blank :: Tabula Rasa :: slate

Chapter III . No Rest for the Wicked

Necure wasn't sure why he was made to look like he did. It was a little annoying, in all honestly. He didn't like having to brush the long hair ( it grew strangely slow now - as it had before. Why was this? He had also been asked permission to cut it - he was denied. ) and neither did he liked having the eyepatch constantly covering the green, dimly glowing eye. Said eyepatch was wrapped around his wrist like a bracelet now; he was near the Organization's headquarters, and didn't have to worry about them seeing it. He had a long scar running over where his left eye had originally been, and at least that did to help for it to avoid question. People on the streets of a small town weren't ones for wanting to see a nasty wound like what might be hidden beneath the patch.

Then, there was the fact of his body in general. His teeth were sharp - that was a pain to make an excuse for, did they really need to sharpen his teeth? I'm not a damn dog, I don't bite people, for Zaude's sake, - and went noticed quite a bit. The weapon, at least, was easy to conceal. Well, more camouflage than conceal; wearing the dark tunic, grey pants, and leather boots, he could have passed off fine as a traveler or farmer. This was slightly insulting to him - he? A petty farmer? No, no, he valued himself much greater than that, even if someone else mistook him.

That was fine, though, because not many people who didn't know what he was saw him, and the ones who did usually found themselves lying dead in blood the next morning.

Oops.

The entrance to the Organization's headquarters was rather secluded. Indeed, it was on Hypionia, nestled in a hidden mountainside. The entrance looked only to be a small crack in the side of the mountain, but if one slipped in, it would quickly widen out. A torch lit up the widened inside, far enough away the light couldn't be seen from the inside. For anyone watching, Necure would simply look like he were finding a shelter for the night. Unbeknownst to them, the cave ran deep and downwards, splitting into passage after passage. There was an above-ground area, too, but it was small and impractical.

He had been brought here; originally he was kept in a small town nearby, newly settled in and created shortly after Aurnion's finished construction. For his training, he'd lived here. Now, he could go on missions freely again, and while doing so wondered how exactly he'd forgotten the thrill of being the sword of death, with the ability to end any life he so chose. It was a rather pleasing thought, to him.

He swiftly made his way down the caves, eyes - especially the left - easily adjusting to the dim torchlight. Soon, though, the torchlight faded and then was replaced by regular lighting, the blond working his way downwards. The trip to the main section of the headquarters was a long ways, not meant for anyone injured or just exploring.

Or, someone who was suspicious. By now, they probably would have turned back.

"Hah!" He jumped from one rock to the other, almost in a childlike and playful manner. There were easier ways to get down, but this was more fun. He sprang down, landing on the rock ground next to a hallway, walls built firmly. He straightened, striding through with a confident, pleased smirk on his face, pulled-up hair like a cape behind him. He didn't even acknowledge the guards there - they recognized him instantly - and pushed open the doors. The guards here glanced over as well, but relaxed quickly. He wasn't exactly little-known here, and his visible tattoo obviously gave him a rite of passage through the doors.

He hadn't slept in a while, though. He'd gone straight for Aurnion and back - no dilly-dallying about what to do there. He was tired, though; he didn't have unlimited energy. He was tired and, despite his recent almost playfulness, would be very easily irritable.

So, when a young man wearing the uniform of a messenger strode quickly up to him, he scowled down at him. The young man almost appeared to shrink back, then spoke. "S-Simente, sir," he began, "Kist wishes to see you in his office." There was a tiny, respectful bow and Necure glared at him, growling softly. It wasn't long 'til the young man scrambled away.

Kist, huh? What's he want now? Dyston Kist was the founder of the Organization. He'd been Alexei's top researcher and had also been a high ranking knight in the Royal Guard before Alexei had fell and the 'manipulated' Flynn had taken the seat as Commandant of the Imperial Knights. He was also a man that Necure spoke to regularly, and who he believed had rescued him from the hands of the disgusting Yuri Lowell.

Just thinking about that bastard made Necure cringe.

Kist was also the man that had given Necure his tattoo and had been the main healer. As such, the blond had a level of respect for the higher-up. And not a bad relationship with him, either. He was a little exasperated, now, to be called, wanting nothing more than to sleep. Even so, he wasn't the type to disobey orders. Exhaling rather loudly, he spun on his heel and began the trek towards the man's office.

