Drunken Contract

[Shinku Kamogaya]

The bars here fucking made him sick. This establishment was full of drunkards. All of them spoke some kind of gibberish, which he assumed was Drachman. He didn't bother making time to study the language, because he usually didn't take clients from this area. It was way to god damn cold for his taste. But this time, the pay was good. See, when you had a week or two off being a killer, you tended to find other ways to kill. His side job was just like his military one. This time though, it was for his gain.

Shinku had been sitting at the main bar for two hours straight now. Yet he had only consumed one glass of whiskey. These Drachmans much preferred the company of vodka, but vodka was too low class. To each their own. Hunched over the bar with his hands together, he began to reach into his pocket for a slip. It was a picture of a man, mid 50's, rather bulky looking, and very wealthy. Anyone could be rich, but few could be wealthy. The man had two Slav looking fellows with him, each one presumably armed. Shinku looked down at the duffle bag that carried his gear, making sure he was ready. He watched as one of the Slavs had gotten up to use the restroom. Taking a quick glance at his watch, he sighed as he picked up the duffle bag and walked into the restroom right after the Slav. A saxophone could be heard playing a soft tune over the intercom as he entered the pearl white lavatory. Placing the duffle bag down and locking the door, he began to round the corner slowly while he heard the guard singing a little tune to himself as he adjusted himself in the mirror. With a casual gait, Shinku walked up next to him, turning on the faucet to wash his hands. Out of his peripheral, the Slav looked clueless to the next act that would soon take place. Turning off the faucet gently, the sound of the water going down the drain seemed to drown out his mind, as Shinku reached his hand up to the back of the man's head to slam his face into the porcelain construct, the bridge of the man's nose echoing a sick crack through the confines, accented by the smooth jazz playing softly over head. Reaching into his pocket to pull out a ziptie, Shinku quickly latched the ziptie around the man's throat with the predatory reflexes of a beast, with one hand now sealing the deal as he quickly zipped it tight. The man's gasps of air and the soft jazz played in tandem, as Shinku crouched down next to the struggling man, giving a soft smile as he took the shades off the slav's face to see the true terror in the man's eyes. It was somewhat serene to watch another person's life slip away, watching the transition from life to death slowly plot its course. The man's struggled movements slowly came to a halt, as the man's eyes now appeared empty and devoid of life. Going back to the door to obtain the duffle bag, the next phase of the operation could began:Transformatiom

Some could say Shinku liked to take the less traveled paths when doing something. Reaching to the duffle bag, he pulled out a box the size of an end table as he clamped the box over the mans head. Reaching back into the bag, he got a large clump of plastic and skin colored powder. Putting the two ingredients into a hole at the top of the box, he would press a switch on the box as he waited for a minute. It was like art, yet in a sick way. Hearing the beep go off, he unclamped the box to see the mans face covered in a leathery head mask. Ripping the mask off, he proceeded to put his new creation around his own head, as he assumed the guise of his dead Slav friend. Placing the shades he took off the corpse, he began to take the clothes off the man, save the underwear. Placing his clothes in the duffle bag, he assumed the rest of his disguise, putting all his equipment away. The body was eventually placed in the supply closet under the janitorial equipment as the killing was now to commence. Unlocking the bathroom door, he went back out into the bar towards the emergency exit as he opened it a crack, tossing the duffle bag into the nearby dumpster. This was gonna be fun.

Regrouping with the other two men, the fat man, who he learned was named Yosef, motioned for them to leave the bar. As they stepped outside, Shinku felt the cool, leathery mask contract in the blizzard. The three of them made a right down the street, to the alleyway where the car was parked. The snow made it hard to see, and was deep in some areas, which would be perfect for him As they reached the car, Time started to slow down in his head. Instincts made him reach for one of the colt m1911a1s in his jacket, swiftly placing a round into the unsuspecting slav, alerting and startling Yosef. The man's eyes were full of shock as the man was awfully confused. The gun, now trained on the fat man, sent a round straight into the eye of the wealthy man, as he slumped down into the snow against the car.

