For Whom the Bell Tolls (Me and Jac)

He skulked along 32nd avenue, scanning the faces as he passed them. Nobody sent a glance his way. Why would they? He didn't look suspicious. But somebody had noticed something. All around the city, he had seen posters from the DWMA, asking people to report suspicious activity. Surely not a coincidence. He would have to watch his step more carefully.

He made his way to an abandoned warehouse on 41st avenue. It had produced some kind of packing material in another life, and nobody had decided to use it since. So now he had his crash pad. A mattress, lamp and a few other things he had "borrowed from shops around town had given him a nice little nest.

He flopped down on his lonely mattress and stared up at the ceiling. Well, things could be worse. But now that the DWMA has decided to start looking for him, his trips outside his fortress of solitude would have to be minimized. Well, these are problems for another day. And with that, he drifted off.

.
      A week ago a meister noticed a witch's soul inhabiting an abandoned warehouse. They had been low on resources, so they decided to push the task off onto someone else and report it to the DWMA. The always brash and glory-seeking Justin Greyhearth happened to be the first one to snatch the job." If I can capture this soul than it is certain that they will acknowledge me." Grey had tailed the witch once before from the the warehouse to see if he was alone. Today he followed the witch back to the ware house where he waited a few hours to make sure that moonlight would enter through the windows before he made his way in.

He dreamed he was on a skyscraper stretching above the city. He was higher than any of the other buildings, even tall than 1WTC. He looked down and saw the entirety of the city. What a wonderful feeling, being so high.

Then he woke up. You always make it all the way through nightmares, but good dreams get cut off in the middle. Such is life.

He got up and off his mattress. He looked out the shattered window, and saw the moon still high in the night sky, its eerie grin smiling down on him.

He walked out of the room that had become his bedroom out into the main room of the building. He stood on an elevated platform above the floor. It was littered with half-empty boxes, lights that had long burned out...

And a door slightly ajar.

It hadn't been left that way. He had never even used that door. So either the wind had gotten fingers, or someone was in here with him. Hi soul perception was shaky at best, but he could snse the blue blip of a human soul. He prepared to defend himself, in case this infiltrater was after more than cardboard.

.
   One of the eyes would fade away from off of the soul and form into a small shadowy soul itself, and the clone that manifested with this soul would slowly make its way towards the figure that had just approached the open door. The clone stepped over many a broken floor board in his attempt to be stealthy.

    He had both a dagger and a grape sized bead in hand, but before he could use them he crunched a bit of glass from the broken window under his foot. The clone had just turn a corner and was now in sight of the witch (assuming he was looking). After an instant of freezing up he threw the dagger at the witches chest. With his aim less than impeccable at night time he probably would hit its arm or something nearby.

Randir spun around, hearing the crunch of the glass. The knife sailed by him as he turned, cutting his forearm. His worst fears were confirmed. Someone was here to kill him.

One reason he had picked the old factory was a multitude of flies that had made the abandoned place their home. He took control and brought them sailing from the crevices, surrounding him in a ring of buzzing. He looked at the guy who had thrown the knife at him. He didn't seem that intimidating. is he was a miester, that meant he had just thrown his partner pat him. That would explain the two souls he felt. HE decided to focus on the miester.

He brought forth his swarm at lightning speed, engulfing the miester. He had the flies swarm around him, like a tornado, hoping to disorient him.

.
    As the clone was being surrounded by the mass of unpleasant stimuli Grey took this time to sneak to an area where he could use the shiny edge of his knife as a mirror to get another view of  the witch and his clone.every now and then Grey would swat at a non-existent fly while trying to keep his cool.

    The clone as would reach to the weapon case at his side to pull out a sword he would toss a grape-sized ball at the ground which would envelope the room in blinding light for a moment. Not wasting a moment the clone would charge at the witch hoping to stab at the witch's leg and distract him with pain.

The darkness of the warehouse quickly gave way to the light of a thousand suns. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered if the weapon had gotten the drop on him and this was heaven. But he still felt the two souls in the room, so something else had happened. The light was gone as soon as it had began, leaving him seriously disoriented. He lost control of his swarm and it dissipated.

He heard feet padding up behind him and turned around. The same person he had just engulfed in his swarm was charging at him. Had he escaped somehow? This distraction, combined with the disorientation from the light, gave the .... whatever it was just enough time to put a sword in his calf.

The pain didn't register. Randir looked down at the blade sticking through his calf, just below the knee. Then the pain came. Blinding, burning, awful pain. Nothing else mattered. The pain was all.

