Ghiaccio's boot filled the gaping mouth, literally making him taste his own shoes. "Quiet. I think I am somewhat satisfied with this result. Here, let me wipe that mess off your face." He said, producing a handkerchief from his pocket and bended over. He wiped his face hastily, as if he [i]really, really[/i] did not care. He threw it down on the ground next to his face and removed the boot. "I hope you rot in the Ninth Circle of Hell." Ghiaccio said as he walked off, probably to find another defender to brutally beat to near death.