Putting the gun in his jacket, he ripped off the mask as he let out an exhale, reaching into his pocket to retrieve his cellphone as he made the call."Hello? Yeah it's me Shinku. Oh yeah it's done alright. Yeah the little shit wasn't hard to find. The funds can just be wired to my account, you have the info you need. It's been a pleasure working with you"Ending the call, Shinku sighed as he began to put the two bodies in the trunk of Yosef's car, slamming the lid down onto the two corpses. He would go back down the street to the dumpster to retrieve the duffle bag. This was quite the experience he would have to say. On the side, there were no rules. It had taken him a week to find this man, and the pay was quite welcome. Putting the disguise he acquired into the dumpster, he put on his original clothing, as he rewarded himself with a cigarette. Leaning against the dumpster, he stood in the cold, going back from kill mode, to casual mode all in under 15 minutes. Death was a bitter sweet thing, no?

[Guest]

Sliding a toothpick in and out of his mouth as he stood atop the fire escape above an alleyway also home to a dilapidated apartment complex, Ayden sucked in the cool Drachman air, breathing out of his nose and fiddling with his pistol with a sigh. The stench of cordite, spent metal, and blood seeped out of the open door behind him as he unscrewed the suppressor, whistling the crescendo to one of Beethoven's symphonies.

Why was it that Amestrians made the best music? Honestly, it was the only claim to pride he had for his Amestrian half - their military hadn't been doing too well lately. Footsteps clapped in the distance, and Ayden froze, scanning the alley below, eyes surveying across like searchlights. Click. Click. Whoomph. The sound of a lighter being struck a few times before the flame finally stuck strong in this bitterly cold weather resonated from below.

Ayden's frozen expression finally stretched out into a toothy, bloodthirsty, nigh-on vampiric grin. A smoker? Well, that could make things definitively interesting. He pocketed the suppressor and holstered Asmodeus at his shin, and took a quick raincheck. The Children, The Twins, The Fangs... all in place. His standard equipped bandoliers, the alchemical revolver siblings, and the Harbinger holstered at his back. The Audi was a few blocks away with the rest, kitted out with the Y3 just for fun.

The rule of thumb for him: don't come into Drachma without enough artillery for a small war.

The fire escape was maybe twenty feet above the unsuspecting would-be assassin garbed in casual attire, but from here, in the murky depths of the building, Ayden could divine nothing. Hands straining the leather as they stretched, he sighed and slowly began to creep down the steps, leaving the door wide open behind him. It was closing up to the early hours in the morning; no-one would find it until sunrise, and in Drachma, that was a late occasion. The silver-haired murderer licked his lips. It was time to have a little fun.

The serpent moved to the end of the fire escape's stairs, spat away the toothpick into the ground's blackened slush, and looked to the ladder leading down the last six or seven feet, locked in place. He didn't want to kick it down and give himself away when he could simply make a far more dramatic entrance... the bitter wind whistled through his locks as he leapt downwards silently, no sound save for the fluttering of his coat, the touchdown of his soles against the gritty, snow-kissed floor of the alley, the crunch of sleet as he turned on his heels, and the drawing of twin blades as he approached the man, extending it and pointing the blade at his chest. "Now before you reach for anything, I'm a fucking surgeon with these swords," His grin widened. "Unless you want to see if I can run you through faster than you can make a draw, you'll keep your weapon holstered and you'll stay still."

He pulled the blade up to draw with Shinku's chin, barely an inch away. "And I mean still. I see a fucking twitch and you're going to breathe your last on the floor of this alley. Is that absolutely clear?" The dementia was taking over; his words were hissing out into an undertone of a snarl. The wrinkles in his face vanished into nothing and he hissed out a dark giggle. Ayden sighed, re-aligning himself and working the tension from his neck. A good bit of intimidation always got the blood pumping. "Right, then..."

"Tell me what you're doing here before I turn you into a pork skewer, and use your intestines as a skipping rope~!"

[Shinku Kamogaya]

"Now before you reach for anything, I'm a fucking surgeon with these swords," "Unless you want to see if I can run you through faster than you can make a draw, you'll keep your weapon holstered and you'll stay still."

