Lucien's wings and Angel-Arms begin to burn away into the air, heralding the departing scents of burning flesh and brimstone. He drops to a knee and stabs his flaming sword in the ground as he lets go of his revolver and its spent casings. He struggles with one hand to weakly remove his gas mask, breathing in fresh air and gasping as if he had been breathing something else in that entire time. "If this were more than a duel of admittance and a duel for the sakes of our loved ones... You know which route I would take. However, that is not the case." When he mentioned "for the sakes of our loved ones," he seemed to be meaning something rather odd. As if he referred to the harm of their well-being in relation to the fact of people like Lance and himself walking around... But it mattered not. "I hope that we may resolve this one day, Lance May. The Tribals had a tradition back in my home: two warriors who each bore great skill would both be spared, regardless of who is the victor. Death would only prove as a waste of prowess."