Khazna idly ran his left hand over the dull side of his blade as he admired its craftsmanship. Khazna seemed oblivious to the small battle just several feet ahead of him. Still the 'immortal' continued shouting jibs just barely heard over the cacophony of gun fire. One might have thought he would have given up by now? Years spent under intense psychotherapy had born in the Cardinal a discipline few men possessed. This Leeroy certainly liked the sound of his own voice. By now he had leapt blindly for cover a few feet back in the form of a bench. At this point a black mist had started to swell around Khazna as he calmly walked forward. Just then the man began to lift his temporary shelter and made it something of a shield. The last rounds of gunfire colliding into it and around the man’s feet creating sparks here and there. 

"Now that I know you're a chickenshit, buddy, I'm just waiting for you to dismiss the cannonfodder and actually fight me. I'd be willing to bet that I could take you in a one on one fight. Your guards are just gonna get killed if you don't come in here."

The guard’s gun ran dry before he could correct his aim and he hastily reloaded. There was an almost deadening silence as the shooting stopped momentarily. At this point Khazna stood almost within the doors entrance. 

"I take pride in my word, boy. I'd be willing to bet you'd love to mount a still living head to your wall wouldn't you? So, are you going to callously throw away the lives of your men just to give yourself a pitiful advantage against me?" 
 
Khazna causally tilted his head at this outburst; he certainly liked to use the word 'boy'. The man was really in no position to threaten let alone make demands. Such an interesting one this Leeroy was turning out to be. Still perhaps he would humor the man? The mist of black was now heavy in the air around him and he decided now was the time to make use of it. 

 "One on one? I don't make a habit of fighting the handicapped." Even as he spoke his sword had already flashed in front of him in a blur of motion slicing the open air. "But if you insist. Catch." Suddenly as if by magic, a blade appeared in the air seemingly built out of the space before him, or more accurately the black mist. An almost exact duplicate of [i]Serenity[/i] he caught the sword cleanly with his left hand then tucked it across his chest under his right arm then flung it forward with uncanny skill and godly precision. 

Just then the man Leeroy had dared to peek from behind his makeshift shield to mouth off another challenge. The sight of the weapon would no doubt give the man quite the surprise, likely he had never witnessed one throw his sword like an oversized dagger before. With the speed the weapon was thrown and distance between them (if the man could even see the blade traveling through the air from his angle) it was unlikely he would be able to avoid it. Its velocity, some 189 feet per second, and weight meant it would pierce through the bench with over 30 inches of Starhilm. Impaling it and the man behind it with the force to knock the air from his lungs, cut through the flesh past his suit and sunder a rib or two. The weapons course aimed for the center mass of Leeroys body just under where his heart should be. 
 
In the few seconds Khazna had been at the doors entrance his razor sharp eyesight had taken in the room in its entirety. Quickly absorbing his surroundings as any experienced warrior would. The room was roughly 30 feet in length and a little more than half that in width. Within it, three rows of machines took up most of the chambers room. With the walls possessing what seemed to be pipes built into them. An idea was already forming in the Cardinals mind and what little of his opponent he could see pointed at the fact he no longer could be carrying his rifle, and only one hand was carrying the bench. All this he took within the span of a heartbeat. 
 
The moment he had loosed the sword Khazna entered into a combat stance legs bent and muscles ready to spring forward or back at a moment’s notice with his feet squarely set apart. His blade ready for another sweep through the mist around him.