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To say that it was surprising that Ixion did not have the basic insight to copy Fixer's own maneuver from just before and lock his arm in its current angle would probably be inaccurate, his previously observed failings considered, but it definitely was disappointing after his trick with the teleportation and subsequent jump. As it was, it appeared that the additional acceleration that came from Fixer's quick swing of his lower body, in combination with the rotation Ixion had already started, was enough to put Fixer on top of the other's back, and the other face-down on the ground. It also somewhat lowered Fixer's awe at the other's abilities that he did not teleport them to somewhere softer once he must have realized that he would be the one to take the punishment for it. In general, this little assassin only continued to confuse his fellow infernal contractor with his wildly varying quality of performance. When Ixion did poorly Fixer would probably place him at a level where he could beat him without the use of either of his hands, but when he did well it was at a level where he would need both hands, and probably at least some elemental magic as well, to keep up with him. This man was dangerous, certainly, but his performance was far too erratic for him to represent a considerable threat; he had the potential to be a nice opponent in the future, once he had the experience to get rid of his low-level performance moments, and maybe gained access to some powerful artifacts or at least better weapons and armor, but now? Right now he was unworthy.
He was entertaining, though; Fixer could feel his heartbeat quickening even as he landed on top of his opponent, and while it would be easy to interpret his widened eyes that were visible past the mask as a sign of shock or fear, that was only because they could not see how widely he grinned behind the bloody smile of his persona. Fixer knew of several entities, which included more than just what could be termed "people", who were so powerful or skilled, or both, that they considered themselves invincible; who had bested so many challenges so great that they no longer imagined that they could be defeated. Such delusions were a weakness, however, and Fixer knew this. He had not traded with the Grand Master for invulnerability, longevity or indestructibility, even though these were qualities that had precedents that evidenced their validity as a possible buy exactly because he never wanted to forget the fragility of his own existence. All it would take would be for him to lower his guard for an instant at an inopportune moment and a blade finding him during this time, and Fixer would die like any other man. He wanted this. And he wanted to increase the odds of it happening. He wanted to feel the thrill of knowing that he could lose at any moment.
After all, you needed to have a chance to lose for a game to be truly fun... and it was never more exciting than when the odds were even.

Sadly it seemed that the fun was about to end; even without needing to follow Ixion's gaze, difficult as this was with Fixer looking at the back of the other's head, he had already noticed the sniffer darting at them, and had additionally sensed I'onriyi starting to mold magical energy - and if he could sense it with his modest ability, it probably meant that the penin was almost ready to cast a full spell. As amazing as it would have been to fight these three at the same time - a teleporting assassin, a sniffing vampire acrobat and a powerful penin warlock - he had to remember the rules. Ixion was one of the untouchables, and the two others had real potential for a future fight... if they stuck together, these three might someday even allow Fixer to fight to his fullest ability! But the fact that they were all targeting him, now, at least arbitrarily accepting each other as allies, meant that his job here was done. Blue was dead, he had her Dirge, and it appeared that he had successfully made himself the prime suspect in the tool's murder. It was time for him to leave.
His legs, with the knees planted on either side of Ixion's body - he had not wanted to kill him, after all, and made sure to spare him some of the impact - felt the assassin's arm moving even before he foolishly spoke his taunt previous to his surprise-attack. He smiled. Before he left, he would make sure that at least Ixion understood what the outcome of this fight would have been if it had continued. He quickly kicked off with his legs, raising his entire body up so that he did a fully vertical handstand on just his right arm, hand still planted on Ixion's wrist. He held pose for a moment, staring at the back of Ixion's head, and Ixion would probably notice a very slight tremor in the ground, the feeling of tiny bits of gravel prickling the side of his head and a sound similar to that of a cracking whip directly to the right of his head. The wide legs of his trousers started falling back from them being pointed directly upward, revealing that his legs were wrapped in cloth similar to that around his midsection, once more preventing the exposure of his skin. His violet eyes almost seemed to glow as he turned his gaze up, facing the vampire that was practically flying straight at him.
Smiling, Fixer flicked an internal switch he had constructed in his imagination, and where the sniffer would have violently collided with his undeniably unstable stance he found no resistance, but merely passed straight through. Ixion, likewise, would notice that the weight of an entire man that had previously been weighing down his right wrist suddenly disappeared.