It took him a while to reach it; he was in no sense hurrying. He finally found the man's room ( geeze, why was it so far back? ) knocking on the door with his weight shifted lazily. He heard the voice, saying, "Come in, Necure!"; Kist obviously knew who it was outside his door. The blond pushed it open, stepping inside. There stood him and his son, Aaron Kist.

The boy was meager and only about sixteen or seventeen. He was a nervous wreck of a person, always shaking slightly or glancing around the room slightly wide eyes. He looked like a frighten rabbit, in Necure's opinion. He was thin as well; lanky, with a tousle of blackish-brown hair that fell a little below his shoulder blades ( long hair was a sort of a mark of the Organization ) and was messily cut, much of the strands longer than others. He was constantly shifting his weight and moving, lip bitten.

What a waste. Why is he even still at the Organization?

It wasn't because of his father; Necure had a pretty good idea his father didn't care much about him - no, if he were to try and get away, he'd be killed. He'd seen the boy get injured, beat, anything, and while he'd seen mothers sobbing over their children ( usually because blood was on his hands - oops ) he never even saw Dyston blink an eye at his son. He didn't value the young man's life.

Unfortunately for the boy, neither did Necure.

"Sit down, sit down," Dyston offered, waving towards a chair. He wasted no time in sitting down; this was a lot better than walking miles away over the course of a mere week and a half or so with very little sleep. He was tired, this better be quick.

"What do you want, Kist?" Whoops, his voice was a little too spiteful. Dyston seemed to understand his irritable state, though.

"I want you to train my son here. To be a true member of the Organization." Oh, no.

"...Come again?"

"I want you to train my son," Kist repeated. "He's very...reluctant to be apart of the Organization. We will have to change that; after all, you live better here than the knights, correct?

He didn't really remember. "Yes, it is. Neither the Empire nor the Guilds are a good place to be - all under the jurisdiction of some law. None are very powerful."

"He is correct, don't you hear, Aaron?" Kist's voice was not friendly. "You will never find the freedom you find here anywhere else."

I wish I could have the freedom to go to sleep, Necure thought absently. Shut up, I'll get to it eventually. "He's right."

The boy glanced away, green eyes training on the ground. "I-I hear you, sirs," the timid young boy responded. Necure huffed, crossing his arms. He looked back at Dyston, frowning. "Do I really have to train this kid? I'm not good with kids," he muttered, and Kist nodded.

"You're the best when it comes to the field. The best soldier - you like what you do, you know, that's what makes you good at it. You'll just have to show Aaron to do so."

Necure leered at the boy and the charcoal-haired boy stepped back. "Yes, alright." Whatever. "When do I start?"

"As soon as you see fit. Within the next week, I hope."

"...hmf. Deal, I'll train your kid. If he ends up dead, it's not my fault."

"Of course." There wasn't even a trace of concern in his voice. A grin wanted to stretch its way across his face, but he didn't. Yeesh, heartless, he thought, mentally snickering at the idea. Heartless? Yeah, so was everyone else here. Well, except this kid. Why him, of all people, really? He didn't want to deal with a clumsy, ridiculously nervous boy on a trip. Going to get himself caught, he thought, then arched an eyebrow. That's a good idea, actually. Maybe I should just raise the alarm and get out before he does. Wouldn't be too difficult, would it? He's terribly untalented.

"Now that that is finished, your new assignment has been chosen." Boy, I'm excited. "You don't have to begin it soon, though, you can wait a bit. I would recommend taking the boy, though, Necure," Dyston was almost finished, at least, good, "as it will be...educational. It's a larger-scale mission, though, so make sure he can't screw it up."

Bet he will, Necure thought, nodding and snatching the paper that held the assignment details. He wouldn't even be bothered to read them yet, he wanted sleep, for Zaude's sake. "Can I go?"

A bit more professionally than Necure's casual, irritable state, Kist nodded, replying, "Yes, you are dismissed." Necure rolled his eye - well, one of them - and began to walk out of the room.

"Yeah, I'll be on the mission sooner or later." Most likely the latter, Necure thought firmly, and the door closed behind him.

Necure lay in bed the next morning, eyes scanning over the document rather swiftly.

