"Oh, me and Spike had a bit of fun," he agrees with a cheeky grin, very much enjoying being referred to as a force of nature. It drags up memories of war from long ago, of a giant painted with gold, a god who made Sweeney look like a small man. And yet Sweeney -- Lugh -- had still take off the giant's head.

"Hard not to revel in even the littlest bit of violence," he admits. Hard for him, anyway, the urge and the itch for it sometimes so deep it feels as if it's woven into his skin. He understands it better these days with the memories that have surfaced.

He's a bloody god of war. How could he not enjoy violence?