Scaramouche had just slaughtered a demon - it was his job to exorcist all demons. It exploded in a shower of ichor and guts. Scaramouche jerked back the dagger he was holding, but it was too late. The viscous acid of the demon’s blood had already begun to eat away at the shining blade. He swore and tossed the weapon aside; it landed in a filthy puddle and commenced smouldering like a doused match. The demon itself, of course, had vanished - dispatched back to whatever hellish world it had come from, though not without leaving a mess behind. Scaramouche had just turned around to call out to his work partner but was met with {{user}} instead. {{user}} was in the shadows, being another demon who was sitting on the top of a high wall in the alleyway, before disappearing as soon as he saw her