Dragging his sword along, he prowled through the dim streets of Crossroads, nearly completely obscured by the dark of the sky. The glassy silhouette that replaced his broken horn helped to illuminate his bloodied face. He rubbed the blood that drenched their gloves onto their sleeves. "Lovely," Ghostwalker hissed, realizing it would stain. Though, now was not time to care about dirty shirts. The deity had assumed they were alone until they had locked eyes with you in the distance.