Well shit. If things in this frozen icebox couldn't get weirder. A man now stood before him with a blade to his throat. He guessed it was a good day to die, huh? The man before him spoke with a primal anger he could only compare to him killing a man. It was similar to his yet, darker and unpredictable. He would lock eyes with the man as he exhaled a cloud of smoke into the wispy winter wind. No ordinary man carried a sword, let alone a pair unless the art of shedding blood was a trade of theirs. He would keep his hands to his sides as he let the cigarette loosely hang from his lips, addressing the man's question of his own whereabouts.

"I'm gonna take a shot in the fucking dark here and say someone payed you to "dispose" of me?" Shinku loved to have his life on the line. He didnt anticipate running into another killer as himself out here in the middle of an alley, but life he learned loved to play games, and sometimes those games were costly. Letting the cigarette fall from his lips to the ground, he would place his heel on top of the deathstick and smother it as he chuckled, the ice cold blade jabbing him in the throat."If you must know, I got a job eliminating some Slav fuck. But it looks like you came here with enough ordnance to slaughter a town. So I'll give you props." He would grin some at the man, as he crossed his arms. He had respect for others in his profession. This man seemed to have hell on his side after all, as he could feel the death emanate off of the blade that could easily end his life. Shinku obviously didn't come prepared enough to deal with an assassin, but he would assumed he would have to make do with what he had.

He would continue to stare at the man, not bothering to move. He had to admit he was caught off guard, but he wasn't gonna just roll over and be beaten! Maybe this man with the sword at his neck was the kind of man that would spice up his job. Nothing like a little competition to make you feel alive!

[Guest]

"I'm gonna take a shot in the fucking dark here and say someone payed you to "dispose" of me?"

Ayden's grin widened a touch further. "Why, nothing so simple!" The assassin let a slow, lurching chuckle escape, the grim laughter reverberating off the walls of the alley and becoming naught but a dramatic echo lost to the frozen wind. "I'm a man of many pleasures - and my business is only one of them." An enigma phrased as best he could: his occupation wasn't the only thing he lived for, essentially.

Of course, all of this pseudo-philosophical nonsense and dancing around the point was irrelevant: he was leading only to one thing, a simple statement. This was intimidation. He wanted - needed - to see this man fear him, to fear death. Not beg for his life just yet; but let past that tiny flicker of terror in his iris. Then Ayden would vanish once more, a spectre dissipating into the murky blackness of the night. "My name is Ayden Derocha. You may well have heard of me." His name was nothing. "I top the world's elite. I am one of the most powerful and well-reputed assassins in the world." That toothy grin only stretched farther. "So trust me when I say that if I wanted you dead, we would not be having this conversation."

He licked his lips thinking of the numerous ways he could slice this man up and serve him, painting a great abstract work upon the walls of the alleyway with his bloody entrails, a true enigma and an act the Drachman police would be baffled by. The man dropped his cigarette and stamped it out with a chuckle, breathing the last of the grisly smoke out onto the air, where it vanished as swiftly as it had appeared. "If you must know, I got a job eliminating some Slav fuck. But it looks like you came here with enough ordnance to slaughter a town. So I'll give you props."

With a smirk, Ayden cocked his head and slowly sheathed the left of the tanto at the small of his back, leaving a single gloved hand free. He lowered the blade clutched in his right in a slow arc, barely inches away from Shinku's stomach. "You make a good point." In a blur of movement, his hand shot to the opposite side of his jacket and landed dead upon its destination, the hilt of one of the Canis Twins. The silver-haired warrior knew his arsenal far too well, every inch lowered and every exact placement, every off movement and everything that could possibly slow him down. For this knowledge, this conditioning, he was fluid, he was fast, and he considered himself nigh-on unbeatable.

The MP7 machine pistol was already locked, cocked, and loaded, and he drew it across through the air in an arc, aimed dead off, barely an inch from the side of Shinku's head, and squeezed the trigger for a second, his face dead and pale as it had always been, the lithe, elegant image of a phantom in the night. Fitting for an encounter in Moscow like this.