.
    The sword was in. "How many have you killed, Witch." the last word hissed out of the clone's mouth. He placed a hand on the witches shoulder, so that even if the witch decided to transform he would be able to grasp at its animal form. That is assuming that the animal form wasn't too large. It never occurred to Grey that A, the witch may be too young to have killed, or B, the witch could transform into a swarm of flies.

    The sword was in. Despite the appalling feeling of stabbing a kid as small as this witch was he managed through it. In the assumption that the witch was evil. I mean aren't they always. Not taking into account a very kind dragon he had a very similar dilemma with before. The guilt still weighed on his conscience, but it couldn't compare to the pride he felt at putting a witch in this position without a partner.

"Awwww, dangabit." Said a reluctant voice coming from the top of a heavy piece of machinery. A blonde man would reveal himself, peering over a big ol piece of machinery used to press dozens of cardboard pieces into the shape of boxes. He would be wearing a simple brown and dark blue hoodie. Along with althetic shorts and sneakers. He looked to be in his mid twenties.

"You see, I was here waiting for when the time was right. Popped open the door and came up here to have a nap. But then you have to come in all professional, like a proper trained killer and everything... Making it really hard to slack off." The man would hop down, absorbing the recoil of the fall into the muscles of his legs. Hand's tucked in the pocket's of his hoodie he would say. "I can't even keep myself fresh since I had to go ahead and find the youngest warlock in town." He'd sigh tiredly. His voice audibly changed from his relaxed and jokey tone into an authoritative, commanding tone that would incite fear in thinking to not follow it.

"Get away from the kid. He's hurt.
Or your going to have to answer to me."

(sorry i got started without you, man. just wanted to get things going. glad you showed up)

He was on the ground, frozen in shock and pain. He expected at any moment to be dealt the death blow. Strangely enough, he began to wonder about the metaphysical. What happened to you when your soul was eaten? Did you stay trapped inside the other person for all eternity? Did you simply cease to exist? Neither of these sounded pleasant.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he was aware of another voice. It was different from the first one. Here was the illusive weapon. He felt his tone, even though he didn't hear the words. It was not good.

.
    While he had an edge on either of them while they didn't know his ability, he doubted he could maintain that edge when dealing with multiple people. Though it killed him on the inside, maybe it would be better to run away from here. Grey began to make his way out a separate exit of the building. Preferring to make his way out of a busted window than to risk death here. The clone stayed behind though. "And if I don't. I get that he is a kid, but he is also a witch without a healing wavelength. His magic will taint him eventually." The clone pulled the blade from the witch's leg and slowly raised it until it was pointed at his heart. "Also, If you think that your taking his soul and not me, then you have another thing coming." The clone's focus seemed to wane a small amount as the Grey moved further and further away.

The man would hop down from his perch as Grey's clone pulled the sword. He would start walking up all the way until the clone took the sword and pinned it the the witches heart. Dispite the small smile he has on his lips, he seems to grimace at the stress of this. He would wait for the clone's focus to either entirely give way or for it to make any motion with it's sword. He'd call out. "Well your a damn dirty murderer kid if you've got that low of an opinion on human life!"

Once the clone was dealt with he would kneel over the child, taking off his hoodie and holding it to the wound like a bandage in order to stop the bleeding. "Just hang in there kid. Take deep breaths, you don't want to be pumping any more blood than you need right now. Try and relax, it's over. He'd recommend.

The sword coming out his leg felt like someone had stuck a hot iron his his already-agonizing leg. For the first time, he actually let out a scream, his conscious mind finally regain some control over his body. He tried to turn into a swarm and flee, but he was too weak; he had lost too much blood. He felt it soaking his pants and pooling onto the floor below him.
He felt the sword held to his neck, and figured that this was it. He pitifully squeaked out "Please...don't."
He felt the sword withdrawn, and something pressed against his leg. The same voice as before was telling him something, but he couldn't make out what. His head lolled back, and he passed out form blood loss.

.(OOC: I am really confused what everyone else thinks happened to the clone. I'm not really sure where to begin rping in this post. The clone is currently still there, unless I am the only one who is confused - in which case, I am sorry about that. I truly do apologize anyways for breaking up the rping, but I am a little bit confused. Thus, I felt it necessary.)
    After it stalled for a few moments the clone would fade, and Grey would appear at the door holding a translucent white box with a red plus on it firmly in his hand. Inside were antiseptics, bandages, gauze, muscle relaxants, insulin, coagulants, and some other medical supplies. "You can fix him up with these, but afterwards you and me go outside. I win he's mine to do with as I see fit. You win the same applies to you. No questions. Do you except my offer?" There was no hesitation in Grey's eyes, if anything they were passionate. They almost screamed how badly he wanted this opportunity to prove himself. He stared Sam down, and held the box out towards him waiting for him to decide.

