His heat forgotten Darkic threw himself from his chair fully drawing Soul ledge from its hilt. It was a gift from his father, the one and only gift from his father he willingly kept. The blade appeared almost blue and didn’t in fact cut, no it dead much worst, it separated a being from their soul with the slightest of touch. The hilt, although made of bone, was the vestige of a serpent. He threw the leopard behind him, and drove the blade deep into the chest of her attacker. In the realm of life he didn’t make a sound but in the realm of purgatory, linking the worlds of life and death together, which only beings of death could see, the man screamed for moment’s afterwards before fading into the realm completely and off the mortal plain all together. “My normal charge is five pieces of silver for twenty four hours but since I’m desperate for work I’d be willing to go down too one.”