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Like a wraith he emerged. Bathed in obsidian, and coated with the falling vestiges of the sea, Sammael stepped from the churning waves. His booted feet crunched soundlessly upon the wetted sands—though stealth, it would seem, had been discarded the moment Kain had erupted into his tormented conflagration. In spite of it, the SOLDIERS still maintained an element of surprise via their quarry’s unsuspecting disposition. These poor Archadian souls were mere pawns in a game they had already lost. Moving up the beach, Samm fell loosely in behind Carmen. Her orders were clear, and their targets lay before them like chaff before the wind.

The Archadian’s moved with only a thin repertoire of military tactical knowledge at their disposal. Faced with Carmen’s combined assault of surprise and overwhelming force of action, the infantry visibly faltered; disoriented and confused. Several of the men discharged their aged long-arms haphazardly, while yet others tried to distribute themselves to face the coming enemy force with more poise. 

For his part, Samm’s black form moved rapidly in the troughs of the sand dunes. Winding his way forward, his heightened senses focused upon an Archadian who had taken cover behind a length of driftwood. The man’s rifle was aimed downrange, in the general direction of the approaching SOLDIERS. Even as his feet churned sand behind him, his body poised and leaning forward like a stalking lion, Samm could feel the man’s heartbeat roiling within his veins. This man feared for his life, and had the scent of prey wafting off of him--almost visibly--into the sea air.

[color=00746b][i]”Quietly. Quickly. Show him enlightenment.”[/i][/color]

The sword came forth from its sheath, arcing upward over Samm’s shoulder as he pulled it free. It hummed with the desire to strike, and to draw blood to purge the Archadian’s wickedness. Time seemed to slow before Samm as he lunged up the sand, directly in line with his target’s left flank. His vision became sharp to the point of near pain, his eyes itching with the heightened sensation given by Ither’s gift. Every pore on the Archadian’s face. Every bead of sweat. Every ripple of blood in his veins gathered into Samm’s mind, and was processed to bring a quick, and merciful end to this engagement. 

Gripping the hilt with both of his obsidian hands, Samm propelled himself forward. He struck out with the blade of his sword, the weapon moving to the Archadian in a trajectory that would cleave his skull in two. Oblivious to this coming strike, the man continued to aim his weapon, his heart still bounding and uncertain. 

At the last moment, just as the deadly blade was about to bite, Samm spun his hands. In the breadth of a moment, the sword turned, presenting the flat of the blade to its target. With resolute force, the steel struck the Archadian on the left of side of his head, between his temple and ear. The thud of the impact raced up the blood groove, and into Samm’s sensitive fingers. It had been a sure, and successful strike. 

Completing his lunge, Samm came to rest upon his feet at the Archadian’s right side. The infantrymen was slumped loosely upon the sand, his discarded rifle resting against the driftwood. Samm didn’t need to touch the man to know he was alive, yet utterly lost to the world. Reaching out, he took the rifle off the driftwood, and dismantled it. The motion took only a scant moment, as springs and gas tubes separated in Samm’s skilled hands.

“Another down,” he announced to his comrades.