Two pairs of eyes followed the young man as he walked out of the Seraph headquarters, walking empty streets of Divinity's Reach at such a late night hour. Oblivious to their presence the young man continued on his way, full of rage and sorrow. Clad in heavy armor, one could easily mistake him for a Seraph and should someone make that assumption an hour earlier, he would be right. What set him apart from Seraph though was a piece of mangled paper he threw aside in anger as he was leaving. A paper that sealed his fate. He was no longer a Seraph. The men and women so devoted to the queen never truly accepted him. If not for what he was before, then for what he has become. And yet he held his head high. For him it was not a defeat, merely a sign that even those who should be most devoted to the survival of mankind were blinded, casting him out of their organization. In his mind it was the last straw, the final offense. After years of aspiring to become one of them, his dreams were shattered and in their stead a bleak reality, man without a future.

„Marcus Septimus? Is that you?" A voice called his name, from somewhere behind him. For a brief moment he thought maybe it was someone from Ebon Vanguard, a friend. He realized none of his friends were alive. Turning his head Marcus saw what could only be described as an juggernaut of a person. He saw their kind before on a few occasions. The woman was tall, even for a Norn and where armor, clothes and tattoos were not covering her body he could see excellent physique. Cold blue eyes stared at him from under a helmet adorned with stag horns. He could recognize those eyes anywhere. It was not because he knew who she was, but rather what she was. She had the eyes of a warrior. They have seen death and violence. They were just like his. Marcus answered without a word, with a nod.

„Your old commander wishes to see you. Drop down your weapon and come with me." Even her voice carried like a command. At the mention of his old commander, Marcus knew that she did not want to just see him. She wanted to finish what she could not just a few years ago. Without hesitation his right hand found the grip of an antique blade strapped to his belt.

„In that case, you can turn back and go back the way you came." He had no intention to obey this norn, no matter how menacing her presence was.

„You can either come with me willingly, or I can drag your beaten body to her. I am supposed to bring you alive, but that does not mean I cannot hurt you. It would be a poor choice to force my hand."

„Threaten me however you will, I would rather die standing than to be executed like a traitor."

At that moment they both knew that a battle was inevitable. When the norn woman drew a greatsword that was almost the size of her, and swung it around casually as if it was but a toy, Marcus realized just how much more powerful his opponent was. As he unsheathed his own blade in response there was no fear in him. After all, there was only one last thing he could loose.

The first strike came as a surprise. Fast, precise, powerful. Marcus was barely able to move out of the way. As the norn attacked, her strikes were carried in one fluid motion by the weight of the blade itself. There was barely any opening in her posture, and Marcus knew that trying to retaliate would be suicide. He had to come up with something though, and fast. He could not avoid her forever and she showed no signs of fatigue whatsoever. His opportunity came, as she raised her blade overhead for a devastating strike. Her blade came down and sure enough, clashed with something solid and the steel blade cried.

It took her by surprise. Her greatsword was stopped by a barrier of energy enveloping the man. He was free to attack, and she left herself wide open. A quick jab grazed her side, masterfully avoiding where armor covered her body. She would have been stabbed in the gut if not for quick reflexes. Putting some distance between herself and her foe, keen eyes tried to make sense of how that happened. There was merely enough space between them for a quick charge attack. It was too fast. Before the norn had time to react, her foe disappeared in a blinding flash of light, only to appear the very next moment in mid-air, as if he leapt the distance between them. Another quick dodge to the side, only this time not so successful. It was aimed at her chest, but instead it cut deep into her left shoulder. Blood and a cry of pain gushed out of the norn warrior. The human landed behind her, turning around and before she could react cutting her into her left thigh. Even when forced down on her knee, the norn was still dangerous. In a blind rage she swung her sword behind, turning around to face the opponent, only to find him standing just of the reach of her weapon. Clever. She was loosing control of the battle fast. They stared at each other for a while. It was clear to her that the human was about to repeat his daring attack.

Marcus was confident that his next attack would finish the norn. It was a mistake to think so. As he appeared right in front of her with another blinding attack, his body was sent to the ground by a massive force. It didn´t penetrate his armor, but he was left on the ground, reeling in pain. Only then he realized how he was struck down. The norn woman, even though blinded, knew where he would appear, and struck him down with her blade. She was shocked when she removed her opponent´s helmet and saw a man, no a boy. He couldn´t be much older than twenty years.

Marcus saw her surprise, but just for a moment. Her left arm wrenched the sword out of his hand with such a force that he thought she must have broken his wrist., while her right hand wrapped tightly around his neck. Marcus gasped for air, but it was futile. The unrelenting force that closed around his throat was quickly depriving him of air. His vision started to blur. In a desperate attempt he tried to release himself from her grip with his only free hand. He couldn´t reach her. So, this was to be his end. Choked to death in the streets Divinity´s Reach. Ironic. At such a late hour most people were asleep, and those who were not wouldn´t try to stop two armed lunatics trying to kill each other. Her grip tightened even more, and he felt his remaining strength leaving his body. He could barely see her anymore.

The pain was unbearable. She screamed, as she was hit into her ribs with such force, that it threw her away from her victim and onto the ground next to in a ball of pain, fingers of her hand found the spot where she was hit. No wound, no blood, no broken bones. But the pain was excruciating. All she could do was turn her head in the general direction of the attack. There it was, standing in the distance. A shadow, dark silhouette of a man. In that instant she realized what she was dealing with. A necromancer.

The moment the iron grip of the norn was gone Marcus took deep breaths, coughing. His would be savior walked towards both of them, casually as one would walk in a park. When the shroud of death dissipated he saw a young man, pale skin, black hair, single scar running from his forehead, across his right eye, down to his cheek. A nobleman, Marcus judged by his expensive taste in clothing. He knelt down between the two foes, his eyes jumping from one to another. Neither of them was in shape to stand up, let alone fight. Both of them passed out mere moments later. A brief, cold smile formed on the young man´s face.