"Yeah, 'at's the one, kid," Porter nodded. "She matches the description: blonde, knife-eared, Caster Class."
"A Caster..." Fatty Doan grit his teeth. "How much firepower we talkin'? Or lightnin'? Or whatever the f*ck the b*tch shoots outta her cunt."
"Don't matter," Benji pulled his hood down to hide a smirk, "Can't ⌈Mana Ward⌋ a knife to the back if she don't see it comin'."
"Shut the hells up, kid," Doan growled. "You ain't never killed a real mage before... not like me..."
The fat man didn't like Casters much. Never did say why.
Benji took out his dagger and started picking at the dirt beneath his fingernails. It'd take him five seconds flat to give Doan a new smile-- a bright red line in his cowardly throat.
It'd be a waste of energy, though. Wasn't worth any coin. Would probably piss off the boss. And besides, it'd make a gods-damned mess.
