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You sheathe your blade, seemingly granting him his parole. His eyes shine with tears as he prepares to thank you heartily. However, you sheathed your blade only to free up your other hand. Daringly, you dart your digits dayward, dashing his soul with a devistating Double Deuce. He collapses into a writhing, sad heap on the ground.

 You press your heel into his twitching neck, relishing a sweet, sweet victory over the forces of darkness. 	

Unconfirmed