Flight
"Achtung, Achtung!" The men shouted loudly, voices carrying down the street as the bomber fled away from them, shrouded heavily and running as fast as he could. The sound of thick, heavy Stafian boots sounded behind him as the police in this quarter of Panckow chased after him, shouting further and raising the alarm as storm clouds over the city roiled, rumbling distantly with thunder and fury. No other person stood on the streets on a day like this, but that hadn't stopped the bomber when he began his mad escape from the city when the jig was finally up and his cell was compromised internally.
A narrow alleyway appeared on his right, and without a second thought, he slipped into it, rushing headlong into the murky, dark grey shadows. Further shouts of "Achtung!" sounded behind him, but he was more than sure that they wouldn't be able to catch him. They might know this city better than he did, but he was faster, stronger, and more importantly-
The alleyway terminated at a dead end with a branching path to little run down looking shops which obviously hadn't seen the same kind of prosperity that had marked the rest of the Stafian League's economy. The walls around him were easily ten meters high, smooth mortared stone with no handhelds in which to pull himself up. Not that it would matter though. He wouldn't be able to get to the top of the wall before the police arrived and proceeded to empty more than a few clips into his back and call it a day rather than try to chase him across the bloody rooftops of Panckow. Not too mention the sound of their boots were drawing closer by the second, and the shouts that ran before them spoke of how he was going to die unless he did something.
Digging into his pocket, he pulled out a weathered strip of paper with maybe a dozen runes inked precariously on the paper, large enough so it seemed that they would fall off with a stiff breeze. Quickly, the bomber put it against the wall of a building he thought would lead to another street, the paper's sticky film of glue clamping to the wall forcefully while the bomber unsheathed a knife. One smooth movement opened the palm of his hand, and blood rushed out at once, followed by a second quick movement of pressing it against the paper and waiting. The runes on the paper burned furiously, glowing a dark red as they came alive and lapped up the blood eagerly. Then, detonation.
Stone and mortar chunks flew to the left and right of him as the shaped blast script annihilated the shop in front of him tearing it apart neatly and sending chunks of brick and the internal bits and furniture of the house showering into the street in front of him. No one appeared to have been inside of the house, which was lucky for them; had they been inside of it when the script detonated, they would have been ripped to pieces by the force of the script's blast which didn't exactly identify that people were different than stone and mortar.
A thick, heavy hand fell on the bomber's shoulder, but the bomber was already in motion, turning around and looking into the policeman's eyes underneath a high overhang of thick black eyebrows. Blood still on his hand, he traced the rune for the word die on the policeman's abdomen, and almost instantly it detonated, flinging the policeman backwards to bowl into his friends as he bled from the gaping wound in his chest that looked as if he had been struck with an artillery round. As they struggled to get their dead compatriot off of them, the bomber was already fleeing oncemore, further into Panckow, and further towards the harbor where hopefully the escape he was promised awaited him.
OOC: Someone feel free to pick up the chain at this point, I don't want to write it all myself.
