BEWARE: Blood, violence, and more.

Twenty-three. That was the number of marks that Wenhan had made on the backside of the heavy door, counting the days that had passed since the fight with Sungjoo. In that time, the Hand of Darkness had healed from the wounds he had received. His nose would never be as attractive as it had been before, but that was not his concern; he was more frustrated over the fact that he still felt a wave of vertigo strike when he moved too fast. He was beginning to suspect that it was going to be a permanent thing, and in his line of work, it would probably be the weakness that got him killed.

But Wenhan wasn't the type to dwell on what his disadvantages might be, and instead he was determined to focus on what he could do. As he stretched his limbs and carefully went through the motions of limbering up his body, he felt a smile come over his plump lips. Tonight would be the key moment, he thought. Catch the light-blinded fools by surprise when they thought that he was still healing, and make his escape. He wanted to find the High Priest to discern where Sungjoo had gone, but he was a bit more concerned at the moment with returning to the Hall of Faces. He couldn't believe Sungjoo's words, couldn't believe that the Dark Goddess would abandon him to die, and yet it wouldn't be the first time that someone had done so. He needed to see for himself, and decide where to go from there. The priest would have to wait.

Once his muscles were fully warmed up, he blew out the small lamp that the acolytes kept burning on his table and jumped just enough to catch the lip of the doorframe. It wasn't that wide, just a bit of wood, but it was enough that he could pull himself up until he was within reach of the crossbars of the ceiling. He had been practicing this particular placement, knowing that he would have to be able to pull it off perfectly if it was going to work as he wanted. Now, thanks to his practice, he was able to wedge one foot into the x of the crossbar with his back to the ceiling,facing the door, his other foot bracing his body weight in front of him on the lip of the doorjam, his hands bracing to each side of his shoulders on the wider parts of the crosspiece. 

And then he waited.

That was always the worst part. Wenhan was not a very patient person by nature, he had always been more willing to act first and think later. Having to lie in wait, like a lion for his prey, it was like a slow torture to the stocky man. Escape was worth it though, and so he grit his teeth and powered through it. His desire had to be stronger than his discomfort, that was the key.

Maybe half an hour passed when he heard the footsteps of the approaching acolytes. Or was it just one set of feet he heard? His heart began to pound in anticipation, and for a moment he considered just ambushing the acolyte and killing them as a statement, but he quelled that urge. He needed to play this smart, and that meant escaping when they realized the room was empty.They'd run for help, leaving the door open, and he would slip out before anyone realized where he had been hiding.

At least, that was his intention. Yet when the door opened he found, to his surprise and joy, that it was not the acolytes who had come to see him. Instead, golden medallion gleaming on his chest in the low light of the hallway, the High Priest of Siakera stood in the doorway, confusion written across his features as he peered into the darkened room. He must have come to once again try and convert Wenhan to the Light.

If the priest were a fighter, he would have known that something was wrong. As it was, he simply shook his head and stepped into the room, staying away from where Wenhan's chain kept him bound, and moved as if to relight the lantern.

No better opportunity could have walked into his trap. Like a spider to an unsuspecting fly, Wenhan released his hold on the crossbars and dropped to the floor between the priest and the door. Even thought he landed almost as silently as a shadow, the man must have felt his presence because Yixuan spun, one hand reaching toward his medallion while his mouth began to form words.

Wenhan grabbed the man's hand with his own right one even as the side of Wenhan's left hand struck the priest's throat, cutting his spell off before he could even truly begin it. His knee came up to strike the slightly taller man right where his ribs met on his stomach, knocking the wind out of him and making him double over in pain. Then the Hand turned and clo