[color=goldenrod][i][h2][center]Gerard Segremors[/center][/h2][/i][/color]
[center][@VitaVitaAR][/center]

From Captain Fanilly's right, the sound of steel sliding away from leather heralded a burst of motion, directly through that short distance left between the raiding party and the doors to the Cal Mausoleum.

The departure from the ball had been thankfully swift, the erstwhile assassin completely forthright once they'd established a method of communication with her. A kid in over her head, put up to this rather than born into it, and so unlike his initial assessment in the heat of the moment. Vosahnn wasn't at all the professional killer he'd believed her to be, not a cold blooded assassin— but a girl trying to save her sister. Forced into the unthinkable role of exchanging an innocent life for an innocent life.

If that could even be trusted. As if these vile men would give up their grasp upon the girl's actions so easily. Either she would be locked into their service forever, the her sister's life always upon the edge of the knives she would feel no choice but to use— or they would both be killed. Loose lips sink ships in all walks of life— and those depraved enough to push a child this far had no qualms about sealing them eternally. Those fetid wretches would never let either girl see freedom again.

As dire as the circumstance was, and for all the white-hot inferno it lit in his veins... There was one solace he could take in what the Captain's briefing had entailed.

Only the breaths between moments were allowed for reaction, just long enough for the hapless Guard, likely mercenary, to process what he saw. He needed to choke the distance in that time. He was already no stranger to dead sprints in all his armor— after all, he'd just proven it earlier that night. It would have to be enough. He would have to run him through, because every instant after that the man before him would be reacting. He could flee, he could draw the blade at his hip, or worst of all, he could raise some form of alarm, letting every wretch in those catacombs know they were coming. They deserved not the courtesy of announced presence.

[color=goldenrod][i]I will be denied no longer.[/i][/color]

His rage now was, beyond all doubt, [i]right.[/i]

To be faced with a child and to be faced with a cult of necromancy were two entirely different prospects for an ardent Reonite indeed. Where one was a grim reality of the battlefields he had waded through, one that even at his angriest left him no satisfaction to fell, the other... A divine duty. He cherished, respected, worshipped, and feared the Goddesses both. For one to exist without the other was an impossibility, their domains so complimentary in their dualistic nature. There was but one religion, despite twin goddesses. He was no stranger to Mayon, but—

His sword, long drawn and low as he'd surged to meet the [s][i]nameless, faceless, utterly unrelated to his former corps[/i][/s] mercenary on guard duty, rose as a wordless snarl peeled his lips away from his teeth. One more step. His blade was now held in a white-knuckle grip, tight to the body, as its biting tip aimed right for the sternum. All that momentum wouldn't be wasted. He'd ram it through. Quick death. Violent, but quick. Necessary.

—It was Reon and her teachings that had brought him to knighthood at all. They had instilled in young Gellert that a man's highest calling was to hunt down the wicked. Drag them into the light, so they may be judged. Pursue with all conviction and fury the Slaver. The Corrupted. The Demonic. Rest not until they are shorn from those they would hurt. Cleave and Smite, until it is done. This world was full of darkness. In it hid all threats to the people, to innocents, to [i]honest life[/i]. There they could skulk without fear of reprisal, surround their prey with impunity, with the gentle shield of Moonlight being all that stood between them and free reign over their would-be victims. 

Mayon's gift protected many within the refuge of her gaze, doubtlessly so. To suggest otherwise was idiocy. But moonlight could only do so much to pierce the deeper shadows in which true evil hid. And in Dark Times, there were so many Dark Places where Mayon's protection could not reach. Dens of evil much like the catacombs beneath Gerard's feet, a place that once interred those passed of a respected name, now so blackened by the acts of one traitor. Places like this.

Until Reon, from her seat upon the Burning Sun, gave all Fire to bring brilliant, purifying light to [i]them, so they may be vanquished[/i].

He entered range, and the fang of moonlight he held flashed in the dark, followed by the burning suns in his eyes as he plunged through those final few feet behind the point of his sword.

[color=goldenrod][i][b]No more.[/b][/i][/color]