Injured obviously, but not badly enough that he couldn't force himself to stand. Raphael, was it? It didn't really suit him. He was neither angel nor artist. The boy was short-tempered and muscular, and if the light was better he might be able to map out the scars from a life of battle. He had certainly been trained for it. How many times had he come back from the edge of death? How many people had he saved or damned? That life of battle would end in futility.

"Muraki," He replied, smiling politely as he stepped closer, as if to return the weapon. It was so close now his fingers twitched at the memory of richwarm blood. The heart would be too quick a death; the throat or the eyes too gorey, the stomach be a slow putrid burn and the lungs would fill with blood as he choked. Yes, the lungs... An open spot in the boy's defence and enough time for him to take what he needed. "Thank you for everything."

Shifting his grip on the sword he thrust it forward without warning, hoping to pin the boy to the wall behind him.