A flash of devouring flame consumes Lucien's figure for a moment, obscuring him from sight as Lance's blades' descent upon his form. The flame flickers to reveal Lucien standing with his flaming sword drawn but without his revolver, with no Angel-Arms and his wings having changed in a mere flare. His wings were now more avian than the grotesque hybrid before. Each feather was not inherently black, but stained with soot and some embers still burning within each quill. Eyes of different colours somehow peeked out from beneath every feather, all burning with an almighty intensity that evoked the sense of a bird with oil-soaked wings, flight clipped a conduit for fire. Lucien looked up at Lance with his gas mask through the bitter stench of brimstone. His wings propelled him sideways - to little avail - right as he brought up his blade in a series of slashes that each sent infernal deluges of a much more pure looking cobalt fire, devoid of any veiny indigo flames. It seemed that if this angel were to be cut down, he would bring his killer down with him in holy fire.