Cruach sits on the roof of a commercial laboratory building. It's late, well after dark, and the vast majority of the workers have gone home. Those that are still there are in locations of the building far enough away from what she wants that it shouldn't be a concern. Security is tight, though, and she knows she realistically won't be able to get in and out undetected. that being the case, she's opted to favor speed, though she won't totally throw stealth to the wind.

She manages to get into the building itself with little issue. The problem arises when she enters the store room she had her eye on. She'd though she accounted for everything, but it's evident by the alarm that she missed something. She's on the clock now, and as such rushes into the room, beelining it for the object she's looking for, quickly stuffing it in a backpack which, while not usual for her costume, is still designed to fit in aesthetically, and turning to leave. As she does so, she spots what she missed before, a small camera in an out of the way, completely nonsensical place. Good. They'll know it's a cape robbing them, and hopefully won't get in her way.

As she makes her way out of the room, and ultimately towards an exit of the building, one of the people still there calls it in.

Two red arrows pierce throughnthe marble floor infront of Cruach. blocking her path. Behind the mercenary was a man in sleek red plated armor over a black spandex suit, he wore a crimson mask and hood. He lowers his compound bow to quickly nock in another arrow then raised it right back at Cruach. A voice, slightly distorted by his mask, broke the silence.

"Nice night ain't it?" His tone was a blend of curiosity and confidence. "Could be less noisy, but I think you can fix that by dropping that bag?"

Between them was thirteen feet of space, with Wound standing far off to her side. Wound thought it was enough for him to aim where he wanted.

She stops, slowly turning to face him, not making threatening moves. now that she's not in motion, it would be much more apparent just how tall she is, a bit over six foot. It's hard to read her posture given her costume, but she doesn't seem aggressive. As she turns, she begins speaking. Given the positioning, her hands aren't visible the whole time. Her voice bears some hint of accent, though it's unidentifiable. The tone is soft and even, but carries well such that he would have little issue hearing what she's saying.

"As good as any other, I suppose." There's a hiss, and the sounds of two metallic objects hitting the marble floor. If he were looking, he may be able to note two canisters coming to rest near where her feet used to be. She springs to the side, ducking low and minimizing the amount of area he has to aim at, moving faster than would be thought possible for someone starting from apparently standing still and relaxed. She's angling towards a reception desk, though her movements are erratic and sudden, she's never still, never where one would expect her to be, as she does her best to throw his aim off. On the ground where she was previously standing the cannisters begin to billow dense white smoke, it's clear that it will fill the room in short order if nothing is done.

He was tracking her every move as she talks. As she suddenly springs into action, he doesn't have time to fire in her general direction before the canisters hit the ground. Instead, he opts for a quicker response.

Wound fires blunted arrows from his bowstring, aimed carefully at the canisters. With a swift release, the arrow strikes true, sending the canisters rolling across the room. He knows that the blunted arrows won't pierce the metal, but they can provide the momentum needed.

As the thief darts erratically, he realizes that a direct shot is unlikely, but he needs to mark the area to track it appropriately. In a well practiced move, he reaches into his pocket and retrieves a small, red balloon filled with his supernatural blood. He hurls it in the direction of the reception desk where he suspects the thief might be heading.

The balloon bursts upon impact, and the room is splattered with a gruesome looking spray. His intentions were to map out the area and likely mark the thief. He quickly seeks refuge behind a nearby pillar to assess the results of his actions.

The cannisters go skittering across the floor, still spewing smoke, but now at least a bit further away. At the sound, Cruach swivels, rips another cannister from her belt, and hurls it in his direction. The slight pause, despite the smoothness of the action, means that she has to leap away from the desk to attempt to dodge the splatter of blood, and even then doesn't completely avoid it, ending up with her lower legs bearing a significant amount, and a few splatters here and there over the rest of her. The cannister would land quite close to the pillar he's taking cover behind, hissing and billowing smoke like the others.

Given the state of the desk, she gives up on using it as cover, instead electing to use the break in line of site to hopefully close the distance. She rushes forwards, still keeping to somewhat erratic movements, but both fast and quiet enough that it would be difficult to place where she is in the room without looking.

Internally, she begins focusing. The blood must be important for his power, and she wants to do something about it sooner rather than later. Tendrils writher, mass is deposited, and a small gland begins to take shape at the back of her throat.

If nothing else interferes significantly, she would be nearly upon his position by now.

Judging from the way his blood was moving some of it had gotten oj the thief. The blood splatter, though partially covering her reveals her general direction she was taking next. She must have a way to navigate the smoke, likely using thermals or some other method. Wound adds a flash grenade to his mental checklist for those sorta of problems. While his blood could help him map out the area, he wasn't keen on fighting blind.

Realizing he needs to disrupt her approach, Wound reaches into a pouch at his side and empowers a handful of caltrops with added weight. Eight of them, now significantly heavier and invincible scatter across the floor in the path of the oncoming thief. This makeshift barrier should slow her down and make her movements more predictable.

With the caltrops in place, Wound doesn't waste a moment. He takes a few quick steps backward to increase the distance between them, simultaneously empowering two blunted arrows to use for later. First the smoke cannister had to go, he scooped the damn thing off the ground then launches outbthe window. In the same motion, he reaches to draw the empowered arrow to take a shot.