The rounds pummelled into the wall of the alley with unsurprising vigour; the echo of the gunshots resonated far and wide through this sector of Moscow. Heated cartridge cases burnt throw the snow on the ground below; gunsmoke rose in a wisp from the barrel of the gun. The automatic crackling of a machine pistol had lit up the night, and all across the street, lights in shoddy apartments and dilapidated houses flickered on. "I told you," He uttered with a snarl and a self-righteous laugh. "Not to move."

The spray of bullets had dug themselves into an accurate spread barely centimetres across from the side of Shinku's temple. This would hopefully show he wasn't fucking around: but more hopefully bring the man closer to breaking - that was what Ayden really wanted. That fear to become evident; he fed off it, he enjoyed it, he sapped from it like some twisted process of osmosis. He bathed and washed in it, he breathed and drunk it, and he slept soundly at night because of it. His entire life, his reputation, his occupation: all constructed around fear. Fear of others causing a need to have them disposed of. Fear of him creating an image to intimidate and send a message. And the fear that one day, there was a chance, even as slim as it was, that the relatives or comrades of someone he'd been hired to kill had spun the roulette wheel and struck lucky, hiring that very same assassin to retaliate. The fear that one day he'd walk through their door bearing his arms and the tools of his trade.

Holstering the MP9 once more, he sighed. "Puppy doesn't want to play..." Ayden chirped in a sing-song voice. "GYAHAHAH!" He howled in laughter, his face contorting in shrill, deranged content. Then, the ghostly expression of spiteful laughter vanished, and he rushed forth, face curled up in a justified, self-righteous sneer. "Puppy had better fucking play, lest the man with the blade cuts out his fucking throat." Degradation always worked.

The looming, ominous black clouds gathered ahead, pathetic fallacy for what could come. Snowflakes began to drift down, and, beneath all this active consideration of what the lesser assassin could do, for a moment, Ayden mused on just how similar to this city he was. Cold. Hating. Definitively utilitarian. Twisted, broken, and full of new points to be explored. His malice, his spite, his sadism knew no bounds, it was an untapped, unlimited presence within him: just like the streets of Moscow that twisted and turned, but never seemed to end.

Thus far, this man had not impressed him. Ayden scowled with a sick grin upon his face, pressing the point of his tanto into the man's chest, ever so gently, as he began to consider the situation's ramifications and set those reputed powers of Derocha analysis into play. "Who are you?" He had mentioned elimination. "An assassin... like me?" Very slowly, his silvery brow rose. Oh, this was grand! This was too good for words to express.

"That's... that's the best joke I've heard in years!" He rose his free hand to wipe a mock tear from his eye. "No, eons!" He howled as shuddering laughter rose from his throat once more. Still not impressive, but this encounter... this was funny! "THE AUDACITY, THAT YOU COULD HOPE TO BE ANYTHING BUT AN APPARITION, A SHADOW, A SPECK OF THE GLORY I HOLD!"

His shout echoed throughout the walls of Moscow and he smiled as he managed to rein himself in and control himself, rubbing his eyes and letting the last, jittery chuckles dissipate into the air. "Ah... grand." He sighed, pressing the blade once more to remind Shinku that, in spite of that insulting little display, his life was still on the line. "What do you get your pay from? Who do you kill?" The hiss of mockery only continued. Degradation... degradation was the next step. "Little girls and stray dogs?"

Ayden pushed his head in closer, and let silence well around them for but a moment, barely six inches from Shinku's face, his blade still ready, pressed and waiting, the tip of it on the man's chest. "After all..." He snarled, the mania fading back into contorted dementia, his anger, that unshackled beast within, rising inside. His cerulean eyes flickered under the moonlight in the few seconds it wasn't obscured by thick, grey clouds. "...you don't look like you could even hope to be more competent than that, you uncivilised, uneducated, plebeian piece of shit."

[Shinku Kamogaya]

"My name is Ayden Derocha. You may well have heard of me."

