Just like that, immortality slipped through his fingers, and mortality took its place. The endless pool of stamina that fueled his keen observance had formed a hole, and would drain away with time, as it did with most mortals. A stomach that had never needed victuals now groaned with the need for nutrients. His body, through his gift had been honed beyond that of an Olympic athlete, and thus, needed nutrition far beyond that of a normal person.

He didn't feel he had too much time. 

The amoured truck was an unassailable monument to Bellataire's preparation from where he stood. The weapons he had kept stashed around the Wanderers residence held no hope in piercing its hull. 

The inklings of a plan had begun to form in his mind. He needed to move. Specter's services would be needed as well.

Luckily for him, Eld's transformation had caught the slavers attention. 

[color=slategray]"Specter."[/color]

He beckoned the other merc, and used the surrounding flora to obscure his retreat to where he had begun his day. The basement. If Specter had gotten the hint, he would follow him down the descending staircase, where Dawn had left.