"Carfull kid. Your headed down a dark path." Says Sam, as he reaches out to take the box. Nodding in agreement. Sam would get the wound cleaned, disinfected, and bandaged. Before standing up. "Outside, now. And let me tell you Kid. If you manage to take me down.... You deserve the guilt of being a dirty murderer. Cause it'll take a lot more drive than I have."

He was lost in the depths of his own mind. Was he dead? He couldn't say for sure. If this was the afterlife, it sucked. SOme part of his subconscious was aware of the binding of his leg, but not all of him. He floated through his head for a while longer...
He was awake again. The pain in his leg still hurt like a bitch, but it wasn't crippling like before. He looked down, and saw that he had been bandaged up. Somebody wanted him alive. whether this was good or bad, he didn't want to find out. He tried to transform ,but he was still to weak. He had lost too much blood. He saw the pair standing over him. He could see the one who had seemed to teleport, and the other voice he couldn't identify. This was going to be interesting.

. Street lamps illuminate the cobblestone road with strangely cool, orange lights. It is quiet here, but far away the sound of the city resonates with the hum of the street lamps. A cold breeze enters slightly stinging nostrils, and exits as an ephemeral mist. Brick buildings would dampen the sound of the fighting that was probably about to occur.
     Click. Grey unlocks his weapon case and prepares himself for a black dragon, a manipulator of shadows, or a massive construct of candy. He had been training to overcome his weakness, and, though he wasn't at the level of skill he wished to be, his mind was ready. "Primary Eclipse" The clone would appear beside Grey, identical to him in almost every way. Grey1 would back up to beneath a street lamp as Grey2 would position itself between Grey1 and the door. Each would take a side facing stance with a dagger in hand. One of them is palming a flash-bang.

Grey and clone locations/actions (spoiler. read if you wanna. I just wanted to provide the option.):

Sam would stand there in the shadows, grinning. "That look on your face....." He'd say. "Looks to me like that's the kind of expression that's expecting Jason Voorhees, Cuthulu, and Satan himself to take you on...."

He would begin to walk towards them casually, not stopping until they took action he had his hands in his hoodie with the hood turned up. It seemed like he was looking at them down with an angle.

"Sorry to disappoint."

Sam looked up, his eye's just barely visible in the light of the streetlamp. They burned with a passion as bright as a thousand suns. His smile not fading. His look sent the message that if anything on this earth was ever going to bring him down he would never let it be Grey.

(you guys go ahead without me ill jump back in when im relevant)

. (Sorry for the wait I wanted to wait until I was feeling better to post.)
    Grey and the clone both audibly tightened their grips on their swords. "I will be the one to take that witch from this place." Grey waited for the kishin egg to get a little closer. He never believed that 'he who strikes first wins'. He was always of the school of thought that he who makes the first move wins', and he had already begun his first play.

Sam would keep walking towards them, not stopping. "I'm not even armed. If you want this to be fare... Then give me his weapon or throw down yours." Said Sam, who wanted as much of an advantage as he could get without any effort being put in on his part. If the boy was academy, his teachers might of taught him a thing or two.

.     Far off a church bell begins chiming.
    Grey2 would pay no mind to Sam's plea for even a simulacrum of fairness and would move forwards towards Sam before attacking him with is wakizashi. He would swing down towards Sam's head hoping to force him to change direction, and if he did Grey1 would throw a dagger at him.

Sam would step to the side of the Wakizashi, baggy clothing making it harder to see where his actual body was. He then hit the deck, back all the way on the concrete. As the knife went over him. His leg shot up to kick the weapon out of the second Grey's hand. "That's, Disappointing."

.
Grey2 would move forward in an attempt to catch Sam's foot in his armpit, and keep his weapon in hand. He would swing the pommel of the weapon at Sam's knee in an attempt to break it. Grey1 eould come a little closer, but otherwise remain a non-combatant.

Sam knew if he took such a disabling blow this early in the fight he was sure to loose. So he shot his hand forward to grab the clones clothing and pulled him over his head like a back alleyway professional wrestler.