Stupid girl. Stupid, stupid girl... If he had done something this idiotic, father would have punished him till he'd beg. Or worse, killed him. Rage simmered in his dark blood as he pushed the Harlequin back, standing back up and taking a proud stance, though with a hand on the hilt of his blade even then. Caution would always do good, no matter whether you were dealing with a Nekron or an Ork... And that was something Asduthara bore in mind.<br/>His gauntleted hand swept the strands of pale hair, reaching long down to the collar of his gear, aside, to look the metal creature in the eyes. He could see his very own reflection mirrored in it, pale and cool, and hard, ever was it hard, like steel. He had to make sure that this sort of chaos would not repeat, ever, or the punishment for starting it - and it mattered not WHO would start it - would be harsh and stern. That much the Dracon could make sure of, especially were the problematic ones in question his own sworn Dusk Blades, who now took their places around him, to protect him from any potential danger.<br/><span style="color: #BFFFFF">"I do apologize for my companion's idiotic behavior. She is young. I, as the representative of the Kabal of the Pierced Moon, wish no conflicts for the time being. My concerns are other than that, as yours seem to be, too."</span>he proclaimed, in an icy reserved tone, with his hand at the hilt of his blade, yet not drawing it. It was more important to preserve his life and win himself the favor of his enemy... That way, there would be a lesser risk when he'd finally decide to strike them down.<span style="color: #BFFFFF">"Take my apologies and stop this chaos, or else."</span>he offered finally, keeping his head high.<br/><br/>Something dark gleamed behind Asduthara's back. A shrill metallic screech.<br/><br/>A sharp pain, nigh unbearable was he a lesser being, bit through his side. A fang of cold metal stuck out of his back, stabbed deep into his flesh underneath his ribs, only a jagged hilt visible out the plates of armor. And it was excruciating, for it bore deep into his body, streaming dark scarlet blood through the scales of armor, staining the cape that hung from his shoulders. A psychotic laughter, akin to that of a crow, echoed through the tavern, and the ground thudded and clinked as the Dracon sunk to his knees, pressing his hands under his ribs, a thin stream of blood staining the porcelain facade of his face. His back arched as he placed one hand onto the ground, supporting himself, and for a moment, every second seemed an eternity long. His chest rose and sunk, and he heaved, coughing out dark red of blood, which left a heavy, earthy taste on his tongue. A taste not unknown, yet it still struck him by surprise.<br/>But his hand did not hesitate. It gripped the hilt of the whip, thin fingers clenching around it like fangs of steel, and within the break of a moment, it lashed out. A vicious snake that curled around a white throat, biting in and strangling, even as the man that held him knelt on the ground, blood dripping off his narrow lips. The laughter disappeared, turning into gasps, gasps for breath and gasps of pain.<br/><span style="color: #BFFFFF">"You f**king bastard. If you could only be more of an atrocity in the face of the universe. Now die."</span>though his voice was little more than a hoarse whisper, it sown fear in the hearts of those that would hear it.<br/>He knew someone would try to take his life even now, in this remote hive world. They always did. They weren't stupid... Yet, he himself was no fool, either. Yl'agard was only one of many; not the first, not the last, and not the most clever, either. To stab him out in the open like this, surrounded by people... He must have hoped that he will cause enough chaos to assassinate him. But he underestimated his superior - Asduthara was no simple Kabalite, he was a Dracon, and for that, there was a reason.<br/><br/>His hand around the whip tightened, and he dragged it forth in an abrupt motion, not raising his sight from the floor till then. The Dusk Blade, choking slowly, went crashing onto the floor, hands clawing at his own throat. Asduthara didn't utter one more word as he placed his free hand onto his knee, slowly raising himself to his feet. The pair of cool grey eyes met frightened green. Liar. Liar and asskisser. Now he had what he deserved. He straightened his back, and placed one foot right under Yl'agard's chin, forcing his head up.<br/><span style="color: #BFFFFF">"Traitors have no glory."</span>he proclaimed coldly.<br/>His arm was thrown up and back.<br/>The Dark Eldar on the floor thrashed wildly for a moment, his face growing deathly pale with the lack of oxygen as the whip's grip tightened, and his nerves were sent into overdrive, burning out with the sheer intensity of the pain. Only a few more moments, and he sprawled over the floor lifelessly. A clean kill, not a drop of blood that was shed, and not a word was spoken from the other two Dusk Blades in the meantime.<br/><br/>He drew a deep breath in, the wound in his back burning as if the dagger was set aflame. The whip was coiled back and returned to its right place, and only then did the other two dare move.<br/><span style="color: #FFBFBF">"My lord."</span>Kaestra's hand appeared on his shoulder, ready to support him.<br/><span style="color: #BFFFFF">"No. Clean him up, Kaestra. Caennyr, pull that wrenched thing out of me."</span>Asduthara commanded them sharply. The younger Dusk Blade nodded shortly, giving the dead body a grim look before gripping it by the waist, and picking it up roughly. In the meantime, Caennyr wasted no time to bring his lord a chair a help him seat himself onto it, and he swiftly removed the pieces of armor around the dagger, as not to let them get in the way and cause more damage. Only then did his sure hand grip around it, and without either one of them as much as wincing forced it out of the Dracon's flesh. More blood dashed out, coloring both his hand, Asduthara's skin, and his armor red, but it was quickly stopped; Caennyr pressed his own hand onto it swiftly.