"Hah-ha~!" Lance laughed joyously as he jumped between Dagan and Lars.

"Lance," Lars began as he uncrossed his arms to let them fall down by his sides, "You're about to get in way over you're head."

"No way, bro," Lance replied with a wide grin; he lifted his right arm, wiped away an odd mixture of blood, saliva, and some thick obsidian colored mass that collected at the corner of his lips, "You don't even know. I got a whole bunch'a tricks. You don't even know."

Lars palmed his forehead, shook his head, and let out a powerful sigh. He didn't want to see what was about to happen. He was damn near convinced that this wasn't going to end well-- but then again, he wasn't quite convinced exactly who it was going to end badly for. Was it going to end terribly for Dagan? For Lance? For Lars? Hell, he didn't know; there was always the chance. The only way to find out, though, was to open his eyes and watch this train wreck in the making.

Lance seemed to be waiting for Dagan to reach him first, before he did anything at all, really. This, incidentally, was the second mistake the man had made so far.

Dagan stopped just a few feet from Lance; the man didn’t advance further, he simply stood there, swaying ever so slightly, but not from his injuries, no; he was simply overjoyed. They were alive! He hadn’t given up hope, not even once, but he was worried; to say otherwise, that would have been a lie, and he wasn’t going to lie to himself about things like that. He didn’t think Seeker would really go down easily, though. There was just something about the man; that something said he could handle himself, and Dagan believed it whole heartedly.

“They’re alive,” Dagan said with glee; the man’s eyes lit up and a smile decorated his face with a healthy show of teeth. Unlike the two half-decomposed men, Dagan was an extremely healthy looking individual, sustained injuries aside, of course.

An emerald flash; Lance would feel a rush of wind at his face, maybe, but it’d be too late. Dagan had launched a wide swing at Lance’s head; there was no sound, no warning, other than the momentary flash of green, and the distance between the two men had been cleared in maybe a half-second. The strength and speed of Dagan’s attack was otherworldly, unless one of Lance’s tricks was the ability to teleport, he’d find himself on the receiving end of Dagan’s attack, knocked to the ground, or horribly injured; and then there was the chance for both to occur.

Dagan was done playing games and he was done being hunted, he’d had enough, and he had places to be. He wasn’t going to be delayed further, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t appreciative of Lars and Lance’s reassurance of Seeker and the new arrival’s safety. Far from it, in fact; there was almost a sense of regret in having to rid himself of Lars and Lance’s problematic existences, they did, after all, conflict with his sense of self-preservation. He couldn’t have that.

“Stay down,” Dagan would instruct Lance, if he had taken the attack and somehow survived. His voice would be just a bit different, slightly prouder, a new level of strength placed behind it, and an authoritative tone helping to emphasize the severity of the order.

Even if, for some reason, Lance had not been taken out of commission, Dagan would proceed forwards, towards Lars, once again, and ignore Lance’s existence. He had given the man far more attention than he deserved, he thought, but there was truly one person he really wanted to pay back right now: Lars.

Smack.

Lance stumbled to the left, wobbling as his feet danced to keep him upright. His head felt like it was dancing, too-- dancing a waltz, in fact. He stumbled, then to the right, bumping into Dagan briefly, before finally falling to the ground. One might assume that would be the end of it. Dagan had cold clocked him good, knocked all the sense out of his skull, if there ever was any sense in that mutilated skull of his. Lars observed this with a sudden smile upon his face. Fewer things were more right in the world than what just happened.

But alas, Lance was stubborn. As soon as Dagan passed him by, he'd feel a hand taking him by the wrist-- not just any hand, of course. Lance's hand . . .

"Heh," he grinned painfully, "Nice try Brogan."

He'd pull back on Dagan's hand in an instant, and with his head reared back, he'd throw his weight forward to try and nab a mouthful of Dagan's forearm.

Dagan frowned at being grasped, he really was hoping Lance had been down for the count, but some things couldn’t be helped, he thought. For now, Lance’s hold over Dagan would very much feel like he was holding onto hard, unyielding rock.

“You shouldn’t… Oh, hell with it.”

Lance would indeed get a mouthful of Dagan’s arm, but most likely not to the effect that he wanted. He’d pull the man’s arm up, and Dagan wouldn’t so much as fight it; however, even as Lance bit into the limb, he’d find it impossible to bite hard enough to cause injury, or even draw a drop of blood.

“What--- What are you doing?”

