To think he was disarmed would be a mistake.<br/><br/>"You think me a mage of only one arm?" He growled.<br/><br/>The pistol was dropped, no longer Audrice's concern since the weapon had been rendered useless by the shadow. Though they were one of his prized possessions, he was practical enough to know when it had been rendered useless. His hand, now free, was ignited, and for a moment the heat-treated leather of his glove crackled at the sudden change in temperature. It stopped the offensive blade short, catching them all at an impass. Were his attacker to continue, he could simple burn Modya like paper, and incinerate his attacker's face. Were his attacker to stop, they would be at an impass where both sides would have to concede to a draw. The only problem? Audrice was<i>far</i>too prideful to concede to an attacker who had to resort to shadows and back-stabbing in order to succeed.<br/><br/>"Elegance is reserved for the women, Modya." Audrice spoke once again, that same inhuman growl staining his voice from the dark depths of his throat, "Not for cowards who hide in the dark depths of fake night."<br/><br/>He now stood, flaming energy at his finger-tips pointed to either potential attacker, and his eyes gained a more feral appearance: slitted, and narrowed. He was an angry man, bordering on the verge of being a beast. A most undeniably negative trait of his race.