The Organization: Mission Journal [ Code: 8791 ] Headquarters Office

Assassin: Necure Simente [ 1337 ] Location: Josief, Hypionia [ South of Aurnion ] Scale: Large Type: Assassination

Trip Time [ return trip included ]: [ On foot ] Two (2) Weeks

The small village of Josief, located in southeastern Hypionia, with a population of 12 adults and unnumbered children [ beneath the age of 15 ], is to be destroyed with as little remaining survivors as possible. A highly experienced assassin is preferred, as they need to complete this within the two-week time period of the going and return trip, with the maximum time being two weeks total. There are people within Josief suspected of having high intelligence on some works that may be going on here. As such, they are all to be eliminated, especially the suspects; Johnson and Amry Philis. Quick time is needed, because they are thought to be making plans to go to the Imperial Knights about the Organization and Aurnion is a swifter journey from Josief than the Organization's Headquarters. Be warned of low-powered monsters on the way there, as well as makeshift weapons from the village. There is also a supposed powerful swordsman in the area; be extremely wary of him. His name is Triton Roice.

Be aware, assassin, and good luck.

Main Objective: Eliminate the Philis family

Secondary Objective: Destroy the village

Report completion, alteration, or mistake in this mission journal to the Head, Dyston Kist, in any of this cases.

At least it wasn't the usual mission that would come from a random client willing to pay ( and, ha, willing to die - any client that came into direct contact with an Organization agent would be assassinated after the payment received, so their anonymity would be certain ) and could possibly give him some actual fun. Especially this...oh, what was his name, what was it...Roice. Triton Roice, that would make this mission so much more fun. Perhaps he could even this supposed 'powerful swordsman' for himself. Finally, something that would really give him some enjoyment.

But, damn it. Why did that Kist boy have to come with him? That nervous kid was going to slow him down and he knew it. The kid was weak, and Necure knew it. He couldn't get out of the kid's training, though, even more great. Maybe I'll use the kid as bait for that swordsman. Make him go assassinate the guy, yeah. That'd be nice. He could probably get away with it, too.

How fun.

They'd been traveling for almost a week and it was dark. How convenient; apparently, Necure had left on the right time, because there was a new moon, and the only dim light came from the stars. He could hear the kid's teeth chattering; that was infuriating. It wasn't cold, only a little chilly and the kid was wearing a jacket, he wasn't, so it could only be out of anxiety.

Shut up, he wanted to snap, but that might give away their position.

They had been given a small map the day Necure had said they were ready to leave. It was a rough sketch of the village made by an agent, but it was rather accurate. They had approached where the Philis household was, and were now crouched among the undergrowth, eyes scanning the perimeter. Or, at least, his were, but the kid's were closed and faced away. Weak.

"Listen, boy," he suddenly hissed beneath his breath, and the youth squeaked, looking up at him with a frightened look. "I'll be back in a second. Stay here, and if you make a noise and set them off, I'll come and kill you before anyone else, you hear?"

There was a swift nod. "Y-yessir!" The boy was clearly frightened. Good, he should be; Necure was a frightening figure.

Without saying anything else, Necure swiftly emerged from the undergrowth. His steps were silent and stealthy, obviously experienced in this. Well, not that experienced, but he'd been through a hard training to have the abilities drilled back into him, and it'd worked as if he'd done it before. He was like a silent mountain lion beginning towards his prey's den.

There were one guard out. He would finish them after his main objective was completed. The front door was locked, and - though he could easily pick the lock - the guard's route was walking straight past the door, and it wasn't like the lightly-armed man had a long circle to make. Besides, what assassin just strode in through the front door? Grinning slightly, he made his way around the house, looking this way and that. No one around, of course. There was a fence around the back but, easily clearing it, it turned out to be a garden and he winced slightly as his foot landed on a round object and made him nearly slip and fall. He caught himself quickly, though, pressing briefly against the tall fence to make sure none had heard him.

People, however, only thought and saw what they wanted to see, and he didn't even hear the guard stop. His smirk returned and he slipped his way up to the door, sliding the lock pick and knife from a small pouch on his belt. The lock didn't take long, and he opened the door, walking in. The dim ashes of a fire were in the fireplace, and the home even smelled warm. There was also the smell of their dinner, recently eaten, and he listened to make sure neither of them were awake. They had no children, apparently, so he wouldn't have to worry about a troublesome child waking up in the prime of the night to find the carnage of their parents' fates.

