The woods were quiet, but the kind of quiet that came before a storm. Rayne stood still at the edge of enemy territory, just beyond the shadows where the trees grew thicker and the stench of dark magic lingered in the air like rotting smoke. The twin daggers in his hands pulsed with magic, alive, alert. His Jacket whispered with the wind as he crouched slightly, ready to move. His breath was steady. His eyesburned blue, glowing brighter with each second.
Behind him, his summoned mage, tall, lean, sword in hand, watched silently, awaiting the signal. There were no words spoken. And then—
He vanished.
A crack of air snapped in his wake, and in a blur, Rayne appeared in the middle of the first patrol group, four Dark Mages walking in a tight circle. They barely registered the movement before—
Slash.
