"Oh, ’course… where are my manners? Introductions are a mighty important thing—helps folks remember who they’re dealin’ with. Not that I’m the kind of man folks tend to forget. Name’s Midas Wilson. My friends—an’ a scarce few close comrades—call me Midas… or Max. But you an’ me? We ain’t friends, are we? No… no, it’s far less than that. So, I reckon you’ll just have to call me… the Falclor."

"You’ve got a strong mind… and a real will to keep on livin’. Fascinatin’, really. Me, personally? I don’t much care for that. What I’m interested in… is seein’ just how long it’ll take you to bleed once I pull this trigger… and send a bullet straight into that thick skull o’ yours. I reckon it’ll be downright blissful hearin’ you hit the dirt—while Mother Nature drinks up every drop o’ your blood… back into the earth where you belong."

"What’s the matter? Surprised these bullets can touch that ghostly hide o’ yours, undead swordsman? Don’t act so shocked—I do my homework. These beauties here? They’re forged from a heavenly metal the gods themselves saw fit to bless me with… and I alone bend ’em to my will. Now, don’t go thinkin’ our little quarrel’s somethin’ you can just shake off. I’m like a damn cockroach—I’ll come back a second time… a third… a fourth… a fifth… and on, and on, and on…"