Finest Brutality; the dream match. [Cavallone vs. TV!]

[Cavallone]

Never, during my time with them, did I stop to think about losing. As a child, I always thought the good guys won every encounter.

I guess it's kinda true when they say war never changes. I mean, it's always been the same for me.

A dark silhouette danced across the dilapidated textures of the wall, the raven haired youth moving skillfully across the edge of that building. A clip of ammunition was balanced carefully upon his shoe, playing idly with the item. His foot jerked upward two inches, throwing the magazine into the air, appendage arcing outward to catch the smooth, black object. Lifting a black Beretta pistol, he fed the clip into the base of the handle, spinning it on his finger before sliding it back into the holster.

They were a bunch of unorganized and untrained idiots, and when I kinda found out just how weak we were in comparison, I felt a little bad for 'em. I mean, imminent death and all.

Amber oculi glanced to the horizon; the setting sun was depressing him more than it should have been. Nothing but money tied him to their cause, so why did he feel regret? The human psyche was an oddity in itself, and it was something that irritated him to hell and back. Moving to his breast pocket, he withdrew a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, pearly enamel biting down on the dirty yellow tip. Calloused digit flicked against the ignition, a small flame coming to life within his palm.

I didn't think it would affect me that badly. I thought I was past the whole post traumatic stress disorder shit a decade ago.

His eyes filled with an aesthetic static, the scene ahead of him bleeding away into a beautiful array of pixels. Even during the severity of the situation, his mind always found creative ways to shift into a flashback. No longer was he confronted with a horizon, but a bloodied room full of corpses; bodies ripped apart by the horrendous torrent of hellacious gunfire.

Shaded eyes glanced to his past self, physique rigid as he stared down the sights of his gun. A violet haired agent held the head of his female comrade, dangling the skull by the hair. The mercenary couldn't shake that memory from his mind, no matter how hard he tried.

Pixelations brought his mind to a new setting; he had dropped his own gun, and despite the taunts, fought with that monstrosity bare handed. There was no match between them; one of them was a monster, but the other a demon.

The fight ended when he secured a clinch -- he forced that ugly visage down, crashing his knee into the facial structure rapidly. His leg was soon drenched in blood, sanguine crimson chasing away the color of black. Lifting the agent by his own violet strands, devilish eyes stared at the one eye that was visible. He mockingly pushed the ragged body against the wall, amused by his labored breathing.

Brandishing a combat knife, he forced the tip through the adams apple, making sure the knife was deep enough to stay, but shallow enough to torture. Pulling back his right hand, he thrust it forward, slamming his palm against the handle. Crimson sprayed over his facial features, but kept that body held upward, the knife penetrating both flesh and the wall behind him.

Reaching forward, the mercenary mockingly smiled, digging his nails into the one good eye socket the male had left. Digits curled around the eye itself, and ever so slowly, did he pull it out, ignoring the gurgled screams and cries. Yanking his arm back, he gazed down softly at the eye, rolling it in the palm of his hand. Tiers curled into a smile, before crushing the small orb in his hand.

I couldn't eat for awhile after this.

He watched himself, crushing the eyeball before shoving the remnants back into the socket. Ripping his knife from the throat, he watched as that body helplessly slid to the ground, shivering in pain. Pressing his heel against his forehead, the mercenary smiled, pulling back his leg. A cacophony of fragmented skull, blood, and brains echoed in that quiet room, decorating the dirty walls with gore.

The scene bled back into reality, and he found that he had almost smoked that entire cigarette during his time in la la land. Tossing the cancerous stick over the edge, he slid his lighter and pack back into his breast pocket, crossing his arms over his chest.

But, god damn did they deserve to die. Especially the Cow.

[Toxic Variations]

So, it happens over and over again. People rebel and then they are put down easily. Wars rage and die out. Why fight against the inevitable? A dream of a life, with choice, is made of fairy tales. What we have the illusion of choice - in all it's disappointing grandeur. It's so much easier to live a life void of choice! The men and women, of the rebellion, were cleaned out by the agent known as Michael and only one man survived to tell the tale. This man was Raphael's target and for weeks he had been following him!

As the agent walked the deserted streets of London, he fed off the scent of refuse and trash. Grey, unhappy faces, lined with age, peered out from behind stained curtains. That pale, menacing vision was being watched by the unhappy populace. Raphael lifted both of his eyes up to the sky. The setting sun was a ball of fire. She paid no man the slightest sympathy as her burning rays touched down on the ramshackle huts and the broken, falling tenements of this one bustling and beauteous city. Remnants of his attack, on the innocent populace, remained. Unidentified corpses lay in silent homes and many were still upon the streets - not yet picked up by the life recycling crew.

