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Fury. Cold icy fury that ran in his veins. He'd felt it before in the lair when he's snarled defiance at the monstrous thing that had them in its power, it was a cold chilling sort of adrenaline and it seemed to wash all the uncertainty out of his body. They should have called for backup, they should have fled. But it was too ******** late now. Much too ******** late.

He eyed Sasha with a sort of distant indifference. She looked terrified. But so had Eva. Always women. Did they expect more sympathy because was a woman they'd taken? He felt nothing but anger that the thing was so out of their league, that he was STILL too weak. That he hadn't taken the first attack as he should have done. It was his ******** duty.

"We know the ******** rules" he snarled. "Let her go and choose one of us. Preferably me. My job is fighting ******** like you."

A bluff, it was all he had.

He wasn't putting his neck on the line for her. He was putting it on the line because it was his job. And if he was going to die, he might as well salvage some small part of his pride.

She was entranced now, dropping Sasha back to the ground quickly, deliberately as she walked towards Rep, pacing around him in a wide semi-circle. "You are a fighter." her form was already dissolving around the edges, ready to trap, snare, encircle-

- Ready to toy with her prey. "Fighters should be brave, they should be rewarded." She stretched out both arms, quickly, abruptly, as if ready to lash out. Both her hands were instead, empty, as she simply bowed, slowly, the way her Clan members did when they engaged each other as warriors. "I will let you strike first, my gift to you." The quaver in her breath betrayed her excitement. "Strike swiftly now, little warrior lamb."

At that very second, as she waited, Marcus immediately received a text back.

Rep was expecting a blow that for the time being never came. He expected he'd be shaking, cowering, anything as he was paced around like prey. But he felt nothing. Nothing but that cold icy focus that stripped away all emotion. All that mattered was the abomination had released Sasha. Her attention was on the right person now.

It was a matter of honour, of pride. He knew without a shadow of a doubt he couldn't win the fight, couldn't succeed if he took her on. But he was a sun, it was all about the attempt, all about the battle. There was no help coming he thought, there was little hope, even the pendant home was useless, the moment he went for it, she would rip him apart like a coward.

It was almost simple, the way he liked it. Sometimes life presented you with no other options, just a path of least resistance. He had a duty to do, and he would do it.

He'd do it ******** right.

For just a second he imitated the bow, buying time, letting the adrenaline roar like rushing water in his ears. It was almost sad, he'd survived the lair, he'd gotten another chance and there was so much he'd still left unsaid. It had woken him up to life and to the value of the people he called friends and he had still left them in the dark. It was too late for regret, there was no more time.

"Don't ******** patronise me. If you respected me? We'd be ******** /equal/" he snarled.

He swung.

He didn't expect it to connect, she was too fast, always too fast.

HP - 40
DMG - 1?

She floated in and out of consciousness, awash in silence.

There was a vague recognition of something cool and sticky against her skin, and it slowly dawned on her that it was her own blood. Noise buzzed in her ears, but a certain familiar silence was...missing from her headspace.

Even in her dreams, he was there, a constant presence, whether she liked it or not. Balthazar felt like the chill and smelled like the sea, cool disapproval layered on top like an oily, clinging film.

They had never gotten along. She was too loud, too brash, her own thoughts often crowding him out, forcing him to shout instead of speak. There wasn't enough room in there for the both of them, and Clerise had never been one to yield to anyone, let alone a voice in her head.

The only time she does is in battle, when he guides her with clumsy steps of a forgotten dance, her moves sloppy at best and careless at worst.

And oh, how careless she had been, today. Balthazar had urged her to leave from the start, his weight around her like a ball and chain, lecturing her at every opportunity.

He had warned her. He had warned her with images rather than words-- it was so difficult for him to speak, as of late-- and she'd chosen to ignore him. But, how was she to know that he'd be right, for once? That his constant disapproval actually merited consideration? How was it her fault that they had been ambushed by a horseman?

But then she was looking up at Sasha with hazy, unfocused eyes, and it felt she'd just swallowed lead, the sinking feeling in her belly curling around her, intertwining with the constant waves of pain.

Clerise had no words to soothe the other girl's mind, who gave her the most heartbreaking smile, crimson staining her hands and clothes. It registered, somewhere, that her neck was discolored, the pale column marred by a wound.