He quietly began up the stairs, flinching and freezing when one wooden step beneath his leather boot creaked and whined in protest of his weight. When there was no stir in the home, he brought himself the way up, peering around the corner of the hallway. This was an unfortunate position; while an enemy couldn't see him, he certainly couldn't see the enemy. Or in this case, the prey.

Rounding the corner, easily finding that still the house showed no signs of life, he began to search for the two's room. There were only three rooms on the top floor; a guest bedroom, he soon found out, a closet, and - ah, here. Their room, the largest bedroom, where the two slept soundly. There was a mirror on the edge of the room beside a dresser, as well as another closet here as well. The two were sleeping soundly near the window, with easy access to both sides of the bed. It was a rather fine setup.

He strode forward, taking a knife instead of his signature half-scythe, approaching the man first. He was amazing at keeping himself silent, raising the knife above the man's chest. It was easy to drive it into his heart, watching as the blade bit quickly into skin. Necure grinned at the sight, withdrawing the blade from his chest. It was over quickly for him, and obviously. As much fun as it would be, he didn't want to draw out anything yet. It would cause too much noise, possibly set someone off.

Turning towards the woman, he came towards the other side of the bed, and the grin stretched wider. Her form was barely visible without light, though his left eye found a better visibility in the dark than the right, but it was peaceful. Little did she know the end was so soon for her. He felt powerful again. He could break anyone's life off just like cutting a thread with a pair of scissors. Give him the tools, and, snip, snip! Done~!

Her end was similar to her husband's; a simple knife to the chest. A little anti-climatic, though, Necure thought absently. It was, though, wasn't it? He had quite a few more people, though, to finish, so he'd probably fine. Tonight would be an excitement.

He slipped the knife away, the steel whispering softly against the leather as it slid into its sheathe. Then, he opened the window beside their bed, pulling himself up and looking around. It looked directly over the guard's route, and the guard wasn't looking up. Necure slipped over the sill, then onto the thin roofing. Balancing on the wood that held up the thatched roof, he waited. The guard, of course, began his way around. He was holding a torch, but that wouldn't be such a problem. The blond waited until the guard was a few steps away, then leapt down from the thatched roof, a shower of the small grasses following him.

The man whipped around at the sound of his feet hitting the ground, opening his mouth to yell out. He got out only a short noise when Necure's dagger drove into his stomach, then ripped away. "Bleed," Necure hissed, withdrawing the knife and then slashing again, at the man's throat.

The man couldn't avoid it, and his torch dropped to the ground with his body. Necure turned, sprinting back towards the trees. Somehow, though, he still did so quietly.

Aaron was a nervous boy. He didn't like the Organization; he'd been told over and over by people in the Organization what exactly their 'founder', Alexei Dinoia, had done, but it didn't sound right. It wasn't right! And he, like everyone else, knew who Necure really was. What lies he had been fed, and had believed hungrily. Everyone knew who Necure was, knew the great search that had gone on for Flynn Scifo, the Commandant of the Imperial Knights, but had been disbanded a long time ago.

Yes, everyone knew. Everyone in the Organization, that is.

Aaron wasn't really weak; he was anxious and afraid. What would happen if the Knights found out? What if they got to the Organization? They'd all be killed, if they couldn't escape. No one would go into imprisonment, he was certain. Why would the current commandant do that? No, they would be murdered. It wouldn't be in cold blood, though.

Father always told him they should swear revenge on the Empire, for all the sins it had committed. Aaron didn't understand, though. Flynn had been trying to fix all the evil in the Empire, right? They hadn't even given him a chance.

Can't think like that, Aaron thought. I'll let it slip what I think about their ideals. Then I'll be killed.

He was especially scared tonight. Flynn - no, Necure, he could no longer be called the idealistic, good-natured knight loved by the people of the Empire - wouldn't hesitate to kill him. He knew he was only a burden on the former knight's shoulders. He was only holding the man back, and he knew the man likely wouldn't have any of that. So, he stayed quiet, still, hoping that Necure didn't have a mind to come decide to murder him. He doubted his father would care and any punishment to Necure would be light.

When he saw the blond darting through the shadows towards the forest, his heart skipped a beat. There was a little blood on his boots and black, hooded tunic.

"Come on, boy," the young man said, and Aaron have a quick nod. Necure reached for his belt, pulling out another knife - there were two, those and the scythe being his weapons - and moving his hand towards the boy. Instinctively, Aaron shifted backwards, but Necure was only offering it towards him. Hesitantly, he grabbed it like a stray dog would snatch food, looking up at the blond.

