Face-to-face with his foe at last, after years on the run, Yoinik Yonikovich froze at the sight of the crimson battle-armour which marked this... Well, perhaps not a man, but this creature as a servant of the Lord of Buckets.
Then he narrows his eyes and draws his pistol, leveling it at the hell-spawned horror that approached him. Despite the lack of wings, he still knew one when he saw it...
"I know what you are, fiend. Stop! Stop! Don't come any closer! Jakov, watch him, he, th-this is it, there is no denying it, the BucketLord has finally caught up with us! I know who sent you! You will not surprise me, will not lead me unresisting to the Dread Tower of Panfried Souls! Oh, no. He is not a full demon yet, see Jakov, or even a three-quarters demon; see his eyes, they still look almost human... Just a lowly servant... Perhaps capturing us is what he needs to promote himself, to drink the sweet nectar of our souls and grow the wings, fangs and hellfire of a true demon? We cannot fall for any of its tricks, oh no, keep ready Jakov... Now, villain, this can go one of two ways: You turn around, admit defeat and leave, knowing your pathetic tricks stand no change against an elite warrior of the Paper Battalion, or my associate Jakov can vanquish your scaly ass back to the underworld for an eternity of torment by your peers! Your choice, fiend! Is the Bucket Lord truly worth it? Has he ever truly cared about you? Do you, loyal member of Hell Incorporated that you are, even have dental?! What about a pension? There, Jakov, I'm keeping him talking, be ready, be ready for anything, do not trust this monstosity, why, it could vomit giant bees at us, or talk into the mirror to our own reflections, and then where would we be? Just be ready..."
>Level Jakov at this demonic assailant. It was only a matter of time before they found me; of course, but I cannot allow the Evil One's servants to stop me from completing my Quest, given by the Unseen Wobbler himself!
If this servant of evil continues to approach me, I shall have no choice but to shoot him. But the blood will not be on my hands, oh no! It and gallons more rests solely on the blackened purple claws of Obashreidon himself, or as he is known to mortal tongues, minds and hearts: The Lord of Buckets.
Regardless of how this particular stand-off ends, I must make haste back to the carriage and my allies, we must continue on at once, before more of our pursuers arrive and surround us, their elbows glowing darkly as they close in for the slaughter!