Weakly, Clerise nudged her cheek into that hand, eyes slipping closed. Blackness was rapidly closing in around her, the last thing she heard was Sasha's voice, soft as snow("Don't d-die, Clerise. P-please don't d-die. H-help is on t-the way"), and it felt like she was drowning under something indescribable.

Once trapped in the confines of her own mind, the trainee realized that the feeling, so unfamiliar now, after months of company...

Was complete and utter silence.

Balthazar was gone.

Yet she let it hit. She was entirely absorbed in the fight, in the now, in the single victim that lay, ready for slaughter, in front of her. Oh, the anger was delicious, if not better than their Fear.

Droplets of black liquid oozed from her cut onto the ground. She simply shook in laughter. "Equal." The Four Clans outcast was gone by the time the words escaped her lips.

The next second, another dry laugh, loud and mocking as once again, as claws seemingly from nowhere ripped into the atmosphere, taking a considerable chunk of the Sun trainee's shoulder. It stung, it would sting from the acid effect of the claws as well, flesh peeling off slowly, excruciatingly, down to the very layers of bone. It was her clans specialty: battle and meticulous strategy.

There was the sound of footsteps, of feathers rustling and bones clacking against the ground, of long deliberate pacing against the ground, but no visible sign of her. "What does it mean to be equal, pathetic fodder? It means I do this-"

A large gash sudden ran along Rep's side, just missing his internals - or perhaps by sheer preservation of his weapon and Fear Shield.

- "'And you hit me back." Clink. Clack. "But you can't can you? You can't fight me at all, I let you hit me and-."

And suddenly the voice was behind Rep, claws half-buried into his hair, his scalp, the very way they had to Sasha. It wouldn't hurt so much as burn, a strange, numbing sensation.

"- You fought like a mere insect." The claws began to dig deeper. "Shh... I'll make it slow." And then a little deeper still, the voice whispering now. "It is an honour in our clan to be killed this way. Some toys just break easier than others."

There was a loud crack-

- And then a shriek as the Four Clans outcast suddenly burst into black smoke and feathers, her figure half-solidified, half dissipating, clawing-

- At a sword buried straight into her chest. The weapon flared to life, even as she tried to pulled it out, as she scrambled, screaming, thrashing, every single fiber of her Fear shaking in agony and fury-

-He form collapsed entirely, neither dissipated nor damaged, simply gone. The weapon fell onto the ground, sideways.

The trainees could hear it now, now that the adrenaline had mostly worn away, shouting, people running toward them, a familiar figure wearing a plainer version of his usual coat, the sun emblem brightly emblazoned on the back. His sword remained unclaimed as he rushed to the fallen trainees first, two Moon Hunters immediately on the scene, picking them away.

Allan pursed his lips together, eyebrows furrowing, surveying the damage only when the last of the trainees was picked up and in the process of being filed through the portal. At their insecurity, their dazed expression, he offered a smile. It didn't reach his eyes. "You'll be safe now, you did good. They'll take you back."

He picked up the sword with his left arm: his right was still bleeding freely even from its bandages.

Bandages were being applied to Clerise's limp body. Her normally active body was splayed out, all awkward limbs and dead weight.

The medic hunters worked on her, and it was enough to bring her to a semi conscious state, staring at the shock of blond hair, still dazed beyond belief.

She would reflect, later, how unusual it was for him to be...

So grave.

At least he'd said they'd done well. Somewhere in her heart, she didn't believe it.

A man in a three piece suit stepped past the moon hunters, pausing to quietly direct one to see to the Sun leader. Catching Allan's eyes he glanced toward the trainees and nodded. Whatever silent message was exchanged between the two had Allan submitting to the medic's attentions, leaving the trainees with his assistant.

Bloodstains, still fresh, liberally covered Simon's suit, but his lack of any kind of limp or wincing as he crouch down beside the fallen indicated that little, if any, was his own. Pushing up his glasses, he surveyed the damage, and then began, "Lure the weak in, use them as bait for the strong, destroy both. This is a common tactic among the clans." There was a cold fury in the assistant's voice, "This is the second time today we've been called in by weak, careless teams in the field. Next time, run. Even if you have to leave another hunter behind, you run." Getting up he turned to the medics, "Get them treated."