Right now, Devero can most definitely not stand on his own two feet. The touch of the life-stealing chains, brief though it was, had hit the already weary man hard. If Trunks hadn't been there to drive the foot soldiers off, his act of defiance might just have been all the resistance he could have managed before the remaining demons overwhelmed him in retaliation for killing their leader.

He tries to stand, but his legs just won't support him. He uses the solidity of Trunks's arm for stability as he sits ungracefully in the churned up dirt instead.

"That's one of your magic beans, right?" he mumbles, distracted by trying to pull his chest plate off. He could swear he's been burned, he needs to see how bad it is--