By this point, it would be rather hard to see, barring enhanced senses of some sort. Should his mask allow him to smell, he may note a rather unpleasant odor reminiscent of burnt sugar and rotting fruit, though nothing that seems like an overt chemical weapon of any kind.

Cruach seems unhindered by the smoke, relying on her enhanced and nonstandard senses. The gland at the back of her throat finishes forming, the last few nerve connections finalizing. in a quick and practiced motion she raises a hand and clicks open a small section on the front of her mask in front of her mouth. An exhalation releases a stream of aerosolized fluid, a cocktail of enzymes and compounds designed to target and break down blood, if not completely then at least mostly, and fast. The stream doesn't hold much volume, but it covers a decent area. She aims it towards the blood splatters on her costume, hoping it isn't too different from normal blood in terms of its chemical properties.

The caltrops present a slight problem, but also an opportunity. She turns rapidly, arresting her momentum and taking off in a new direction with long strides, still juking somewhat in order to avoid being shot. Her new path takes her in the direction of the door, and it looks like she'll make it there rather quickly.

She notes him (presumably) drawing a bead on her. He must have some way to keep track of her through the smoke, and she'd really rather not get hit if she can help it. Her run slows slightly as she raises an arm. Small hairlike fibers extend through the weave of her costume's forearm, twining together and extending further and further, pumping out material at a rather alarming rate. In short order a decently sized round shield of some sort of dark brown chitinous material is situated on Cruach's arm, interposed between the likely path of the arrow and her most vital bits.

Wound senses an abrupt change as the blood on Cruach's costume begins to break down. Panic sets in briefly, if he loses sight of her he knew the fight would be loss, almost instinctively, he triggers the transformation, hardening the blood into a nigh-invulnerable organic forcefield on the mercenary's clothing.

In three seconds an immense weight may burden her by the from the few blood splatters on her clothing, it wasn't a crushing force at all but just a weight, like dragging around a ball chain.

Wound would seizes the opportunity, drawing his bow with precision. His blunted arrow, enhanced invincibility and weighing 500 pounds, Wound fires it through the smoke, aimed directly at Cruach's shield. The impact would cause a thunderous collision. Wound had anglrf it so the shield would absorb most of the kinetic energy but still transmitting a significant force through Cruach's arm and shoulder.

Wound, not relenting, swiftly reaches for the sling at his waist, a repository of metal marvels intent on pressing the perceived advantage.

Cruach is quick to replace the small piece of her mask which she previously disconnected. The sudden weight is enough to make her stumble slightly, a motion which she smoothly transitions into a turn and crouch, covering most of her body behind the shield. The arrow strikes true, but instead of transferring the force to Cruach's arm and shoulder the shield shatters, taking the energy of the blow with it in much the same way a crumple zone on a car would.

"So that's how you want to play it. So quick to use deadly force. Some hero you are." She sounds almost disappointment, no hints of anger or pain in her tone whatsoever.

She rises from her crouch in a smooth motion, one hand going to each knee and in a quick motion tearing seams which were intentionally left weak, allowing the bottom part of the pant legs to fall away, taking the remaining hardened blood with it. Underneath is what looks to be form fitting fabric, probably legging of some sort.

The same small tendrils as before accumulate in the center of one of her palms, forming a sphere slightly larger than a baseball. She steps out of the discarded pieces of her costume, turns, and throws the sphere in one smooth motion, her arm bending in ways an arm really shouldn't tom impart extra speed into it. The sphere would fly straight, aimed for Wound's upper torso. Cruach doesn't wait to see if it hits or not, turning and continuing her run towards the exit.

Should the sphere strike true, it would pop like a water balloon, releasing a foul smelling, dark colored, viscous fluid. The fluid would begin to harden into stringy masses immediately on contact with the air, likely restricting movement, and potentially binding limbs.

Wound watched in frozen surprise as Cruach said that, his momentay hesitation evident in the subtle twitch of his shoulders. While she tore away part of her costume he refocused on her, attempting to amend his mistake.

"My bad, I didn't intend to-" As the sphere hurtled towards him, he instinctively swung his staff with precision, cutting it down mid-air. However, the substance exploded, dark and foul, splattering onto his clothing.

"What the fu-" Wound cursed under his breath, frustration etched on his face. The once-fluid material now clung stubbornly to his attire, hampering him and the fabric."Does this at least wash out?!"

Wound asked, his voice even if not a tinge annoyed. He doesn't expect an answer to come, he didnt plan on pursuing her further either. That misunderstanding had led to the assumption of escalation and Wound did not want his name getting out there as a blood lusted lunatic.

"Be careful of the force you put behind your attacks, not everyone is a Brute; and even if they are, hitting someone the wrong way can kill them just the same. I won't hold it against you, this time."

She turns and continues on her way, pausing briefly as she opens the door to turn back and address him again.

"It should, just use a lot of detergent." There's another small pause, as though she's considering whether to say something or not, before she continues. "It was a good fight, If I weren't on the job it could have been much more fun. I'll see you around."

Her piece said, she gives a small but theatrical bow, steps out, and disappears into the dark and the surrounding cityscape.