*Thump thump!* The rattling wood, first to come before unhindered footfall. These sounds blasted our agents heightened senses. He'd yielded his ears to higher energies. Said ethereal resource directed him to locate two targets on the uppermost floor of this agriculture estate. He felt he needed to use this perceptual magnification. Typically his sixth sense would be enough, the vague pressure that allows most magic users awareness of nearby sentient entity's. His instincts were right that it wouldn't help him here.

The echoes of one pair of shoes and another pair of boots clapping casually against wood echoed through several hallways and rooms until finally filtering down into the dusty living room this agent had wandered into. Above he could sense it via his inner being, unhindered waves of converted earthly energies radiating from a woman. She was likely uneducated in magic but not entirely inept in her ability to hold her powers. She wasn't the biggest oddity here, even though she was to be considered odd. The queerest factor was her companion.

Typically, anything with the ability to think or be self-conscious emits waves of ambient energy that can be faintly interpreted with a trained sixth sense. The woman above radiates both this and another form of some converted energy that is at home in her mostly human body; the other individual radiates nothing. They are presumed to be humanoid as they did give off the sound bipedal movement creates, but, while approaching there is another oddity. This humanoid isn't breathing. One could even say that its presence was sucking in small waves of ambient energy into some abyssal pocket of unreadable magic. Everything else indicated that this was, in fact, a human male aside from the lack of breath and conscious radiance. His smells, his heat, his movements, nothing was out of the ordinary in those respects. [i]'What is that thing?'[/i] Regrettably, the time that could've been expected to be spent mulling over this target was at an end.

*Bang!* One magic projectile cleaves with force through the air, wood, and polished shoe leather all in one drastic swoop. A bullet had breached his footwear, just barely missing soft flesh, followed shortly by a powerful man's voice.

"The heart comes after the foot!" Whoever shouted this must be massive or grizzled beyond belief. Our agent wasn't looking forward to meeting them, but he fell to his knees and placed his hands behind his head nonetheless.
"Hopefully not.." Would be the response, he didn't plan to give up all at once. Even so, hearing/seeing things out would be better with so many unknowns at play. His heart and stomach had been lurching ever since he entered this house, keeping him from going on the offensive. Something more terrifying than his partner is nearby, he knows it.

Should anyone sprint downstairs, now that the spell is released, they'd find this man in all his present glory there. A disheveled individual in a black and grey pin-stripe suit of notable luxury is there. His left shoe radiates polish whilst his right smolders near the toes. His skin is practically white alongside his blondish-ivory hair that shoots as stress-born spikes in every direction from just the upper-scalp, the sides of his head have a faded cut. His eyes both have powerful red iris's, perhaps even luminescent similar to Darsby with deep suitaces underneath each of them. Unlike darsby, there was no pull to some strange form of profound and intrusive communication when meeting them.


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Darsby took the entirety of the time Anora gave him to gather himself further. Some deeper instinct born of combat told him to be ready for anything soon. He felt like eyes were watching him, or perhaps ears were listening. He couldn't correctly use his higher senses, or he's revealed to onlookers, so he relies on base animal sense. He squares his shoulders and descends the roof. Her words passed over him like mist; he's still held ajar by some mild form of shock that keeps him away from the real world.

Anora was waiting for him upon re-entering the attic. His return to the house was far more graceful than his exit, one acrobatic motion making use of his momentum and leverage to perform an entirely silent flip through the window once having gripped its edges. He'd land with a reasonably soft *Thump* upon one of his soles not three feet from Anora. Darsby then rose slowly, his body appearing mechanical in its ability to assume a standing position with minimal shift in posture. He half-turned towards Anora, to avoid eye-contact, an air of danger seeping into his voice.

"Stay still, something is in the house..-" Darsby quietly said. Strangely, if Anora had looked at him, she may have noticed that his lips hadn't moved, the whisper being generated by some other means. "-Try not to speak unless you notice something. Follow me." He then began descending the rickety attic stairs downward. His left hand held that polished revolver tight to his flank, his other hand gently reached back towards Anora in slight movements with each occasional shift in his targetted gaze as if he'd be ready to pull or push her away from danger should it be necessary. The whole process of his stride and protective posture looked trained in its graceful proficiency as if being an escort in times of risk was an activity he'd familiarised himself with. Images of him keeping watch over and transporting high-priority individuals under dangerous circumstance could be imagined after seeing him like this.

"Wait.." He'd project with posture and silent speech once reaching the stairway leading to the next floor down. He slowly, silently, and with much care aimed his revolver at an obscure spot on the ground beneath them. He was aiming back behind him; if Anora is in the way at this time, he will emit another unspoken whisper. "Out of the way." He'd fire between her legs if she didn't move.

*Bang!* One black bullet launched itself through floorboards and insulation into the center of the living room beneath them. Darsby would shout just after doing this. He was a predator, a warrior; perhaps it hadn't been revealed until now. Everything he did showed that he was used to these dangerous ways of living, trained for them. His voice was stark and demanded deep respect; its newfound authoritative verbality bled of someone who could make others obey merely by a single word. He didn't regard Anora during all of this; perhaps it hadn't occurred to him to do so. To him, she was his VIP, not something to be used as counsel. 

"The heart comes after the foot!" He'd say, the meaning of these words made clear to the one who'd received the black round. It had struck with all intended accuracy, Darsby's gut sensations proving their worth after ages of being molded into their present state.

"Hopefully not..." A cold, faintly trembling voice would come from below. One muffled *Thud!* is heard alongside masculine suggestions in speech. The target had relinquished a spell of stealth and fell to its knees in surrender, a deal Darsby had understood after sensing our intruder's presence for the first time.

Nearly forgotten ways of being had been recalled to Darsby through his shock with the car accident earlier. He hadn't acted this way in a longer time than he'd care to admit — something about having someone not ten feet away to protect brought this out in him, for better or for worse. 

Darsby would wait several seconds after firing to confirm the target had only fallen to his knees. Afterward, Darsby would descend. Should Anora attempt to go down the stairs before him, he'd sprint down them after her, keeping not more than five feet from the girl. 
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In an ebon car several hundred yards away, a throbbing form of muscular majesty had made the first ploy towards its target prey. Her partner had only said not to take any 'steps' anywhere. There was a gross lack of instruction here. A spell of higher potency than previously seen envelops our huntress in swathes of invisibility and stealth. With this, she places both of her hands on the ground just beyond the doorway of the car. In one smooth motion, she balances the entirety of her weight on both hands.

With incredible grace and strength, she begins walking, no, running with near-vehicular speed towards the nearby house atop the palms of her callous hands. Soon she would arrive, soon she'd know what that stinging smell was. She'd been bothered with familiarity ever since having first smelt it. She knew that scent and had a feeling she would be able to fulfill a long-held resentment once encountering who its retainer. Soon, a tide of inhuman prowess would explode on these premises. Hopefully those present survive the encounter...