He effortlessly slipped along the path, his mind clearly running on automatic, the knife flashing out, catching the twitching body at the base of the skull, good carbon steel effortless parting the bone to separate the brain from the body, ensuring the target suffered as little as possible, even though he should be dead. He wrenched the knife free, using a boot, before rolling into the forest, and pausing, a few feet from the body, listening carefully for the other. Leather armor, a sword and bow, several knives. A few other, not as easily or quickly identified items adorned the corpse, indicating something was VERY wrong, nevermind he shouldn't be encountering a french speaker this close to the border, this deep in the wilderness. He silenced that part of his brain, and began slowly stalking toward the target, just his knife out. The bow stayed in its carry sheath on his back, the second target wouldn't see him until he wanted the target to.<br/><br/>He was his call sign, first used during the action that had earned his medal of honor, a shadow dragon, silent as the grave, and as dangerous as only a reaper could be. They would never see him coming.