A burst of rage-fuelled Vol at the mention of Varsharn. His hammer rocked into the side of the man, shattering his ribs, and sending him clattering into the wall, almost putting him through it. Vol didn't know if it was his anger that he felt, or the System's – the System seemed to hate the other Gods, after all. But he did know that if Varsharn had rewarded his efforts earlier, then he wouldn't have ended up like this. Forced to become what he was.
The woman's sobs became a high-pitched squeal. Enough to alert all for miles around. Vol dealt with her next, out of necessity. He took no pleasure in the work. It was a grim business. The shouts of dismay from the remaining two men didn't do much to help matters. One tried a counterattack with his axe, but he was as slow as a falling feather. Vol's warhammer had time to take his head, long before he got close.
