The battered priest in black stares back, barely propped up against a tree stump. Seems like one shot was enough to.... stop whatever that was. Good. He shifted one leg, and then the other, wheezing as a strange, but not entirely unfamiliar static like pain laced it's way up his ribs.

Broke a few, though by the sheer fact that he was still breathing, nothing had been punctured.

As for Sanzo, however, that bloody mess taking over his hips was proof enough his elephant shot had... done it's work.

And done it well.

There's no mockery this time, the smaller man trying to stumble to his feet and put away the shot gun.

"Put it down, ye stubborn git."