"Good work." The Aasimar smiled, his stern and angelic face marred by the cruelty in his lips and the callousness in his eagle eyes.

"Surrender peacefully or I shall smite you where you stand, Demon." The man places the sword back and reaches his hand out, chanting - the words sounded wrong, like a child playing with their parent's bones - that the words are not suppose to exist.

Nerine may feel the creeping edge of fear biting at her nerves.