Vos was quite relifed, now that all the struggling and squirming on the ground was behind, and even joyed at his opponent's notion to hold his ground and taunt the mage pursuing him. Because that gave him plenty of time to think of a new tactic and cast a few spells. Alert and wary, he concentrated on the task of preparing his most useful powers, toughening muscle with Boulder Gut and targeting Black and White at Sev, who were about to incur the conseqences of giving Vos just a lttle spare time. Standing in the shadows, he would be difficult to spot once the spell was cast, and before Sev's eyes would adjust to the sudden change of lighting, he would dive behind one of the nearby cars, hoping that his repositioning would go unnoticed. Vos could see the biker's reflection in the toned windshield of the neighbouring car - and while that meant the mage would eventualy be spotted as well, to him, it were better than losing track of an enemy. Swapping both Danwarge and the thick dagger for a pair of stilletos, keen not only on the point, but at its two sides, he began charging both with a steady stream of mana: Vos had a few uses for the Killer Ring spell in his mind, and the more powerful it would, the better.

Though he was only enveloped in blackness for a moment, that moment was too long a time it seemed. When the darkness ended, there was no Sev standing on the spot that was once inhabited by his armored bulk. Nor was his bike parked along the side street any longer. For some inexplicable and totally unforeseen reason, Sev had disappeared.

Azarak's gun cracked down on the spider-man's shoulder and momentarily disabled the nerve, leaving Mik defenceless as Azarak launched his left hand up in a vicious choke and drove his opponent's body upwards with momentum and strength surprising for such a seemingly lithe Human. The slam came immediately afterwords, and the collision with the pavement was far from pretty for the demon's quarry. Though he certainly wasn't dead, unconsious more than likely, he wasn't going to be putting up much of a fight when Azarak gutted him with some obsidian blades.

Of course, there was the threat of the others fighting nearby, which caused him to leave the easy kill for later and stand quickly, just in time to see the burlier of the two fighters had dissapeared, leaving his foe looking somewhat lonely.

Azarak smiled inwardly, no witnesses.

His pistol was already leveled at the mage's blind side, somewhat behind him and to his right, and without a thought for the life he would be callously ending on the off chance they had seen his actions, he let fire with the high calibre revolver. The first shot was always center of mass, the second and third shots fired a few moments after in a tight spread to ensure maximum damage to the body, the headshot execution could be completed after the first two actions.

But would Azarak be so lucky?

It seemed that he had only blinked, losing sight of the biker for a fraction of a second - but Sev had completely dissapeared, not even the sound of his heavy footsteps to be heard. Startled, Vos first peeked over the car's front, and turned around, thinking that Sev could possibly teleport, using this ability to strike from behind. But instead, he saw some other guy - fourth to come here, an uninvited guest - aiming a six-shooter to his body. That moment, his pupil's dilated and face became an even paler white white than before, fear painfuly yanking at his heart: this were a threat far greater than any he had faced before, and unable to deal with it, all he could was only run away.

Vos leapt towards the nearest window, the first shot catching him in the shin; the muscle's inherent toughness lessened the damage, his leg remaining functional, but the wound were left bleeding. There were little distance between him and the building, leaving no time for another round to be fired, and so, crashing through glass, he quickly pulled himself upright, the leg feeling but a little bit sore for now. The mage checked on his mana flow, making sure the daggers were steadily charging with energy, while quickly taking note of his surroundings. He had to think of something before the gunner would catch up on him, and to win some time, he barged through the door and into the building's corridors, seeking cover somewhere down the hallway.

Adrenaline spared Vos of the pain, but once its effects faded, he'd have even less of a chance against Azarak.

Azarak looked on as his nimble witness escaped his lethal barrage with barely a flesh wound, his mouth tightening in response to the excitement he was clearly feeling at the challenge. He couldn't let this one go, even if he hadn't seen anything, and if he tried to make good his escape with the spider boy (for it was always worth finding out if capturing quarry alive was worth more) the man he had just wounded would surely come back for him.

The shattering of glass alerted him to the eventual destination of his foe, diving into a building and presumebly not just shattering his arms on the ground below. The man-faced demon approached quickly, loading the revovler with his remaining four shots to put it back up to a full chamber. He had some business to attend to after all.

Putting his back to the wall, he peered into the building just in time to see a door slam shut as his foe made better his escape. Azerak tensed, but remained where he was, no need to risk diving head-first into his foe quite yet.

All were quiet. He were expecting to hear the gunner's fottsetps, ruslting of glass - it t seemed that he were still alone in this building. Taking advantage of this, Vos quickly ascended to the second floor, shutting himself in one of the rooms, the door propped up with a hefty wardrobe, and creeping up to one of the windows in reder to observe his adversary. He hoped to be in time to cast the Black and White spell, gaining eye contact, which were necessary for him to do so.

Afterwards, he would take both his hoodie and longcoat off, left with just a shirt, and cut off a sleeve to bandage his wound. While it were not too serious for an ascended human established Mageblade llike him, he were planning to jump out the second-story window, tighly wrapping his leg to prevent any further trauma. If by then, there still would be no signs of Azarak pursuing him, Vos would carefuly open the window and then fling one of his stilletos at the power line, cutting out the lamposts' electricity and leaving the streets nigh pitch black.