Dagan looked at him with disapproving eyes; this man… Did he really just do that? Dagan had known they were hunting him for food, but to literally bite him before he had even been subdued, that was just silly… He was beginning to see why Lars didn’t even want to watch.

Lance would feel a pull on his body as Dagan sought to reverse the decomposed man’s hold, pulling forwards, hard, and freeing his arm from the man’s bite and trying to grab Lance’s wrist; if that succeeded, another pull on Lance’s body could be felt, as Dagan reared back, and would try and slam his head into the other’s. And again and again and again; it would only be after Lance stopped struggling that Dagan would release the man’s arm and allow his body to fall to the ground.

Of course, maybe there was more to Lance than met the eye and he’d be smart enough to release Dagan and get out of range. That would remain to be seen, however.

"Hnn? Wha--?"

The man was audibly and visibly surprised by the inability to sink his teeth into Dagan's arm. He was even more surprised when Dagan broke free of his grasp and picked Lance up by the arm, instead. For a brief moment, they made eye contact. For a brief moment, Lance was confused as all hell. In the back of his mind, there was probably a source of regret. Lars told him this fish was too big for him, but he didn't believe him. In hindsight, that was a very bad idea. Confusion came to a quick end when Dagan first headbutted Lance, and was especially gone after the twelfth crack of Dagan's damn near unbreakable skull into Lance's comparatively fragile one.

By the time Lance stopped moving as much, at least enough to no longer be deemed a threat, Dagan would find that Lance didn't quite have much of a face left, as his forehead was crushed in sucking in his eyes and nose into his skull, partially taking his cheekbones with them, and leaving only his jaw.

"Aw, what the dick, bro," Lance declared weakly; his face might have been crushed in, but he was still stubborn enough to talk anyways. "I only wanted . . ."

And then he fell forward, his head cracking even further upon the ground at Dagan's feet. As he laid there upon the ground, still twitching, a black tar like substance squeezed its way out of his damaged skull. It would soon collect into a thick pool around Lance's head, one which would actually be harmful to anyone that accidentally or on purpose ventured to touch it.

". . . a nibble . . ." he ended his sentence, before the sigh of death escaped his lips.

Lance's last words, before he stopped moving entirely.

Dagan looked at Lance’s body with sadness for a moment; he wasn’t able to believe he had been the cause of such carnage; that he had done so much damage with so little thought, but then… It was for the best. Lance’s existence was a danger to Dagan and the others, like him. They were predators; they were dangerous. Maybe …, maybe they needed to die. Likewise, wasn’t that exactly what Dagan had planned to do in the first place, especially to Lars?

With his face obscured by his hair, which had fallen out of place when he had attacked Lance, Dagan moved forwards once again; it was a slow pace, steady, though, and determined. He didn’t know how much longer he could continue in this way, that feeling from earlier, it seemed all but gone, after what he had done to Lance, and he was no doubt weaker, too.

Whatever this altercation with Lars could be called, it would have to be settled soon, because Dagan’s vision was blurring, either the damage from earlier wasn’t healing like he had thought, or whatever allowed him to do what he had just done was used up and he was running on fumes. Time would tell, really; he didn’t intend to die here, though.

“Your turn now,” he said, “sorry about your friend, but you did warn him…”

The odds were against Dagan; he wasn't beaten yet, but he was in much poorer condition than Lars, who hadn't really taken damage at all yet.

"Eh," Lars shrugged his shoulders, "No hard feelings. I didn't like him all that much, anyways. T'be honest, he was a little bit of a tool."

Lars had, of course, watched the whole mess of a situation unfold-- and begrudgingly so. It hadn't turned out well for Lance, but that was completely fine by him. Just as he said, though, he hadn't any love for Lance. In fact, it was all a matter of loathing and pure, unadulterated embarrassment. Fortunately (for him), that embarrassment wasn't around anymore, and wouldn't be ever again.

"Can't say I almost felt bad for him, though," Lars mused aloud, with eyes to the sky, "Oh well. Guess I should get this over with, anyways."

Lars took a step forward. It appeared as if he planned to meet Dagan in the midst of his walk, perhaps to beat him into the ground. After all, Dagan wasn't in the best of states. All his momentum seemed to have run out, while all of Lars's remained. And then, nearly out of the blue (or gray, rather), came Lars's quickly developing problem:

It would look like a flash of light, initially, one that originated from Lars's forehead. This split second allowed this flash, initially nothing more, to take a hasty shape, lurching itself out into the sky as what quickly became a beam of azure light. It was small, refined, focused, and more deadly than any blade, firearm, or bow had ever been in the history of the world. Lars almost instantly fell to his knees. Dagan would see behind him, then: the man responsible for taking the otherwise powerful warrior down in a single shot, the Seeker.

