Lex/Darius/Rictor/White Magic Defense Force.
Meanwhile, down the street, there was the sight of a holy knight cutting a swathe through the undead with white light, fire, and the distinctive smell of gunpowder. As soon as the call went out, Rictor had abandoned his handheld and barrelled out from the monastery with a small handful of other Silver Blades, gunblade holstered and Vizekorporal Baudry by his side. On his way out, the man delivered a snarled instruction to his squire to Stay, wait for further instructions—he had enough on his plate without looking after an errant teenager, fearing his actions leading to the death of the Kapur's heir and scion. Storm would stay safely back at the dormitories. This type of hellish battlefield was nowhere for a squire to cut his teeth.
But it wasn't a place Ric particularly liked, either. His grip on the gunblade was slippery with blood, but he tightened it even further. White stood out to him in the darkness: white like purity, like cleanliness, like the pristine robes of the church mages, and he could see two ahead.
"Ho," he called out. Baudry had cut west while he took the east street, the two splitting apart to cover more ground. The other Blades had dispersed early, all of them tackling various corners of the district. They were stronger together, but Faram occasionally necessitated that the Blades separate. And say one thing for the undead: at least the holy knights knew how to deal with them.
"Korporal Cassul here. Are you two all ri–" He fell silent, abruptly, as he came close enough to identify the two as his friend Darius and, well, Lex. Ah. Small world.