<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff8000">Vega kept trailing her like the shadow of the night itself, not a single breath or sound escaped him as his prowling continued, waiting to see the witchâs destination. His expression went grim as she turned into the back alley of the street, knowing full well what kind of people lingered around there at night. Yet he didnât make a sound, he didnât intervene nor warn her, he simply followed, stalked, waited. She turned the corner, and he stayed behind it, only peeking slowly to find her being harassed by the thugs, his ear perking to every little word that escaped her lips and their own. Instinctively, his hand reached for the dagger hidden beneath his clothes, gripping the hilt tightly as he continued to listen. He was faced with a dilemmaâ¦he could let her beâ¦pretend this whole thing never happened, and let her to her fate, to be savagely raped and used by these men. But if he saved herâ¦if he took her away from those men, he could extract his revenge on her himself, he would get the opportunity to rid the world of another witch on his own.<br/>
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 The temptation for the latter was too overpowering, he had suffered to much to bottle up his anger and frustration, always ready to take it out on anybody. Finally, he took the dagger out of hiding, and placed his finger through the hole in the hilt, twirling it around his finger as he stepped from the shadows, and somewhat into sight. The dagger was rather big, scary skills would be needed to twirl and maneuver it so easily like it was nothing. The manâs face was hidden under the hood of his jacket, only trails of his long, black hair fell on his chest, his hazel green eyes striking the men from the shadows, only part of him visible from the moon light. âPatheticâ¦â The first word escaped his lips, his tone angeredâ¦frustrated, strong. âYou low lives have nothing better to do with your lives than prey on womenâ¦have you grown so disgusting that you would treat your own race like slavesâ¦your OWN race.â His last words were abit of a yell, despite his calm and collected posture. <br/>
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He expected retaliation, but he would never give them a chance to. He stood for a moment during the clichÃ© questions. Who are you, what are you doing here, what do you want, leave us aloneâ¦everything. Yet he only took his steps forward slowly, walking towards the men and the witch as more of his figure exposed. He was one of the most handsome men anyone laid eyes on, his long, black, fizzy hair almost looked like a lionâs mane, his eyes shot with anger and determination. In what seemed a few seconds, he was already right next to the man holding the witch. His arm swung up, and hit the manâs elbow from beneath it with pinpoint accuracy, breaking his arm in an instant. <br/>
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The other lunged at him from behind, all it took was a graceful leap over both of them, and in another second both were struck by the end of the dagger, rendering both men unconscious. Only one left that realized what had just happened, and Vice turned to the man with a glare that could free hell itself over. âRun, dogâ¦to the bitch you call your boss, you belong with filth like himâ With that, the man put his tail between his legs and dragged himself away, his faced drenched in tears of fear and pain. Vice slipped his dagger back into his belt, and turned to face the witch finally, his eyes plain and his face without expression. </span>