POV: Cabil
Location: The Streets of Dyonegar
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An arrest, or an assassination? She had made it clear, in her abhorrent approach, that she wasn't here to escort him to the councilman. She remained masked underneath that hood, with a cat skull over her painted face—even behind her disguise, he could still feel her cold, stinging glare greet him as she gracefully leaped down.
To accuse Cabil of treason—it seemed nothing this councilman did received retribution. A hard silence lingered between them, soon broken by her twirling fingers around those chatting chains as she strung forward.
"Fucking bitch." Cabil faltered, but his will insisted on fighting back. With his hand before his unsteady vision, the air thinned, his breaths growing shallow. He tried to summon a spark, instead, he found himself dropping onto his knees, begging his body to gather enough inner urja to support himself from the lethal wounds. The warrior grew restless, hearing Mhalfoynt's raspy assertions of threats upon his behalf surging through his head,
*You know one day, Hargann, that prying of yours will get you killed… *
She stopped, an air of arrogance cocking her head up. "You know, you're much cuter bleeding out." Her tug against the chains pulled Cabil, but he kept on his feet. "Too bad Mhal's gonna nip you this time. No more free passes, sugar."
"I never asked for any passes, but this isn't about the past, now is it?" He smirked. "Mhal wants to snuff me out before his ass gets so deep in his own shit tub of lies. I don't blame him, but the motherfucker could've grown a pair and tried to take me out himself."
She brought a hand over her hip, intrigued. "You have no idea what you're talking about."
"Really going to pull that blind eye shit, huh? Figured that shit show he's running was all secret, but if you spend enough time with him, he tends to slip up and boast about the little skeletons in his closet."
"You're one to talk," she retorted.
"Don't fuck around like you haven't a clue. The profit he's been hoarding from cults? The villages and cities he's been exploiting to the demonic masses for Noble bonds? He's playing with innocent lives like a game, all for his sick narcissistic gain."
She shrugged. "I don't bother myself with political affairs. As long as I get paid, I honestly couldn't care less what happens to those pathetic Gathians and their feebleminded militia." Her hand released the snake-like weapon bolted to her belt's side, swapping out an alternative. "But it was cute of you to try and coax me."
Cabil grimaced, helplessly glaring at the approaching assassin's dagger. Within close proximity, he side-stepped her rush, countering with a solid kick into her abdomen. The smooth side motion allowed him to use her own momentum against her and sent the feline crashing into pavement. He couldn't lose this slight advantage, not with his flames out of commission. So, with one sudden burst of energy, he snapped the chains up, propelling her off the ground and swinging her into a storefront window.
The shattering debris fell on her unmoving body as black mannequin heads rolled down the stage floor. He didn't bother pursuing her, nearly draining himself from that last energy tap. Spotting the dagger she dropped across him, he took it to his belt and covered it under his thermal. Boldly walking away from the mess, he sighed in relief.
"Who said you can leave?" Her voice was like a cold sweat slithering down his neck—and before he could turn toward her, he fell, defenseless to a sharp kick against his knee, his head wrangled in by a headlock. "On your knees, right where you belong," she whispered, with a blade at his neck.
"Are you here to kill me, or arrest me? You can't seem to make up your mind," he jested.
"Hmm, good question. See, Mhal wants me to bring you in alive. In what condition, well, that he didn't specify."
He grunted, his grip around her arm rigid. "Seems like you want me all to yourself."
"Perhaps. I mean, it's not every day a hit by the High Order falls on a militant's head. I guess you can say I'm being a little greedy with the opportunity, but could you really blame me? You're one hell of a prize, waiting to be perched perfectly on my mantel like a proud trophy," she said, pressing the blade along his skin, the aura around her skyrocketing with excitement.
"Well aren't you the sadistic little cunt?" Cabil snatched the dagger tucked underneath his belt just before the unexpected rescued his hide. It flew against her mask so swiftly, a white light zipping overhead. He barely registered the striking katana whooshing to his aid, and the taste of her blood smacking his lips.
"Desist, demon!"
"P-priest?" Cabil stammered, looking up to the clergyman with a mix of relief and absolute confusion. Dressed in clerical garments, yet wielding a long blade katana?
The assassin behind him stepped back, distraught by the sudden assault.
Streaking her fingers down the cheek of her cleaved mask, she witnessed the red coating her gloves. "Coward!" she cried out, leaping onto the streetlight and into the darkness atop the adjacent brick building.
"She's gone," Narus reassured.
Cabil sighed, with a hand over his wound. "I didn't need your help."
Narus enclosed his weapon in its scabbard and took to Cabil's side. "This is no time to be prideful, Cabil. Allow me to heal you."
"Just—shit!" His hands fell as he attempted to buck upward, blood stamping the ground beneath him. "Heal?" Only a scarce number of people in all of Khorgathe had the rare ability to heal wounds. Nevertheless, this power did suit his title. "My apartment isn't too far from here. Just take me there…" Cabil panted, his body growing weary. His vision hazed as the streetlights shimmered like star bursts in an azure abyss. Then, Narus lashed on.
Without mercy, the priest heaved. Cabil wasn't prepared, his blood-curdling screams penetrating the sky, the streets, pulling some peeping eyes toward the commotion. Helplessly Cabil watched the clergyman completely detach his innards from metal, narrowly noticing how he effortlessly snapped the chains between his fingers. Seized by shock and unbridled agony, his body surrendered to the traumatic loss of blood.
He was fading…
The pyro feeling his latch on reality slipping away…
Trembling, his eyes rolled to the back of his head, and in faint, he mumbled, "2889 Lanyier Blvd, se—sev-en…B. I need you… to tell her—" he breathed, his consciousness finally falling over.
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