Raphael would probably return to these lonely streets, after apprehending his target ( he was very close ), and take what he desired from the fresh corpses. Hearts, brains, eyes - whatever he wanted and he would take them without regret. For now his mind drifted to his early childhood years. Many blood-thirsty summers danced through his mind in shades of red and gold. Often he would reflect on these summers - he, the young boy of fourteen years, laughing as he pointed at the skinny, emaciated bodies of those unfortunates behind the wires of the work/concentration camps.

From an early age, he and the rest of his comrades had been molded into monsters - what demon or angel could hope to change monsters into human beings? He, along with his comrades, had suffered hideous torture at the hands of uncaring scientists. Raphael's memory was destroyed, shattered, he recalled nothing from his early childhood years before he was taken. That could not be said for the others, but for him? It was true. The brainwashing, the pain, the torture of his childhood trials - made him into the man he is now. Raphael would eventually arrive atop the building on which Mamoru stood. He would not speak for awhile, but he would whistle. Time to have some fun. In his passionate mind, he had been waiting for the moment when he would finally face the mercenary. They were made for this - two dogs, filthy and unwanted, tearing each other part. This was all they were good for.

" ... You're friends. You know what I would've done to them had it been me there instead of Michael? Death is too easy for you little people. First I would've raped the women and then I would've pissed and shat on them. Then a little butchery would've come next. Arms, legs, maybe a couple of fingers crushed. You like butchery, don't you? The men would've been made to watch. You'd been in the front row, little boy. "

He spoke of all of this as if it gave him a thrill and truly it did. Strands of stark white hair slithered and writhed against the enigma's alabaster brow. He was dressed in a simple white suit with a gray tie loose and hanging around his neck. The picture of fashion, Satan was. The man would continue to whistle as he took a couple of steps forward.

“Yes, it was you who killed Michael! No one else could do it. You were the strongest; you were the only one who survived. I should thank you for doing that. I hated him, you see, I wanted him dead and gone. You did me a big favor. And just for that - I'll let you live, for a little while, after you submit to me in ROOM 101. It'll be wonderful for the both of us, yes? I'll be able to watch you bow your head in subservience. I'll even give you a couple of years before I place you in front of the firing squad. "

The cold air stroked his face and tossed his long, white hair against his back as Raphael looked at the horizon. The Thames was glittering and on fire with this setting sun, so beautiful in it's finality. Enough talk for now. He was ready to do this most noble of deeds: Destroy this last remnant of humanity's struggle against the all knowing, all seeing eye of Big Brother.

[Cavallone]

It was no surprise as to who the Ministry had sent; certain agents had been systematically picked off in accordance to their threat level. If he had worked a little faster, just a bit quicker, then he could have prevented the whole event. Or, would he have been sentencing them to a worse fate? There were very few agents who ranked higher than Michael on that ripped piece of paper, and one of them was standing behind him. Even if the violet agent was a pathetic shit, he was still too strong for the rebellion to handle.

"He cried. They all do, when faced with death. A lot of people who call themselves hardened or think themselves detached, but when I stared into their eyes? I could see tears, and despair. I was never the type to torture an opponent, but they brought out the worst in me. If you had been there in his place, then he would be here in yours, now."

Turning to face Raphael, he glanced down to the shadow cast by his own frame, and couldn't help but smile. It was a majestic sight to behold, and almost otherworldly. Lifting an appendage toward his soon to be opponent, a small glint could be seen hidden within his right sleeve. Raven locks shifted aside upon the tilting of his head, his tongue licking lightly against parted tiers. A knife slid into his grasp, digits tightening around the blackened handle.

"Isn't this one hell of a scenario? If I kill you, then all I have to do is find your superior and gut him. Isn't that right, Raphael? I never understood just why you do what you do. Does it feel nice?"

Fluctuations of his wrist, and the placement of the steel on his finger, resulted in the skillful spin of his combat knife. Stepping forward, a cliche, but light breeze caught the tails of his oversized coat. Biting down on his lower lip, his eyes mockingly sized up his opponent. His upper physique leaned over slightly, his elbow pulled in slightly against his midsection.

"Does his dick do something special for you? Or does he stroke your colon in a special way? C'mon, tell me. Don't be shy! I wanna know why you fucks do the work you do. Maybe I should ask Seraphim? I should, seeing as how nothing but shit flows from that thing you call a mouth."

His grip on the knife loosened, waving the tip toward the white devil.

"C'mon. I'll make sure you die with a smile. I just hope you're not as fucking pathetic as that little purple haired shit before you. I'm sure I can make you cry, too."

