Argan shut out the cries and screams. There was nothing he could do to help. All he'd do by trying to fight was make his end inevitable. Of course, that wasn't a huge difference, at the moment.

There is still a chance. They likely are disjointed, caught up in the bloodlust.

Argan knew what it was like. He hadn't been an unwilling participant in the slaughters the Baron had ordered, not entirely. The chains that had bound him to the Baron's Will had removed his inhibitions, ability to resist. But there was more to it then that. The sense of power, the knowledge that one held a life in their hand, and then savagely taking it for no reason other then he could, there was a pleasure in that, dark certainly, but no less exquisite. The darkest parts of him had gloried in the slaughter, and missed it.

Enough of this. It hardly matters now.

Argan didn't have a plan. He was just reacting now, moving quickly down the path, darting to and fro. In the end, his death was likely no matter what, now.

More then anything, Chaos serves me now.

Argan got a grim smile, and began to move quickly. He grabbed the two Lanterns the lit the outside, ripping them out of the fixings with a shriek of Metal. He didn't have time to be subtle about this. One he threw inside, in the Hallway, hoping that it would catch. Dashing off into the night, the other he threw at the Crate of Donovale he had discovered near the entrance. The Crate would hopefully do something impressive, maybe even in the way of an explosion. Might even set some other crates ablaze. It would draw attention from outside. And maybe the building would catch fire as well. Argan had no idea how likely he was to succeed. He didn't have the option of thinking it out. But the Flames would add confusion, chaos. That was his best hope for escape. Even so, he wouldn't have taken that bet.

Done all I can. Live or die, I'm in Miriam and Athelion's hands now, I suppose. Somehow I doubt I'm going to get much help from that quarter.

Priests talked nonsense about forgiveness, but Argan knew better. Some sins couldn't be forgiven, tainted you forever. He'd done them. All of them, most likely. He had excuses, but that didn't change the facts. He'd done it, and in some way, he'd enjoyed it. Filled with these dark thoughts, Argan darted off into the darkness, seeking the corner of the yard he had entered in. He kept to the crates, the maze hopefully keeping him from being stumbled on. He just had to make it to that corner. The building there would shield him as he made the climb, limiting his exposure. Argan was down to his last couple of knives, but drew two of them anyways. As he ran, his eyes scanned the darkness, looking for any figure. He wouldn't have the luxury of checking if it was a guard or a Hand, if it came. There would just be time to release. The Guards were all dead, no matter what anyways.

Just another sin with an explanation, I suppose.