The man showed his years by refusing to flinch even in the face of an ancient. He loaded another bolt into his crossbow, but this shot would be different. His features twisted with malice and pain as he watched his prey dart from side to side. A growl followed by a scowl, then he aimed again. He was clearly skilled with this weapon — perhaps the one he had honed above all others — tracking the vampiress’ movement as she swayed midair.

With another click, a bolt flew toward the winged nightmare, but this time the head expanded and released a net made of blessed silver. It snapped open, glistening in the moonlight as it hurtled toward the place where the vampire hovered above the street.

[i]'No…!'[/i] Lyselle thought, familiar with the tactic Delwyn was employing — setting her new companion up to be captured and tortured like her offspring. Her body moved on its own, lifting a hand as she felt life-energy pour from her core and out through her fingertips.

Light illuminated the street as etchings formed in the air, drawn with the efficiency and grace of hours upon hours of practice. She finished just in time — the net poised to wrap around the winged woman — but instead a pillar of light blasted outward and slammed the silver against the brick wall opposite Ren.

The sigil glowed and ebbed for several moments before fading, leaving a panicked Lys standing there.

[i]'Why did I do that!?'[/i]

Delwyn’s head snapped toward her, hatred burning behind his eyes.
[b]"What the fuck are you doing, Lyselle!? She’s a damn vampire! Kill her!!"[/b]

Too focused on his prey to waste more than a heartbeat on the girl, he loaded another bolt, untying a scroll and tossing it to the ground. Ren could see the sigil written on it — a trap, perhaps — or something to buy him time.

Still shaken by everything happening and the chaos erupting around her, she called after the vampiress, [color=#9BA7C3][b]“please don’t kill him!”[/b][/color] Her voice was earnest, genuine, pleading — clearly not even wanting the fight to be happening at all.

She wasn’t sure she had the strength to cast another Script so soon, so she fumbled for her throwing knives instead — she had always preferred them to Delwyn’s wrist crossbow. They suited her quick hands better than that clunky thing he trusted so completely.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t a threat —
a threat to the first woman who ever spoke her name, who ever whispered to her very soul.

Still… she didn’t want him to die either.