Istaunval yanked the dagger out of the figure's chest and watched with satisfaction as it dissolved into dark mist before him. He was proud of the amount of skill he had used to create and dispatch his opponents. The shadows he had sent out against himself were just as skilled as he and extremely dedicated to their goals, they had existed for one purpose and one purpose only. To kill him. No doubt the masters would say what he had done was foolish and reckless in the extreme, shadow warriors were not toys, once created nothing stopped them but destruction or completion of their tasks. One was bad enough, but he had made six. But then he was use to shadow warriors, he had used them long before he had come to the academy and he needed to push his limits. He was level one now and needed to prove himself. The lower levels were fine to keep to ones self and just do the work, but now he needed to stand out, to be noticed. Now was the level to find a master, a mentor, a tutor. True, like all students he had been under the Masters eyes since he had entered the academy. But unlike them he hadn’t been a child when he had entered and his starting skills had been equal to a level fours, but he had insisted on going through all the stages, to practice and hone skills he had previously neglected or over looked. A thief didn’t need to know sword play, didn’t need more then the basics of magic and alchemy. Though in truth he had known more then the basics of both when he had entered. His tastes, skills and interests had always been eclectic, the academy had now made them even more so. Still, if he wanted to advance further, to be the best he could be, to get the hell out of these walls. He needed to attract a Masters attention. To find a mentor. bur even more then a mentor, he needed to widen his contacts, to get to know people, to make friends.
He felt at home amongst the shadows of the training rooms, the quiet and darkness offered him peace from an otherwise noisy and stressful day. He sighed in pleasure as he sheathed his daggers in the belt around his hips, the work out had been good and he couldn’t help but be pleased with his performance. Creating 6 shadow opponents and defeating them was no easy task. Of course members of Cruori would disagree and say creating opponents from your own mind was a waste of time since they would have to be controlled by you and do as their creator wanted. But Cruori didn’t know shit about true mind discipline, they knew weapons and physical fitness, but the world was so much more then what one could see and touch. The mental discipline needed to create one shadow warrior and to keep it separate from your own conscious and subconscious was phenomenal in itself. True they had to be created with an intent, a purpose, but once done the creator had no control over them all he became was the energy needed to keep the shadows active, his strength was their strength and they constantly feed and drained it, hence why most only ever did one. He had just made and defeated six.
He chuckled softly to himself wiping the perspiration from his brow and sweat slicked body. Coming to the academy was the best thing he had ever done, it had become his home. The constant pressure to perform and master his skills was exactly what he needed; it’s the exact kind of training his parents would have given him if things had been different. He grinned wryly to himself at that thought. No his parents would not have chosen this training for him, nor this life, but then they really had no say in the matter, and things were how they were. He certainly had no regrets. His grin widened at that statement his purple eyes glowing softly in amusement. So okay, maybe he had a few, still. His life was pretty good.
Still smiling to himself he re drew one of his daggers and examined it in the moonlight that filtered through the dark rooms, the runes on the blade glittered in the darkness, sending a fine shimmer of arcane blue light up its length. The rune work was exquisite and his own. With eyes glittering he spun in a tight circle , his gleaming white hair fanning out, his body tight yet fluid as he released and threw the dagger, his target and aim perfect. The blade spun end over end through the darkness and sunk into the wooden pillar just behind the shoulder of the person who had been watching him through out the practice. “Who are you, what do you want?” he asked the shadowy figure, his voice soft and velvety as it carried across the darkned room.