"I've got a mission for you, and you alone. I'm not going to help." Why not? I haven't had any training - at all! None to be worth anything, at least. "I'm going to show you one of the houses. Sneak in, kill the man there. I'm going after the rest of the village, hear?"

Aaron nodded quickly. "Y-yessir!" he stammered, and Necure nodded, standing and striding out. "Good. There's no guard to worry about, let me show you the home."

It was right across from the Philis' home, and this door was unlocked, surprisingly. Necure waved Aaron on and the boy gripped the knife a little tighter, swallowing nervously. Under the blond's currently watchful eye, he opened the door slowly and stepped in. This house was smaller with only one story, and there were only a few doors. He'd have to check quietly, because there was a fire going and he'd definitely be seen. The door behind him slid shut.

A brief thought of escaping flitted in his mind. No, he said, stomping the flame of thought, if I run, he'll chase. If he chases, he'll find me. I'll die. I'll die either way... With the discouraging thought in mind, he tried to find the bedroom of the home. The first room was like a small library, except along with books there were weapons. M-maybe that means the guy is unarmed. He didn't believe his thoughts.

The next room, as he peered in, indeed was a bedroom, and there was someone in the bed. He opened the door a little too quickly and it creaked. The form in the bed stirred and Aaron squeaked. The man's head raised, looking blearily around the room and reaching for something by his bedside. He saw Aaron quickly, and the boy swallowed hard. Courage, courage! I can do this! I have to before he gets his weapon - !

He lurched forward, faced with the fear of brutal death. He heard the door creaking as it gradually closed again, and came swiftly towards the man, raising the knife and then aiming to stab him in the stomach.

A blade met his stomach quicker, though, sinking in and stopping him in his path. His eyes widened, freezing as he was impaled and then dropping the knife. The pain was terrible, too harsh for words or sounds. The man started to bring the sword up to finish him off, and Aaron voiced his final words.

"He's here."

The door to the bedroom clicked shut.

Necure smirked as he walked away from the house. The boy could not survive; that was the swordsman's home and he'd sent the kid in there purposely. Whoops, he imagined the excuse, he died in battle. Tried to take down the biggest brute in the village, did he? Failed at it, though. He swiftly started towards the next home, picking the lock and opening the door to begin in. It didn't take him long to find the bedroom and his first victim was struck down quietly; a child, so there had to be someone else. He checked the rest of the rooms; office, bathroom, closet, pantry - bedroom! Heh, there went two more; a mother and father.

That was when a thick scent hit his nose. It didn't take long for his mind to specify what it was.

Smoke.

He cursed, opening the window opposite of the bed and peering out. The Philis' family's home was up in flames, the thatch roof catching easily and a good source for the hungry fire. A plume of smoke rose over it. He jumped out, sliding briefly on the roof and then jumped down, rolling on the ground to catch himself and then landing on his feet, standing straight. He'd have to get the rest of the job done quickly. Four down, he thought, eight to go. Eight adults, at least.

Then again, a survivor or two wouldn't be so bad, as long as they didn't have any intel on the Organization's whereabouts and motives or his own location. Let them be fearful; assassinations sweeping over, a village going down in flames. He smirked, heading towards the next house.

Within twenty minutes, the fire had spread to three other houses; one he hadn't been to - but he had seen no attempt to escape, either it was abandoned or the inhabitants were trapped inside. Or they hadn't woke up yet, but the former two were more likely. Necure had struck down two more people. He'd seen two people run off into the trees, and hadn't chased them. Two, four. Five, six, eight. Two or so in the house.

Only one to go, supposedly.

And as if on cue, he heard a shout, and footsteps running towards him. It was Triton Roice, armed with a sword - that looked suspiciously like knight issue - sprinting towards him. Necure barely had enough time to dance lightly out of the way, scythe in his right hand and knife in his left as he drew both in a single movement.

"So, you're the famed swordsman around here, are you?" the blond laughed, and the brunet did not speak and shifted his weight, sizing his opponent up - the same thing Necure was doing.

