Baphomet whistles at the cat formed of blood. Okay, she has seriously cool control over her blood. Not limited to abstract shapes and weapons.

"Fucking cool ind—"

Baphomet blinks as Power runs the fuck away from him. He calls back the shadows an instant later, rights his chair, and gets out of it. He slouches, making himself shorter, less threatening.

"I've stopped. Could you tell me what's so fucking scary about shadows?"