The sound of the brutal skirmish in the halls echoed throughout the unused room. Paisley looked down at Yarrow, his breathing calm and stable, he was unconscious.
She began to ponder, "that guy, Wayne, he had to be an A Class, no other class could just destroy a demon instantly!" Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a metallic glint by the door. Picking up the item she realized, "this is that demon's Midnight Weapon! It must've been kicked in here before the door was closed."
"When this is all over, I could trade this in, after all, that's how Class C mostly get their money." She inspected it and thought, "but—I could keep it, I know it's prohibited to keep undocumented Midnight Weapon's, but for some reason, I feel like—keeping it." As she held it in the low light, she felt a liquid touch her shoes softly. She looked down to see a spreading pile of blood, the ink-like liquid surrounded her shoes, and her eyes darted upwards to see blood leaking from Yarrow; his chest no longer rose slightly with every breath he took, he was completely still. "Yarrow!" She shrieked. His breathing was almost nonexistent, and his skin was beginning to cool. "We have to get you to the infirmary, now!" She suddenly realized as her heart dropped, "I can't lift him by myself." Her heart spiked again, thinking, "I'll get a doctor, or someone with a healing ability!" She rushed out of the empty room, her long and lime colored hair spiraled wildly as she ran towards the infirmary, the dark sickle rested in her hand. "What if he doesn't live?" The thought plagued her mind, as quiet tears coursed down her face. "I can't fail him, I can't fail again!" She came upon a demon, which stood over it's victim's body. The demon's fists were painted in red, it shifted its head at her slightly. A baritone in her spirit began to roar, and the fury flared inside of her like lightning striking a tree. The sclera in her eye began to darken, and her iris began forming a definitive white line. "This thing is standing in my way," her toneless voice muttered.
"Do you wish to save your partner in crime?" A woman's seductive and dark voice echoed. "Just call my name—and all your deepest desires will come to fruition."
A sinister guitar riff bellowed in her soul, as she stated, "I failed the man that saw potential in a worthless waif, but I won't fail my friend, he will live!" Gripping her blade tightly, she declared, "I call you, Sabbath!" A dark void surrounded Paisley as an unholy choir roared in her being.