A woman crouched on a rooftop, her eyes cold and calculating as she watched the black-cloaked figure moved rapidly between her two companions, who were doing something profoundly idiotic: attacking thin air.
However, as though it was only natural they reacted that way, their actions elicited not the slightest ripple in her expression.
She was a beauty in all sense. Black hair that mended with the darkness, her dress that hugged every curve of her body under the rain, and her cold green eyes that matched her equally green skin.
She watched as the first dropped to a single slash, offering his neck as if volunteering for death.
The second lunged wildly, attacking with his scimitars as though he had already claimed victory, only for his head to be severed just as cleanly... then crushed underfoot by the cloaked figure without a word after a small pause.
Because he had refused to die, after he was beheaded.