There were many things a man like Grim could find very useful, and which would make him all the more dangerous as the Grand Master's Fixer. Teleportation was an obvious and popular thing to ask for, considering how useful it could be both in combat and in infiltration to be able to move instantaneously from one place to another, but it had obvious flaws: one needed to have seen one's destination, for one, and one had to very clearly define in one's contract exactly what circumstances would allow for additional objects to be teleported along with one. Formulate the deal too loosely and you would bring your opponent with you when moving, and being too careful might mean that you showed up at your destination naked and unarmed. The drawbacks had been much too significant for Fixer.
So then what? He wanted to be able to move quickly, unseen and unheard, to be able to infiltrate places that he could not necessarily see and to, in an emergency, escape harm in the last instant. The solution Fixer had arrived at had been to be able to disintegrate and rematerialize himself at will, including in this transformation only that which he was touching and he had marked with a special sigil that was either carved or sewn into all of his belongings. And so, when he flicked that imaginary switch, his dark-clad form abruptly turned into a silhouette of smoke the same color as his clothes, and when the vampire passed through it, the smoke he touched scattered as one would expect smoke to do. Bits of crusted blood drizzled onto Ixion as the mask's smile crumbled and fell away, unmarked by the sigil as it was, and much to Fixer's annoyance he also heard the dull thud of Blue's Dirge falling to the ground, likewise unmarked and not included in his transformation. Oh well, as long as Corpse Forge did not have it, he could always reclaim it later.
The wind moved, guided by Fixer's will, and the smoke gathered itself anew. Slithering away like velvety darkness it blew into the shadows, where it was virtually invisible.

And to the right of Ixion's head, but a fraction of an inch from where his ear had been, he would find a hole that was an inch wide and four inches deep carved straight into the cobblestone.

---
"Me neither," Gerald nodded his approval at Jillian's dismissal of Renold's plan. "Though I will concede that my..." He paused for a moment, trying to think of the best affiliation to state between himself and the witch. Colleague? That would suggest her being a necromancer and him being a witch, neither of which was true. Fellow exile? That sounded so distant, as though there was barely any association between the two of them... which was technically not far from the truth, but nevertheless felt wrong. Apprentice? Did she even still want to learn necromancy, or had she been distracted entirely from this goal by the promise of greater mastery over black magic? Friend, then? No, that was too sentimental. Ally? Not sentimental enough. In the end, he settled for: "Companion, she did ignore the bit about this Aliostar's knowledge of demons and the cross-planar flow of energy, it still seems like too much of a long shot. I mean, the way you describe him it seems as though we would be as likely to get the information we need from Hazzergash."
"Did we not just attain certainty that the Grand Master and his generals could not be the source of the Withering?" Crone wanted to know, her tone slightly impatient. "And that Himyth would be our most likely culprit? The minions of the Crimson Dawn would not even have awareness of this plot, let alone be in possession of useful clues that would lead to its origin. If they had, would Hazzergash himself not have directed his crusaders to bring an end to the malady already?"
"Hazzergash is also unambiguously our enemy," the Green added. "As is most demons, for that matter. More importantly, Aliostar is not immortal, and as such vulnerable to the Withering himself. I'm not counting on him helping us out of the goodness of his heart, but to save himself."
"I have also beseeched summoned demons for answers before," Crone finally pointed out, "but no matter how much I subdue their wills, how fiercely I enslave them with magic and bind them to do my bidding, they have all refused to reveal that particular piece of information... which means that a will and power greater than mine has already been forced upon them all to prevent its revelation. Summoning alone is not sufficient; one would have to be able to either sense it oneself, or be considered trustworthy by the demons.
And Aliostar is both."