The wind howls and the night snaps to life. The old man gives his enemy a wide grin. His face is contorted in a grotesque manner meant to unnerve the murderer. He does not mind the idle banter, but he is a professional and does not retort back. He does not need to. He is no comic book hero rescuing a damsel. He is a crime fighter. Courage is in his right hand. Justice is in his left. 

The old man assesses the strengths of his foe in front of him. He knows he is physically strong, evident by his leaping ability. Close combat is not ideal. He is not yet discovered that the old man image is a disguise, an illusion, but that is fine. His true powers are hidden from his eyes. Brysen coalesces the light in his hands. The sword that he holds is not made out of any metal, but of pure light solidified into a physical form. It is a malleable thing and he bends it to his whims, extending it until it is 30 feet long. It is weightless despite its size. Brysen hides the length by distorting the light that hits its surface, making 25 feet of the sword invisible. 

To the killer who stands there, flaunting his scythe, the sword has not grown or changed at all in the last couple seconds, but in reality it has already grown to monstrous size, large enough to slice open an entire neighborhood. Brysen swings the sword down on the killer’s head, retaining the façade of an old man. The crowd stares from the sidelines in disbelief and the battle commences.