@theunblazexash where: westbank Ric had not been an easy target. The opportunity had been too open for Elias to ignore, but he knew it wasn’t going to be easy. Of all the things Elias thought of Deathrunners, he would not make the mistake of seeing them as weak. He needed a second set of hands, and he needed them to be the hands of an outsider- someone to muddy the water. If he took one of the Lightless he risked falling into habit and leaving a signature. Life as Elias lived it had not come without a wealth of information; incredibly useful, when the right piece of information could be pulled about the right witch for the job. Grayson Ardent.
The shop they were in was in rough condition, destroyed plaster and cracked concrete floors; abandoned, he imagined, in the wake of Katrina, and deep in Nameless territory. Even with Grayson the fight had been rough- all the practice sparring in the world could not have prepared him for the first real challenging fight he’d taken on in years. Training could only emulate life-or-death so well. When the body finally dropped, he was glad for it. He was exhausted; black shirt stuck to his skin with sweat, huffing, and his knee twinged. He’d smashed into Ric’s face earlier. There was blood in his hair. Impossibly, he felt like he could do it ten times over.
Did he disobey a direct order? Yes. Was he confident that he would get away with it? Fairly. “Congratulations Mr. Ardent. We survived.” He offered aloud after catching his breath, grinning. He crouched to swipe his knife from where it’d slid to earlier, wiping the blade on his dark pant leg before flipping it shut. It’d need to be cleaned properly later, but for now it was enough to not be left behind. “I know you’re not one of us, but we’ve done a good thing. He was dangerous.” They were all dangerous, that’s the game. He stood and stepped toward the body, shoes clicking, “May he find peace in Death. Unfortunately, the work's not done until he can’t come back.”