Nevin had watched, silently, as Stare slipped up to the man, her feet making soft clicks on the stonework as she moved. He had thought, for a moment, about stopping her, about ending this one himself when she said he was asleep, but had decided not to - she would likely need some form of vengeance on these men for capturing her, and hurting her while she was their prisoner. So he watched, his eyes not flinching away, as she yanked the guard's head back and dragged the blood dagger across his skin, the sharp 'edge' slicing through flesh and muscle. The man struggled for only a moment before slumping, any screams he might have made stifled by her clawed hand, and light faded from his eyes.

Nevin walked over to her, his eyes scanning the corridors quickly, watching for anyone else who might be approaching. So far the corridor seemed quiet though - no one had heard the muted momentary struggle. That was the third of these bounty hunters that had fallen to the two of them. Even if they got rid of no one else on the way out, this would be a nasty blow to the group. But Nevin did not think they would be so lucky as to meet no one else. No, this place would probably stink of carcasses by the time they were done here, and the blood mage honestly could not bring himself to care about it. His attention was brought back to his friend when she managed to get into the room, moving quickly inside.

He began to follow after - freezing a moment when he thought he heard footsteps coming from further down the hall in the opposite direction. The man cursed and looked around quickly - then realized that the body would give them away even if nothing else did. The club was shoved into his belt and he grabbed the corpse off of the chair, dragging it into the storage room that Stare had disappeared into. Inside was a large room, filled with boxes and crates of differing sizes. Nevin shoved the body behind the door, ignoring the blood trail for now - nothing they could do about it as things stood. With the carcass temporarily situated, Nevin looked around for Stare, not seeing her at first - or rather not realizing that he had seen her. He almost didn't recognize her at first, as she had found her armor and weapons, though he did recognize those daggers on her belt.

Their stuff was here! With that realization burning in the back of his mind, Nevin moved quickly, scanning the boxes. His crossbow, staff - they were in a box, underneath which was folded up his cloak. He dragged those items out of the box they were in quickly, then let out a mild curse under his breath when he realized that they were not there - so he searched another, and another, noticing that Avis was also frantically looking for something. But while her search came up empty, one hand splaying against her leg in pain, Nevin's turned up a result - stored in a box that he had to pry open was his alchemical goods. And tucked into the very bottom of the pouch, hidden away - three crimson, glowing vials. Nevin had to bite back a cry of victory as he sorted through the bottles, and pulled up one in particular. Swift footsteps carried him over to the cursing Stare, and he handed the bottle over to her.

"Take this. It should help you recover a bit from what these bastards did to you. I'm sorry - it will taste like blood." He didn't have more time to explain though - or ask why she was so concerned. Outside of the door, Nevin could hear a voice, no two voices - and they did not sound pleased that the guard was missing. He cursed and rushed back to grab his crossbow - and did not have the time to find the bolts that were currently missing. Instead he was forced to blood-craft a bolt out of the wound on his palm, and he nocked it into the string, prepping the weapon and aiming it at the door. "Drink that quickly. I'll buy you a little time. Just don't forget about me there, alright?" He shot her a distorted grin as he moved towards the door.

A figure turned into the open doorway - and for a second the mage cursed himself for forgetting to close that behind him - and Nevin pulled the trigger before the man could react. There was a soft twang as the cord snapped forward, propelling the bolt forged from blood through the air and into the man. Unfortunately, this man was more on guard than the last few that they had dealt with, and managed to dodge to one side, keeping the bolt from hitting him dead in the center of his torso. But as he was still in the doorway - and there was someone else outside - he couldn't move far enough to completely avoid the blood-bolt, and it buried itself up to the 'fletching' in his shoulder. The guard let out a cry, and the second person in the hall did as well, and he raised his weapon to charge at Nevin, who he thought was now defenseless.

Nevin threw his crossbow into the man's face, disorienting him as he had not expected a move like that. This let Nevin drop his shoulder down and body check the man, forcing him out from the doorway and into the hall. The man was in half armor, wearing leather gear, so when his back smashed against the wall under the scrawny mage's weight, he was stunned and a bit out of breath. Nevin followed this up by grabbing the guard's face with his left hand - and the threads that had been hiding up his sleeve snaked out through the hole in his glove, sliding inside of his mouth and gouging up the inside of his throat. The blood mage collapsed with the man, following him to the floor as his hungry threads feasted inside of the man, spilling blood straight into the neck. He was interrupted though, by a heavy foot that smashed into his side and sent the alchemist tumbling away, red tendrils spewing from his palm. He felt and heard bones at least crack if not break under the kick, and he looked up at the man who had kicked him.

"Fuck, you really are a freak, aren't you? What, you actually kill the little bird bitch? Damn, there goes my cut of her pay." Nevin recognized that voice now, staring at the man who was holding a sword in his face. This was the bastard that had cold-cocked him and brought him here - Sandor. "Guess I'll have to go see what all the fuss was about her. Shame, I prefer them living but oh well." Oh, oh no he was not implying what Nevin thought he was. The icy rage that Nevin had been bottling up burst forth into a white hot rage, even as Sandor tensed his muscles. He stabbed downwards, intent on ending Nevin - who was rolling out of the way, ignoring the wave of pain from his ribs. The threads in his hand wove back together into a whip, which he wrapped around one of Sandor's legs, yanking on it roughly to knock the man off balance.

To his credit, even as he fell to one knee, Sandor reacted quickly, swinging his sword around and slicing through the whip of blood-red threads that had snagged him. The motion looked smooth, almost like he had anticipated it - but he hadn't, from the way he was holding one hand against his leg where the whip had shorn through his pants and begun to eat away at his skin, even in the few seconds of contact. Nevin felt as if a limb had been cut - more than just hair being cut away, losing the threads hurt, almost like he had lost fingers or toes. He had known that the threads reacted to his will, but he had never thought - had never wanted to think - that they were anything more than lines on his skin, merely living on his flesh. This proved to him though, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the threads were actually a part of his body, and he would have to take more care with them in the future. But the future was not now - now, he lunged for Sandor, slapping the torn edge of his whip against the hand that held the hilt of his sword. Sandor let out a bellow of pain and punched Nevin in the side, trying to force him away - but the furious blood mage simply took the hit, trading it for lashing across Sandor's eyes with the mutilated end of his own weapon. The hungry threads, now ravenous, ripped away at everything they touched, leaving a bloody, gouged trail through Sandor's face - and irreparably damaging his eyes.

This was the end for him - now completely sightless, bleeding profusely, Sandor could not protect himself from the blow that ended his life. Nevin had let the threads actually retreat this time, returning to their home beneath his skin, and dragged the club from his belt. He gripped the wooden weapon in both hands, side-stepping several half-hearted swings as the bounty hunter tried to keep his impending demise at bay, and brought it up - and then down, hard. The wood met the man's skull, and both gave way with a sickening crunch and a loud snap. Sandor remained kneeling for a minute before collapsing to the ground. Nevin followed not long after, drained from the burst of rage and exertion of fighting for his life.