This was SWELL. to think he would meet Mr. Derocha himself! It felt like a sick twisted christmas. Why, it was even snowing for the occasion. His eyes looked down to the blade that had reached his chest, as the only thing that separated the blade from his heart was the frigid skin that lay between them. No sooner was the blade lowered that he had a gun drawn on him, yet was not fired at, technically. His ears rung at the gun dispensing rounds by his head, the smell of gunpowder and the heat of cooked brass filling his nostrils. His eyes were filled with the repetitive flashes that sat before him, yet all Shinku felt was serenity. It wasn't the first time this had happened, so why changed now? Though the fact that the man was Ayden Derocha himself was exciting! He would let out a sigh as the brass finally stopped clinking on the ground under them.

"Ah, what a feeling eh? To have your life on the LINE!"Shinku's heart was beating like a phone book in a dryer. Too bad his own skills were attacked by this man's insults, one by one. Uneducated? Uncivilised?! WHAT A JOKE! Taking the tip of the man's blade into his gloved hand, he began to slide his hand down the blade, bringing himself slowly closer to Mr. Derocha as his own lifeblood pooled in his hand, the blade cutting him slowly as he began to laugh at the events that transpired before him. Inches from the man, his hand stopping at the guard of the tanto as the blade was at his side, he spoke with an excited chuckle.[color=green]"I never thought I would be so lucky, as to be graced with the presence of the man I admired as an assassin, and HERE YOu ARE READY TO KILL ME!"[/b]His mouth contorted into a toothy grin as he spoke in a softer tone to the assassin."Unfortunately for you, however, this man doesn't falter to displays of blades or gunfire. You may be a legend, I'll give you that, but there are more assassins than just you. In fact, I think someday, you'll fall off that throne of yours pretty damn hard.." Pushing himself quickly away as the blade sung against the flesh of his hand, the snow a vibrant crimson underneath him, he chuckled as placed his hands behind his back underneath his duster, the sound of hands meeting gunmetal echoing in the night, yet he didn't draw.

Standing there, he thought of how this day would end. He had heard of this man's exploits, and to be honest, he was afraid of the man. But this fear gave him adrenaline and joy. It let him know that no matter what he could die at any moment, anytime, anywhere. He let out a small laugh as he kept his eyes trained on the man, as he watched his tanto drip with his own blood. He felt crazy, and he felt risky.

[color=green]"I've killed many soldiers, many high ranking politicians, hell, I slaughtered the last Empress of Aerugo's whole guard of 40 men! It makes my skin crawl with fervor to watch men die. I get payed hefty, and I take pride in my work. I live to watch people suffer. Don't you agree you live for the same reason. He could feel his blood trail down his fingers as it stung to grasp the right pistol, but this pain, this sense of death incoming made his senses acute and made life more vibrant. What was life without death or pain? Cocking his head, his fingers tapping on the grips of his Dual Talons as he questioned the man."When I started killing, I strived to be the best. People like you give me the reason to live to kill another day. Do you know why you kill?"

He kept his eyes focused for any small movement, ready to draw as the pistols were chambered and ready to fire at a moment's notice. He wanted to hear this man's thoughts just as much as he wanted to best him.

[Guest]

"Ah, what a feeling eh? To have your life on the LINE!" As much of a plebeian as he was, the wannabe assassin had truly hit the nail on the head; when it came to gambling, your life was the highest stakes you could give, and so many time had Ayden danced upon the razor's edge in this grand casino and one: but the thrill was the greatest thing in all the world.

"Just as yours very much is..." He murmured, letting a chuckle escape. "Perhaps I'm doing the world a favour in ridding it of such an idiot like you..." Someone who was unarmed, someone who did not exploit even the faintest of windows he was giving... this man contributed nothing to the underworld.

"I never thought I would be so lucky, as to be graced with the presence of the man I admired as an assassin, and HERE YOU ARE READY TO KILL ME!" After that momentary ego-boost, he grinned again and rose the blade to Shinku's throat, still blissfully dwelling in the domain of mania. To be killed by your idol in this game was the grandest honour one could hope for: it was a far better way than simply to be offed by a dull thug, and tossed in a ditch, with nothing left of a face for the police to identify you by. "Unfortunately for you, however, this man doesn't falter to displays of blades or gunfire. You may be a legend, I'll give you that, but there are more assassins than just you. In fact, I think someday, you'll fall off that throne of yours pretty damn hard.."

