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Edward Bennigan
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~1442 | PARIS | FASHION SHOW VENUE
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The successful lift of the skeleton hand allowed Edward a brief respite from the rush of panic. Burdened by the emotional exhaustion, it only served to distract him further as now crowds of people pushed and shoved. Between the unnecessary, suffocating crowd of fleeing patrons and his corporeal feet being cut against the class, Edward had become far from comfortable. He silently hissed before he regained enough sense to render himself incorporeal once more, about the time he noticed the plant-controlling wisp, his prey, recovering fast. Bastard must be even more hungry now.

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“Second round then?”[/color] Like a switch he had returned to his more confident persona, his lips stretched into an awfully sly and devious smirk.

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“Fool, you don’t stand a chance against this sorcerer.” [/color]

Edward pointed his left palm outward.

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“Mark of death, strike true!” [/color] Another incantation. Four bolts of deathly magic were conjured above and around his outstretched arm, they hovered in place for only a few moments before they arced towards the wisp’s central body. Despite knowing he wasn’t the most efficient at melee, the pride and thrill he felt lured him to charge directly after the path his arcane bolts soared. Lightning crackled from his staff as he planned to point-blank blast a potentially dazed wisp, assuming his spell lands and produces its intended affect.

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“The end draws near for you!”[/color]