A savage, toothy grin formed behind Morgan's loose mask as he descended on the blue-clad woman. The fear, the rage - all of it was to be satisfied with one grand blow as the vampire leaped from the building's side, the hunter's body almost flying through the air, time apparently slowing as he began to wind up his staff in a powerful, overhead attack. 

Morgan hadn't thought about a possibility though. The possibility of being seen or heard - the hooded mercenary was to be his distraction, the pawn in which Morgan could deliver one and final blow to the light wielding woman that had caused him to cower. Though neither person would see it, the sniffer's face was one of shocked surprise as his target moved her weapon to deflect the aerial attack. For a moment, Morgan saw a glimpse of despair through his veil of red - he was in a terrible position. He was vulnerable and open to practically any sort of attack, thanks to his wrathful actions and hasty decision.

Luckily, it would be the mercenary that would cause her to instantly jump out of harms way, dodging both his and the vampire's attack. Morgan's instincts would take over as he saw the deadly karma whizz over his head, dropping low as soon as he smoothly hit the stoned ground. Swift action would be taken as Morgan heard the hooded man's chained weapon yank backward with rattling clink, instantly vaulting himself into the air with one hand and the aid of his sturdy weapon. His legs spread into a T-shape as he balanced himself almost expertly on the tip of his erect weapon. Before the retracting blade had touched his weapon, the sniffer would pull his sinuous body into a ball before re-positioning himself on to his feet with a transitional flip, both his body and weapon barely avoiding the chained blade's keen edge.

Masked gaze would meet masked gaze, if only for an instant. The vampire's violent actions almost swapped targets, instinct screaming that the blade-for-hire was attempting to attack him. However, Morgan's enraged focus would snap back to the blue jacketed person, who had managed to put a decent distance between both men. Morgan's mouth would twist into a feral snarl as her words reached out over the empty space of the alley:

"Would you say that these are 'desperate circumstances' for me?"

Morgan was about to chase after her, but something suddenly, rudely grabbed his attention. It was all too familiar, in its sour, metallic smell. However, simultaneously, it was (and always would be) a sudden jolt to the vampire. [i]'Blood.'[/i]

His crimson eyes could see it, pooling underneath the ever reddening splotch that had somehow formed on her right side. A normal warrior would have taken it as a sign of growing weakness - a wound that could be exploited in the violent moments to come. But to a vampire, who was already close to an animalistic fury: it would be the last straw.
A vicious, delighted mix of a hiss and a laugh issued out from Morgan's mask as his world became engulfed in red. He had been a vampire for three years, but even so - the smell of blood was too strong to resist. The sniffer took one step slowly, then another in a completely different gear - somewhere in the distance between her and him, his unnatural speed would reach its peak. 

Morgan was charging headlong to the iron-smelling source of his sustenance, his staff occasionally spinning and eventually winding up in a true baseball hero's style to deliver a punishing blow from his unchecked strength, the metal studded weapon aiming for the right side of the bleeding woman's rib cage...