. . . and he didn't appear to have much more than an extra layer of dirt on him, either.

“Hah,” Dagan let out a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a laugh; there was a smile on his face, and he was obviously overjoyed at Seeker’s presence and Lar’s lack thereof.

It would take approximately ten seconds for Dagan to recall how to walk, and then another second to realize that Seeker was in considerably better condition than him; he was slightly troubled by this, after all; it was not an easy experience that he had gone through, but here Seeker was in all his glory and taking out Lars with apparent ease.

“Can’t believe you did that,” he said aloud, in disbelief, and not without good reason: “He was… Man, I, uh, I’m glad you’re alright. They,” he’d point back, casually, towards Lance’s body, and then gesture back towards Lars, who’s corpse he was now beside, but still a few feet off to his left. “Told me there were others and you and … And, and did you find the New Arrival?”

Worried, Dagan looked away from Seeker, almost as though he were surveying the area, much like he had earlier, when he stopped, but saw nothing yet again.

“They said there were others and mentioned you and another person … ,“ he further elaborated.

Dagan had not just gone through all of that only to let it end in the death of his entire reason for being out this far from the city, even if it was by his own volition that he head ventured into such a dangerous area.

Indeed, there was a bit of a mess out here. Lance was killed, Lars seemed pretty dead, and there was a third body out in the gray, too-- one that definitely wasn't going to get back up ever again. It was just as Dagan finished speaking, however, that Lars, still on his knees, let out a weary groan. The Seeker looked down at the man, who in turn twisted back to address his would be assassin with a feral leer. It was impossible to see the Seeker's eyes, but one might imagine that their eyes met for at least a brief moment.

The Seeker put his index finger to Lars's head again. Apparently, one hole in his head wasn't enough to put him down. He needed a couple more. The Seeker was happy to oblige. Lars, on the other hand, had no intentions of receiving another hole in his head. Just as the light began to form at the tip of the Seeker's finger, the gray fog of their world suddenly collapsed in on them in a heavy spiral, blurring out all images around them, but not as a means of concealing escape. Rather, the fog collapsed in on Lars particularly, bringing with it a hollow sound of wind, followed by the brief illumination of the Seeker attacking.

In a moment, when the fog spread out once again as it was apt to do, Lars was no longer kneeling with his back to the Seeker. In fact, he was nowhere to be found.

The Seeker hadn't even a chance to respond to Dagan before it all happened. Disappointed by this chain of events, he folded his arms over his chest and tapped his foot upon the ground.

Following Lars’ groan, Dagan, too, looked at the man, and was pretty shocked that he was still alive; after all, Lars had already looked pretty dead, before the fight had even started, and then he got shot in the head by Seeker; that should have put the man out of his misery, and yet here he was.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Dagan said with disbelief, stepping back just as the wounded, half-decomposed man was overtaken by a funnel of fog.

Even despite Lars’ disappearing act, Dagan would not lower his guard, once the fog had spread back out, and would remain alert. Likewise, a mental note was made, it stated: Aim for the head. And then aim for it again, just to be safe.

“So, uh, how are you?” he said, hesitant to break the silence, but doing so anyways. His working hand combed the stray hair from his face, the sweat, dirt, and any possible blood he may have gotten on himself from Lance’s particularly brutal death.

In reality, Dagan had no idea what to say to Seeker, not now, at least, and so it’d be up to Seeker to either direct the situation or answer Dagan’s previous question…

The Seeker regarded Dagan with one glance. It appeared as if Dagan was injured. The Seeker could only hope that he could still run. If they were successful in this, they would still need to get back to the unreal city, and the Seeker had absolutely no intention of carrying two people at once.

"It's near," the Seeker announced.

It was almost as if Dagan's most recent question wasn't asked-- but the previous question was, that is, if the "new arrival" was near. Perhaps it might have been rude for the Seeker to address a living, breathing person as an "it," but he likely couldn't be sure of their target's gender. There was a fair chance he'd been referring to he or she as an "it" for some time, actually.

Nonetheless, the Seeker stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and walked forward. He didn't run, nor did he blink out-- he simply walked.

After all, the "target" was near-- the person for whom they'd come here to find. The person Dagan got himself a little screwed up over.