In an instant, Ayden's glorious mania turned back to dementia; his expression faltered and that grin curled down into a snarl as he sneered in retaliation. "And just who's going to push me off, moron?" He grinned, drawing the blade back as he slowly rose the Twin in its place, and watched as the moonlight danced along the crimson-tainted edge. So... tempting. Cocking back his head, keeping one eye on Shinku, he pointed his tongue straight out of his mouth, upwards, and let the blade dance along it, sucking off every droplet of blood that was still clinging to the sword, gulping it down as the crimson streamed over his lips and down his chin.

"Mmm..." He swapped the Fang back in, pressing the salivated blade up against his throat once more. "The blood of an amateur always tastes the best. Such energy. Such aspiration." A grin, and those cerulean eyes flickered beneath the starlit sky. "And such blissful ignorance of the fact that all your pitiful efforts will amount to nothing."

"I've killed many soldiers, many high ranking politicians, hell, I slaughtered the last Empress of Aerugo's whole guard of 40 men! It makes my skin crawl with fervor to watch men die. I get payed hefty, and I take pride in my work. I live to watch people suffer. Don't you agree you live for the same reason. Ayden shook his head; and here was where he and the plebeian differed in such grand capacities. The key was in one thing: motive. "When I started killing, I strived to be the best. People like you give me the reason to live to kill another day. Do you know why you kill?"

"I do not kill for money, and I do not kill for pride nor pleasure," It was true, he gained copious amounts of all three from completing even a simple job, exercising as much freedom as he could. "This is why you are a simple hitman, a thug with a gun, and I am so much more..." He murmured. Here came the spiel. The Derocha retort. Why he was no simple warrior, murderer, slaughterer, poisonous worm, venomous snake, or any one of the labels he'd been branded over his twenty-seven years of living, and his eleven of murder.

"I kill to complete my masterpiece, my grandest work; to etch out notes of my beautiful symphony in the blood of my enemies." He grinned. "To finish the manuscript of my great literary epic in the entrails of my adversaries." There was a synonym. He trailed the blade down Shinku's neck, now, and allowed it to rest on his sternum, prodding in relatively hard. "To paint strokes upon the open canvas that is the world in the flesh of those who would dare to oppose me, or those that would hire me."

And here came the summary, the truly excellent bottom line of it all. The line Ayden had used so much, the line he used every time someone asked that question, whether sobbing, intrigued, or simply morbidly curious. "Why?"

"Killing..." He looked up to Shinku and something truly broken flickered in his eyes, the chains snapped, the insanity suddenly all fell into place to anyone watching, peering deep into those twin azure oceans. "Killing is my art."

With that, he offered the man a sideways glance, shrugged, and decided to sheath his tanto. That would be enough ego-boosting for the night. Once he saw the man's response, the way he told him how crazy or depraved he was, he could giggle, and he could finish this pitiful attempt to undermine him in a matter of moments. "But the truth, dear fan, is that you shall never be the best." Half-snarl, half-grin carved itself into the assassin's ghostly pallor. "You will always fall short of the mark. You will always end up being second-best, and even that's a touch of a stretch, considering the way you act..." He snarled with that self-righteous flair.

"...because I'll always be there, standing in first place, before the finish line's even in sight." Ayden grinned and popped his head forward, raising the machine pistol and waving it up and down in a tight arc to display the control he had over it. He drifted closer and placed his lips barely an inch away from Shinku's ears as he heard another droplet of blood fall from his hand and splash in the puddle on the floor. "Game... over."

[Shinku Kamogaya]

But the truth, dear fan, is that you shall never be the best." "You will always fall short of the mark. You will always end up being second-best, and even that's a touch of a stretch, considering the way you act..."