Some considerable time had already passed without any activity and Azarak was not willing to lose the initiative quite yet. Assuming (rightly) that his foe had made good his escape and delved further into the building Azarak couldn't ,nor cared, to identify, the demon leapt over the window-sill. He barely disturbed a single shard of glass when he landed on near impossibly quiet feet, his gun at the ready, and walked towards the doors his foe had left from.

Meanwhile, his foe was taking a moment to blockade a door and bandage his wounds, giving the demon vital time to catch up. Time he utilized quickly to trail his prey, following miniscule droplets of blood first up the stairs and then to a door into what he recognised as another room, and likely a small one. It would do him no good to be surprised here, but on quietly listening at the door he heard minor activity that did not suggest a foe lying in wait. Perhaps his flesh wound was to be his undoing after all?

With a hefty kick way out of proportion to his size Azarak plunged his foot straight through the flimsy frame of the door and immediately broke the locking mechanism. To his surprise there was a greater deal of resistance then he expected, likely due to the wardrobe which although unsuitable for the job was still heavy enough to force Azarak to blast the door with another quick follow-up kick.

He hissed in annoyance as the wardrobe collapsed and the door split off its hinges, falling flat over the obstruction to provide a handy bridge. The barricade would have given the witness to time to react to the demon's presence.

Still, he had a gun, and it was trained on the openness of the room, ready to fire at least two shots should the target present itself, likely at centre of mass. Azarak, being a demon hitman, had a fair amount of experience clearing rooms like this, and his opponent wouldn't find ambushing him at the door all that easy if he went for that form of attack.

Vos were about to tie the cut off sleeve around his calf when he heard something crash into the door, nearly toppling the hefty wardrbe at once. Half expecting the hitman's intrusion, he had left one of the sitilletos before him, on the fllor, and now Vos grabbed it, thrusting from the ground upwards as the dagger's hilt slipped into his hand. Similtaneously activating the Killer's Ring spell, he would turn this into a vicous backstab, aimed at whoever was standing behind the door; while even with his keen eye he wouldn't be able to achive pinpoint accuracy, the door's frame would give him a rough estimate his opponent's position in both the horizontal and vertical plane, while lunging forwards from a his crouching position would give the stab a long enough trajectory to ignore depth altogether.

This was a risky move, has the moment the door would topple, he would be within Azarak's line of sight, and only a succesful hit could guarantee Vos wouldn't be shot down before he could take any other moves.

The audible buzzing was Azarak’s only saving grace as the door slammed open and he strode into the room, firing off a single round at his quickly rising opponent’s upper-body, a sloppy shot, a shoulder graze at best. He followed up by nimbly rolling over the door-bridge, feeling a blade somehow cut into his back and spine and cleave a nasty chunk of flesh from his body all the while. The pain ignored as adrenaline spurred him on, he dived into the room and had his pistol already trained at his foe to fire, expecting the bum-rush or quick escape that was most common in these sorts of situations. Either way, he wasn’t letting whatever had just hit him have a second try, once his foe was dead or dealt with it would be a simple matter to turn and face what he assumed was a second opponent.

A wicked force swept over his shoulder, rending his skin, which became a final warning for Vos. The hitman were already in firing range, and he would know no mercy, already firing the moment he had barged through the makeshift barricade.

A foe like that wouldn't leave him time for a second attack, and that pushed him to the most desparate of measures he would ever resort to: giving up his grasp on stream of events in favor of letting luck decide their outcome. Wether his foe would be caught off guard by this trick was unknown, yet he couldn't think of any other way to halt death's approach in time; his dagger already pointed towards Azarak, with little more than 6 feet between them, Vos fired a jet of caustic liquid towards his face, while similtaneously dropping to the ground and dashing towards the opponent's left flank. If this worked, winning him even a meager fraction of a second, there was a chance of him taking the upper hand, his body specificaly trained to gain the highest possible speed in as little time as possible.

Azarak would have hardly flinched from the sudden burst of liquids launched at him when he regained his footing within the room, had he been in his demonic form.

But he wasn’t.

With the restrictive human body his only tool for the job, fragile and pathetic as it may be, he had to rely on speed and manoeuvrability rather than a dogged power and durability. Hence, relying on the fact that the fastenings for his jacket had broken sometime earlier in the night, he shrugged the restrictive clothing off and threw it into the path of what he had no way of knowing was acid. It was a close cut thing, and even as he moved away from its path (assuming realistically that the material may not stop his opponent’s acid, nor what he briefly saw was a follow up charge) he skirted rightwards and further into the building. The acid cut through the jacket but it didn't find any purchase on the demon himself, nimble as his dodge was. It had also put him further away from his opponent’s intended target, possibly allowing Azarak the chance to level his pistol at the rapidly approaching quarry.

Blood dripped down his spine... staining his pure white shirt, determination set upon his face.