk, I. Talk, talk, talk, I. Well, what about me?

There was something so best-musical-ever when people screamed and begged for mercy, and she could listen to a good musical all day.

If Paris were missing, he´d want the same guys looking for him. Seriously, the only team capable of getting better results would be Jason Voorhees, Freddy Krueger, Michael Myers and Hannibal

Your woman wears underwear out in public,” Sabin said. “Must be nice. How’d you manage that little miracle?” “Only the Deity knows.