1st Tuor: Mot

Barachiel slowly raised one corner of his mouth, sneering at the words that he just heard. His golden fangs, that manage to peek through the gap between his lips, became the most noticeable feature of his countenance. It would have been a menacing sight for humans to see.

However, the Commander of the Rounds merely had the urge to yawn at that instant.

He blinked out of boredom.

And found the view distasteful. 

"Mikhail, you're aware that you need to do more than that to encourage me," Barachiel said as he raised one of his hands, still looking like that of a human's. Its muscles and nerves were swollen to their limits, enough to withheld an adult's head within its grasp.

As the beastman caught hold of the top of Mikhail's head, the latter didn't resist as to beg. 

"Really?" The Commander taunted, completely unaffected by the intimidation. 

"If I kill this trash of a demon, what do you think would happen?"