"The heavens cry out
the earth is a sea of blood
The past is poluted with sin
The future is what I make it...
His body had healed completely in the past hour or so. The silence of the room was deafening, save for the soft breathing of that woman. She had fallen asleep... Now was his chance to slip away. He would depart in the Dead of night, while everyone was distracted with that whore of a performer dressed in bright colors, and Skip town. He wouldn't stop till he reached the next major city, these small towns were too risky, for this very reason.
Slowly, softly, carefully, he slipped the sheets from his clothed body and placed his feet upon the foor, hearing the boards creak beneath his fit and muscular frame. He cursed under his breath as he slowly peered back in the woman's direction, seeing no movement, he exhaled.
He picked up his cloak once again and slowly moved towards the door, easing it open.
Softly, carefully, he sliped through it before shutting it silently.
"Oy... where are you goin big bro?" A rugged voice called.
"You plannin on leavin us again?!" another shreiked.
"She told us you'd try to abandon us all over again... Dont make us fill you full'o lead Mastah"
He slowly turned his icy blue eyes upon the crew of men dressed in black throughout the room. Many of them were just as disfigured as the Mercenaries he could hear outside, the rest of them were normal looking, with dangerous looking weapons. Their suits decorated with silver buttons and cross-like orniments.
"You wont have a chance... now out of my way, you trash." he spoke defiantly, glancing about the room, his hand held to his hip, Cloak slung over his left shoulder rather slopiliy.
"Knives-sama! we're gonna bring you to your senses! Even if we have to give our lives!!!" one yelled loudly, lifting his gun. The rest of the crowd following suit.
His icy eyes scanned the room slowly, calculating many of them as well as the power their weapons packed. If even one man fired, his cover would be blown.
Slowly, his right hand reached to his belt, unfastening a clasp over a large sheathed gothic style knife.
Like a gunslinger, he prepared to draw, waiting for the sound of Gunfire to give him his signal to strike.