Honestly, Dagan really was messed up, it wasn’t just his injuries though, they were negligible in comparison to the energy he had expended, but he’d be able to run by himself. His abilities were odd, one second he could be of Herculean strength, and in the very next instance he wouldn’t be. It depended on several variables--and those variables could change, randomly, in fact, but needless to say; he had used up a good portion of his physical power and would need to recuperate with a short period of hibernation. This would not occur until he was out of danger, however.

Dagan favored his left arm with a gentle rub from his right; he’d follow Seeker, a few feet behind him, but still alert. He was so tired of things just randomly appearing and jumping out at him now, it wasn’t even funny.

He wouldn’t speak again, unless spoken to, at least for a little bit, his mind was preoccupied with other thoughts, and he seemed almost in a daze. His breathing was heavy, and he very well may have been out of breath; that would be a very odd occurrence, indeed. However tired he was, though, he didn’t bring it up, or complain. He toughed it out and acted the part of a soldier.

Some things would have to change.

"Search right," the Seeker commanded.

With that, the Seeker came to an abrupt stop. He'd walked for a good fifty paced before that, before spiking off to the immediate left. It wasn't until he took another few steps that he must have realized that he was forgetting something, and came to a stop again.

"Investigate the silhouettes," he added with a look back to Dagan, before commencing his walk away once more, "Don't bother with the ones you can't make out."

That might be a bit of a confounding concept at first. After all, silhouettes meant that there were others there-- others that might have been alive as far as they knew, breathing, walking. Others could be anything. Others could be predators. Others probably were predators. There was yet to be an example, at least for Dagan, of a shadow in Purgatory that didn't have some vested interest in pursuing him, and if all those shadows from earlier were the same as Lars and Lance, there was a good chance they wanted to sink their teeth into Dagan's flesh.

Were Dagan to follow the Seeker's orders exactly, he'd find a pair of silhouettes. They were in the distance, practically in the middle of nowhere-- but then again, much of this gray world seemed to be nowhere. There was likely no true middle to it.

Dagan would cautiously follow Seeker’s command and didn’t need to be told about avoiding the ones he couldn't make out, either. Ultimately, he wasn’t overly concerned about being attacked, not anytime soon, at least; the way he saw it, the other silhouettes could have very well belonged to other predators, but those predators were more interested in surviving their meals than not. A confrontation, even with a weakened Dagan, might not have ended well, and that would be a rather large contrast to the laws of Self-Preservation. This was, at least, why Dagan figured that Seeker wasn’t being chased, and why nobody else had interrupted Lars’ go at Dagan (excusing Lance, of course.)

Eventually, he would come across two silhouettes, maybe he had ‘spoken’ too soon, in regards to his previous thoughts, but they didn’t seem to have noticed him or that they were overly interested in paying him any mind, if they had. Dagan would investigate these further by approaching slowly, there wasn’t exactly much to crouch behind, or use for cover.

He’d slowly approach the silhouettes, each step he took was calculated, his senses were stretched to their current limits, much lower than before, obviously, but he was still ready to react; there was a slight tension in the air as he approached, a sense of dread, but there was also a sense of urgency just behind the negative feelings.

“Hello?” He called out, if there were predators about, they already knew he was there, and if they didn’t, well, then he didn’t want to startle them into a rage, either. He’d rather start off on as equal a ground as he could; an ambush on his part was entirely out of the question.

There came no reply from either silhouette. They seemed busy with something. They seemed like they were working-- close, but not too close, and moving their arms independent from the other's body. Their hands were wrapped around something, both still independent from each other, yet still standing close, and making what looked like sweeping motions with their arms.

A close inspection would show that they were, in fact, making sweeping motions. Each equipped with what appeared to be a gray shaft, they dug the tip of their weapon into the ground. Dagan would see the earth stirred by their rapid digging, but not deeply. They were digging in jabs, with what appeared to be bent, flat ends of a spear-- though, where it not bent to meet the ground and perfectly straight instead, it the spear blade might just be awfully thick.

Of course, that wouldn't be the most startling thing about them. No, that was just a little oddity that Dagan might notice, barely worth mentioning.

The real eye opener was that even if Dagan were to come close to them, they'd never stop being silhouettes. They both appeared to be dark shadows, both standing, both with their shoulders hunched forward, both rapidly digging their modified spears into the ground. Their dark forms had the outlines and figures of living beings, but no detail-- just shadows, translucent shadows with a constant blur upon their faces, a blur which could never be worked out with the eyes, one which would incite a headache if Dagan stared at them for too long.