The man was large, larger than Necure, had a steady, strong frame, and the sword was obviously a natural ability. He had dark hair that went to about his shoulders and Necure saw that the blade already had the dark blood pasted upon it. His eyes were steely and green and the light of the fire behind them reflected in the depths. He had a strong, set jaw, and obviously was experienced; the rain of battle scars tore pigment away from areas of his face and loosely-clothed arms. The man was fast, too, as Necure had just learned, and he knew there was strength and precision behind that blade.

Good, a fight that should interest him.

Equally, the man was looking at Necure. The blond had a lanky, but athletic build, and they were equally quick. The smaller man's left eye glowed a dim green and moved differently than the right, but there was a strange bracelet-like strip of leather around the blond's wrist that could only be an eye patch. The form was strong as well, but he used an impractical weapon, it seemed. A scythe? How silly. He looked experienced too, though, and there was something familiar in that one blue eye, he could not place.

"Your companion fell by my hand," he said, hoping to spark some intimidation into the blond's form. It didn't work and a cruel grin spread across his face, almost maniac. There was a glint in the blond's natural eye that set him off.

"That's what I was hoping for," he replied with cold, high-pitched laughter. "Weak, wasn't he?"

"Not really. He had enough courage to tell me where you were; his last words, in fact."

"Oh, yes, so courageous. Face a lot of people with death and it isn't courage anymore. Something said by death is meaningless."

"Yes, I suppose you're right," the man replied. "But, don't you kno - " He didn't let himself finish, suddenly lunging forward. Necure was at least taken by surprise and the swordsman offered him a small smirk. That was a nice little trick; think you're going to hold a conversation -

- and never finish it.

Luckily, the assassin was fast, bringing up the scythe. The sword slammed into the sharpened sickle and Necure was glad his steel was especially reinforced. Both blades got a slight nick from the impact. Necure smirked, though, pushing the sickle down to force the sword to lower, bringing up his knife. The swordsman was quick and lowered the blade, springing back and then rounding on him again. He feigned left, then swung right, but Necure was used to this. He ducked and rolled backwards, sprang on his feet and then darted to the side, staying in the side of the man's vision.

The swordsman swiped at him, and he at the man, but neither got any real blows. An equal match! At last! Necure was grinning and, not discouraged, was having a fine time. The blond went left, right, zigzagging and then sprinting in a semicircle. He sprang up, the sickle going around the man's sword and forcing it downwards, knife going up again. The man leaned to the left, dodging the first biting blow, then with a powerful push flung Necure off and sent the blond rolling and onto his feet again.

He's strong, and heavy, Necure thought. That could be a disadvantage. And, an advantage.

He swung with the sickle, and met the sword - but rather than stabbing or slashing this time, he threw the knife, smirking as it embedded in the man's left shoulder. It wouldn't take away his ability to fight, but it'd hinder him. The man snarled and raised the blade, bringing it down. Necure barely had enough time to bring the scythe up to stop the blade before it got to him. Nearly losing the grip, the weight of the sword and the stronger bearer bore down on him, though he pushed back with much might. Cursing softly, he flung the sword to the side and kicked the man away, dancing away again.

Right then, he noticed how severe the fire had gotten. It hadn't breached the forest - the village wasn't near the forest, rather in a wide clearing. There were, however, long grasses, and they weren't exactly fire resistant.

They weren't long grasses, actually; they were fields. And, the majority was on fire. Black smoke filled the air and the drum roll of the flames cracked and snapped, devouring anything else they could. And it was just then he noticed how the swordsman was driving him towards the fire. The village houses were crumbling around them, creating lanes that blocked his escape. Fire ate away at either side of him, and behind him.

Shit! was his immediate thought. He hadn't even realized this. He, the fox-like, clever assassin, hadn't even realized he was being cornered. And he didn't fight well when cornered - and against a stronger opponent...he had to get out of this predicament.

He tried going to either side but the man swiftly stopped him and sent a few slashes his way, ever pushing him back. Necure's teeth grit; he was losing this battle and losing was not something he took kindly to. He was prideful, and knew when and how to retreat, but he didn't just lose. This man was infuriating.

So, the blond fought. He tried to squirrel his way past the man, sprinting and feigning this way and that, but he seemed to have literally met his match. Each attempt was counteracted and fought against.

He sprinted forward again, trying to move across again, but the man raised the pommel and slammed it against Necure's left arm. The blond let out a hiss when said pommel fell against his wrist, stumbling back, and then he froze.

Fire licked at Necure's heels. He could go no farther.