[CENTER][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/210117/7423788cb403d4c94cda8db158b092fa.png[/img][/CENTER]
[indent][indent][indent][color=gray][sub][right][color=dc143c][b]Location:[/b][/color] City Streets -- City-State of Thorinn, Aetheria[/right][/sub][/color]
[hr]Graves fought with the speed and ferocity of a feral animal. He flung himself at Siegfried without a moment's hesitation- no prodding at his defenses, no harsh words, no final chance to solve this amicably. Sig had his chance to back down. Had his chance to swallow that last barb and walk away. But he'd known just where to shove the knife to piss Graves off and he'd taken the stab. Now it'd cost him, perhaps dearly.

The blade danced in the air in wild, unpredictable arcs. It would dash forward as if to strike only to flutter away and leave an opening for a gaunleted fist to slam into whatever opening it had exposed. Never let up. Never give him a moment to breathe. Keep stepping forward into his space, always forcing the retreat. If Sig stopped he'd get a knife in the gut.

There's a tight cluster of blood vessels just above the eye. A quick, surface level slash would send a gush of crimson flowing into a man's eyes. The shoulder socket was a ripe target, too: a good few inches in and he'd sever the axillary artery and damage the nerve cluster that controlled the arm, paralyzing it. Stab through the inner thigh, targeting the femoral nerve to lock his hips in place. Graves knew every inch of the human body. Knew just where to cut to break it. If he'd wanted, he could kill Siegfried right there with one flick of his wrist.

[sub][color=dc143c][i]Feint with the knife. Draw attention away from other hand. Slash the jugular. Watch him fucking die-[/i][/color][/sub]

It took all his willpower to drown out that ravenous little thing in his chest. No killing blows. Nothing that would paralyze him. Just small, light cuts. Make him bleed. Make him hurt. Never more than that. The blade was more of a distraction, anyway; amateur duelists always focused on their opponent's weapon rather than their stance. You could always tell what someone was planning to do based on how they stood, how they planted their feet or rotated their hips. Graves had fought more player than Sieg had probably even [i]seen[/i]. He'd danced with the masters of the art and proved himself worthy time and time again. Dungeon delving and slaying monsters was fun, to be sure, but this?

This was his [color=dc143c][i]profession.[/i][/color]

[sub][i][color=dc143c]'Not doing real damage. He's shielded. The girl.'[/color][/i][/sub]

Seele, still playing hero even now. It made his blood boil watching her protect the man that so obviously didn't give a shit if she lived or died. That so callously mocked her potential brutal murder. All she wanted was to help people. Save lives. And this is the thanks she gets from spineless, gutless little [i]rats[/i] like Sig.

[sub][i][color=dc143c]'Supports are the backbone of a party. Tear them apart and their allies crumble.'[/color][/i][/sub]

Why did she insist on protecting him? This was a lesson he needed to learn. He needed a dose of humility- of respect- beaten into his fragile skull. 

[sub][i][color=dc143c]'You can't stop him until she's dealt with.'[/color][/i][/sub]

How could he possibly convince her? She wouldn't understand. Couldn't.

[sub][i][color=dc143c]'She trusts you implicitly. You'd be on her before she even knows what's happening. It'd be quick.'[/color][/i][/sub]

What?

[sub][i][color=dc143c]'She's weak.[/color][/i][/sub] Why the fuck was he thinking- [sub][i][color=dc143c]Strike the temple and she crumples.'[/color][/i][/sub] Couldn't get it out of his- [sub][color=dc143c][i]'She won't even feel it.'[/i][/color][/sub]

He felt himself slipping further. The pounding sound of blood in his ears was rising to a crescendo. He cut deeper. Struck harder. His heart beat inside his throat. He hadn't realized he was losing control until it was gone. Until he shoved Siegfried back and rounded on Seele.
[/indent][/indent][/indent]