Daveak slipped through the large and slightly ajar door into his target's living space. Ridiculous, he thought for possibly the twentieth time. Sending a Boardmaster to eliminate a simple bishop.

Nonetheless, he silently closed the door behind him, and even managed to slide the bolt into place without noise. Damn I'm good. The chamber was darkly lit, and crowded with furniture. It was hard to make out colors in the dark, but it seemed that the predominant colors of the room were red, purple, and white. Daveak cringed slightly.

The room was split into two portions. Roughly one-third of the trapezoidal room was raised by about two steps, and on that raised area, was a massive desk absolutely cluttered in books and papers and scrolls and such. Behind the desk, on the small end of the trapezoid, was a large window taking up almost the entire wall. Its purple curtains were drawn such, but a meager amount of moonlight managed to struggle through. On either side of the desk, angled to be flat against the walls, were large bookcases full of literature. On the lower area, the one Daveak now stood in, was a small sitting space of three large cushioned chairs, and a small coffee table in-between. Lining the walls of this area, too, were more bookshelves, save for a space for a door on either slanted wall. Light leaked from the door on the right.

Daveak tucked himself up into the shadows, his dark leathers making him appear as no more than a pair of eyes in the night. And he waited patiently, silently, until finally the door opened. In shuffled a large figure wearing robes larger still. He took a seat at the desk and lit a candle. It wasn't for a few minutes afterwards before he noticed Daveak leaning against the heavy wooden door leading in.

They stared at each other for a few minutes before Daveak moved, standing erect.

"Bishop Arcan." He said, turning his whole body laterally and pointing with an outstretched hand. "In your quest for power, you have lied, stolen, murdered, raped and tortured." He paused dramatically, enjoying the moment. "For that, you will be punished."

"Murdered?" the bishop said after a long pause. "Stolen? Tortured? Raped? I assure you, I have done none of these things. Lied, yes, but not a soul lives that hasn't committed such a minor sin."

"Oh, you have. Maybe not personally, but you have hired goons and thugs galore. You have become less than a man to rise to a position of power you don't believe in."

The man rose, hands supporting the bulk of his weight on the desk. For a brief flash, Daveak could see Arcan's soul. It was a putrid blue, in the shape of an L and vaguely segmented into four pieces. He stood in that posture for a long while, bent over his desk, staring intently at the wooden thing. Then Daveak slowly strode over to the desk and assumed a similar stance.

"What're we looking at?" he asked sarcastically. Then, he actually looked at what they were looking at, and his eyes grew wide. He only caught a glimpse of it before it burned out, but he saw it. A Demon Rune. It was scribed into a scroll, and when its otherworldly embers that had been alight went out, the desk burst apart, throwing Daveak into the door he entered through. He slowly rose to his feet, assuming that was all his target had.

He was wrong.

Arcen had discarded his heavy cloak and robes, revealing a very surprisingly muscular physique. At first Daveak was truly surprised, but then he noticed just the faintest of auras. He had been augmented. He wasn't normally like this, but he had traded something for a brief amount of combat ability.

Arcen picked up his massive chair with one giant arm and hurled it at Daveak. Daveak dove under it, rolling and drawing his weapons at the same time, and came up swiping a dagger in each hand in a clean arc, missing his target by an inch. The Bishop took a step back, revving a fist.

Daveak, experienced as he was, saw it coming, and so rolled backwards, putting enough distance between them to cause Arcen's blow to miss wildly, sending him off-balance. Daveak swept a leg under the large man and pulled, forcing him to fall prone. But as soon as he hit the ground, Arcen threw his body sideways, landing on Daveak's legs causing him to fall as well.

The two struggled for a while in the dim light, the candle long ago extinguished during the destruction of the desk. Arcen's main goal was to get one of his massive hands around his more agile foe, who seemed to slip from his grasp at impossible moments. So this is why they sent me against this man.

Finally, the two decided on an unspoken truce to end the impasse, each standing and brushing themselves off. Daveak made sure he was near the window.

"You're pretty good," Daveak said. "Most who corrupt their bodies like you simply fly into a blind rage. At least you haven't fucked that up."

"You know you can't win," Arcen said, his voice significantly different than the "innocent preacher" one he was using earlier. "I'll crush you like a twig." He inhaled deeply, keeping his malicious glare on Daveak. As he breathed, he seemed to increase in size until he was nearly ten feet tall with the muscles of a god.

Then the fool dashed at Daveak. The smaller man simply threw himself to the ground at the side, adjusting his legs just so to cause the priest to stumble, his momentum carrying him through the window. The glass almost exploded, sending shards in all directions, but mostly outward, with the wall of muscle that broke it.

Arcen fell over six stories, hitting the ground with a massive thud and leaving a small crater. With practiced technique, Daveak slung his body into the open space, his arm acting as a pivot on the empty window frame, turning his direction midair, sending him downwards. He put his knees out just in time, flexing his muscles and extending his legs, making his impact almost nonexistent. Almost flat against the wall, he released his grip, slowly his descent carefully with the leather of his gloves.

He landed lightly next to the hulking man, who managed to survive the fall, and was trying to pull himself up. Daveak unsheathed a second pair of daggers, his first forgotten in the room above. He spun the blades dexterously in his hands, eventually bringing them down in Arcen's back. They sunk in the flesh to the hilt. Then, Daveak brought them down, leaving twin long scars from shoulder blades to the small of the back. Arcen let out a cry of acute pain, and Daveak re-sheathed his weapons. Calling on the eldritch power of the Board, he reached a hand into the corrupt bishop's back. But he did not reach into the flesh, no. His hand moved ethereally into the man's spine, and grasped Arcen's soul. Arcen would have passed out from the pain, but having a foreign body clutch who he was kept him conscious. Daveak pulled with all of his strength, slowly bringing the soul to the surface, eventually bringing the item of evil incarnate out of the body.

Arcen immediately went limp, his body dead. Daveak stared at the strange L rotating and shifting in the air just above his open palm. The hypnotic rhythm of the bobbing and floating always entranced him for a few moments before he could pull himself out of it.

He clenched his fist around it, sending it to the Board for whatever Boardmaster active to take care of.