The four bewildered ORDER agents exchange looks amongst each other, not noticing the sinister grin crossing the Summoner's face. A sudden yellow flash of arcane magic and the Summoner had disappeared, the cigarette protruding from his mouth lying disregarded on the ground where he had stood only moments before.
Instantly the men look around them to search for him, their weapons grasped tightly within their hands, ready to fire. One of the men doesn't even get a chance to extract his gun as he feels a wet stinging warmth spread from a point of his spine, the pain causing a croak to pass from his lips. A trickle of blood seeps from the side of his mouth before his eyes roll to the back of his head, the life quickly escaping from his body as he crumpled to the ground.
This occurs in a mere few seconds, the remainder of the men turning to the sound of their comrade's head cracking against the balcony floor, their eyes met with the Summoner standing behind the corpse, his Walther PPK extended from his right hand, pointing to where the back of the deceased man would have been; the shot had been muffled by the agent's flesh.
Before they could find any time to react, two of the men nearest to the Summoner are taken completely by surprise as they feel their wrists grabbed roughly by his hands. Unable to respond in any other way, the agents squeeze the triggers of their respective weapons, only to find that that they had shot each other, a result of the Summoner's deft twisting of their arms.
As the two agents fall to the ground lifeless, the last remaining agent carefully aims his pistol at the Summoner, keeping his wits about him. His finger pulls the trigger, the bullet leaving the barrel towards the Summoner's back. In a flurry of black, the light of the moon glinting off his polished shoe, the Summoner turns round in a swift roundhouse kick, swinging his foot into the man's gun to result in the bullet to fly mere inches past the Summoner's head.
Without his gun, the last agent quickly takes action, pulling out a knife from his suit. The Summoner stands in front of him, unarmed, his Walther PPK lying on the floor several feet in away from him as a result of the kick induced to the man's gun. The ORDER agent's face glares at the Summoner's with a burning ferocity. Even though he had the upper hand, he knew the capabilities of the man before him, and thus takes caution with his next move.
The Summoner stares the agent down. His watch indicated his mana was near gone, a result of his constant use of clairvoyance and the elaborate flash he had cast minutes before. All offensive spells were out of the picture; the only spells available to him were non-offensive spells involving healing and other utilities. All the Summoner had to defend himself were his fists and his intellect.
With a sudden yell, the ORDER agent lunges at the Summoner's exposed chest, the silver of his blade grinning sinisterly in the moonlight. The Summoner quickly jumps back, the knife ripping a hole in his white shirt.
"Tch, come on chap," the Summoner quips with annoyance "I just bought that."
Unfazed, the agent lunges at him with his knife, all of his strength put forth into his weapon with vicious intent. A grin crosses the Summoner's face as the adrenaline gets to his head. Deftly sidestepping once again out of the knife's intended path, the agent's arm is exposed to the Summoner as his reckless jab takes its toll.
The Summoner quickly takes hold of the agent's arm, bringing it above the man's head, causing him to gasp in pain. His hand remains to tightly grasp the knife as a battle of strength comes over the two men. The Summoner struggles, but only for a moment before he wrenches the knife from the man's grasp, the pain induced by the twisting of the man's arm overcoming his will to hold on.
With that, the Summoner sinks the knife into the man's back, the agent letting out a whisper of pain as the blood begins to pour out of his back onto the stone floor of the balcony, joining his comrades in death. Throwing the knife aside with disgust, the Summoner makes his way to his handgun, his stride and gait casual as he steps over the disguised corpses, careful not to disturb their sleep.
Picking up the Walther PPK, he looks it over before placing it back in its holster within his suit. His eyes then survey the scene before him, puddles of blood beginning to collect under every man he had dispatched. Noticing blood on his own hands, the Summoner looks around and catches sight of a towel in the back pocket of one of the disguised agents.
Taking it and promptly cleaning his hands of the scarlet that had occupied them, he proceeds to walk over to the dropped cigarette on the ground, picking it up after discarding the white towel, now splotched with red.
"No sense in wasting a perfectly good cigarette," the Summoner mutters to himself, pulling out the Ronson to light the treat now perched on his lips.
Walking to the edge of the balcony, he leans on the stone barrier, smoking the cigarette with vigor. His eyes look at the moon, the fierce blueness of his eyes amplified tenfold by its rays. Occasionally the smoke from his cigarette would interfere with the view, the wispy smoke mingling with the blue light coming down from above.
Tearing his eyes off from the sky, the Summoner takes a glance at his watch. It was near midnight.
"Well gentlemen," he said as he put out his cigarette before disposing it over the side of the balcony, "it's been quite the delightful time chatting with you, but I really must go. Oh, and here's a memento for you all. Something to remember me by."
Extracting another blue glowing wireless device, he tosses it over his shoulder as he walks to the doorway back into the hotel. Taking note of his disheveled appearance, the Summoner casts a variant of a healing spell to his clothing, his attire all at once amending itself, all the holes, rips and tears from the combat on the balcony disappearing before the Summoner's eyes.
With that, the Summoner takes once last glance at the four bodies that lay on the balcony, the shrill blue glint of the tracker casting them in a sharp glow. Ducking his head, simultaneously turning the door's handle, the Summoner enters the casino once more, closing the door to the balcony behind him, and then completely concealing it with the red curtain to ensure nobody accidentally stumbled across the door to witness the grisly scene outside.
His eyes once again returned to their searching gaze as the Summoner briskly walked through the ground floor of the casino, walking past the green tables housing the card games and other entertainments.
After a few turns, the Summoner walks up the stairs once more, his eyes peeled.
"Five down, one more to go. Then the hired gun," the Summoner thought to himself. Mention of Sarah Fortune suddenly reminds him of something else. "Oh yes! And the champagne."
Smell that citrus? Yes you do. Lemons are coming.