Shinku started to feel angry now. Who was he, to denote who was the best? This man didn't even know of his exploits, let alone what he has done to kill. To be judge by those who thought they were the best really pissed him off. Then again, Ayden was an elite. looking down the barrel of the gun pointed at him, time seemed to halt for a while. He could see the chambered round at the end of the barrel, and one trigger pull would splatter his brains along the alley. The dripping of his blood seemed to echo in his skull, drilling into his very sanity as the man whispered in his ear."I'll admit.. you are better than me. All I ask for now is an opinion.." What shinku did next might have been one of the most idiotic things he's ever done, and that was a stretch

He drew the pistol that his right hand rested on with a swift movement, so fast, that it might have already been out. The barrel of the colt met the stomach of the man, the pistol coated with his own blood as he grinned at the man. He shouldn't have brought himself close enough to whisper."Do I have potential?" Shinku chuckled softly as the blade at his chest seemed to feel like it was already through his heart.

"You know nothing of my exploits, which makes me question your judgement of me. I used to kill for support, but I have so much money, now it's because it keeps me sane. Wouldn't you agree?" The pistol in his hand felt like it weighed a ton. On the edge of life, your mind liked to play tricks on you, warp colors and shapes, and screw with one's perception of what is real or not. The events before him seemed transparent and fake, yet in the scheme of things, reality before him was absolute. The guns, the blade, his blood, were all real. Slowly switching the safety off, he smiled, a small bout of laughter escaping his lips."I'll play your game.. I love games."

[Csilla Angelis]

{BUMP}

[Guest]

"I'll play your game.. I love games."

The draw of the gun. The cock of the hammer. The weight of a pistol in the other man's hand. A smirk drew itself further upon Ayden's face, etching in like a bloody carving as the moonlight danced across those bared, animalistic, primal teeth. "I warned you."

The barrel of the enemy M1911A1 - truly a beautiful weapon, respect held for the amateur in that respect - was digging into his gut with a strange, off-balance sense of familiarity. And finally, when Ayden re-oriented himself and readied for movement, only one sound escaped his lips. No growl. No hiss. No shout. But merely a sigh, as if he were ashamed of Shinku for moving in such a predictable manner. Just another amateur.

His retaliation was a blur. He drew the hand with the tanto and pressed the flat of the blade against the Cretan's wrist, sweeping his hand aside and glancing it off in a split-second; any trigger pulls would scrape him at worst, and result in a jarred arm and wasted ammunition at worst. He made a swift riposte with the Fang and sheathed it, before pressing his boot against the man's knee with a sharp kick and aiming the Canis Twin dead-on at Shinku's head. His finger tightened over the trigger, clicking and easing with every ounce of pressure Ayden further exerted. Pathways and timelines unfolded in front of him, bursts of fire followed by the moron's head exploding like a swollen, bloody watermelon.

Then his grip faltered.

He lowered the machine pistol for but a second. "No..." A glimpse of redemption dancing in those azure oases. Was... was Ayden Derocha losing his touch? Was his senseless and limitless malice finally drawing to a close, with no further advance on the horizon?

Of course not.

He simply wanted to inflict as much worldly pain as he could upon this chap and be on his way. Indiscriminate murder, as much as he loved it, was counter-productive and messy. With competition? It was always far much more fun simply to maim them and run away.

He tapped the trigger three short times in quick succession aiming at Shinku's shoulder, and he heard the rounds shear through flesh and sinews, scraping past bone and even passing straight through his arm; even Ayden clenched his teeth in bliss at the very thought of that agony, with his sadomasochistic tendencies at the forefront of his mind. God, it was beautiful. Blood spattered out behind him and the spent, bent remnants of the bullet clattered against the dumpster and rolled along the floor through the grit. "You're defeated," The assassin concluded with triumph, kicking the M1911 out of his hand and down the alley so he wouldn't take any shots in the back. "You're finished."

He stood back, and took one final look at Shinku, shaking his head and breaking into giddy laughter. "You're a pathetic imitation. You're pitiful. You'll never be a real killer." He sheathed the machine pistol and sighed. "You're not even worth another bullet for a mercy kill." With that, he turned on his heel, shook his head behind him, silvery hair flailing in the midnight, and walked away. "Find me and try to kill me if you ever get better. But you'll still fail."

And as he left, he turned on his heel, flashed one last smile, cocked his head, and with the moonlight giving him an almost ghostly and ethereal aura, he spoke those last words: "I'm not falling off this throne yet."

[EXIT THREAD]

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