[Toxic Variations]

" Did he now? I wish I could've seen that. I just have to say: I'm surprised! I never would've imagined Michael to be the type to shed tears. I suppose he was human in the end. Again, I have to say thank you; you've made my evening!"

The enjoyment, on Raphael's face, could not be contained. The amusement, which lingered in blue eyes, was always present. Just look at the snide, arrogant smirk on his pale lips! The man truly thought he was untouchable, didn't he? Or maybe there was something more to him then what met the eye. Raphael's was a man who possessed many different sides to his personality - he was, to be blunt, a puzzle composed of so many, jagged pieces. One touch, a mere glance, and you bleed.

" Oh yes, boo hoo. Cry, cry, cry. So they all cried with despair. Did you get a little thrill from that? I always do. No, I think you enjoyed it a great deal! As we both know: Human beings are the worst monsters imaginable. Even those who consider themselves to be on the ' good ' side or, we could say, the self proclaimed ' heros ' are just as bad if not worse then me and mine. "

Raphael paused in speech. His body was relaxed and both of his hands were hanging at his sides. It seemed, as if this were nothing but an evening stroll, for him, through scenes of the past. He continued that merry tune, something he remembered from his childhood years. Something the endless torture could not take away. He didn't seem to hear the comment about if he had been there, Michael would be here at this moment. A grin spread across his mouth.

" Basically, yes. Does it feel nice? Always. It's like cracking a kid's skull, against the concrete, and watching the brains ooze out. The piteous squeals never get old. You, being a mercenary, I'm sure you've heard plenty of them. I do have to say this: I don't know why I'd bother explaining myself to a man who's loyalty depends on pieces of paper and coin. I'm right, aren't I? If anyone's a monster here, it's you. "

He could laugh and he was laughing right now, actually. This kid knew how to tickle his funny bone. Oh Jesus fuckin' Christ! As the tears gathered in his eyes - Raphael would snort and place his right hand against his mouth. The agent could taste bitter salty sweat and dirt on his palm. He would pull his hand away and rake his fingers over his partially opened mouth - staring at Mamoru with that sickening, ice blue gaze.

" If you win, by all means, give it a try. I'll be watching from whatever hell I've been cast into. As for why I do what I do. I'll make it plain and simple so you can understand: I enjoy it, I crave it, I need it. If I weren't an agent, I'd still do it and you know what: I'll keep on doing it as long as I can! I was bred and programmed to be a killer - simple as that. Understand? Ask Seraphim? Do that. Maybe his answer will be more satisfactory. "

More lies. He would watch as the feisty mercenary would wield his combat knife with such fervor. Raphael would purse his lips and raise both hands up - palms facing Mamoru. The look on his face was comical and, surprisingly, Raphael always did have a nasty sense of humor. The look on his face? It practically screamed: Oh please, don't hurt me, big bad mercenary. I'm scared! He would drop both hands and grin with such sickening delight.

" What's that you got, boy? Mine's bigger. "

With his vicious personality, often came snide, joking remarks meant to piss off and aggravate. The grin, on his mouth, lengthened as he walked towards Mamoru. Raphael would toss off his long, black overcoat.

" Die with a smile. I don't think you have it in you. You're tired. You're plagued with thoughts about your friends. Shall I tell you what happened to the corpses? I'll just say this: You've, no doubt, had a taste of your comrades. I'm sure the greater half of London has had a good taste. Your friends were shit in life, now they can be shit in death. Literally."

As a blue eye gazed upon the combat knife, Raphael would pause. This would be a battle of giants, and he could be fair, couldn't he? Of course, he could have just pulled out his gun and fired a hole right through the man's skull or, worse, inflict an injury which would hamper his various abilities. This would be a long fight, a fight through which he could prove - to those eyes watching him - he was faithful to Big Brother and more then willing to inflict long hours of pain on his target. He would win the battle and bring Mamoru in or else. He would open his arms as if ready for the sting of the knife. Was he mad?

" A combat knife, is it. I'll assume you won't use a gun. Guns are for cowards and pigs - afterall - and you're neither. Therefore, I won't use mine. I'll go with my bare hands. Make me cry. " A pause as he waved his index finger back and forth in a scolding gesture - " Ladies first."

[Cavallone]

`` I'm glad I could make you laugh. It just makes my life so, so, complete. ``

Was he demeaning himself, or the opposite? Upper right appendage lifted to his visage, sweeping back strands of ebony, allowing those devilish eyes to bore into the silver haired man. Limbs extended outward, as if beckoning the man to embrace the fallen mercenary; taking that knife, he slid it back into the concealed sheath within his sleeve, and spun on his heel, gracefully making his way forward. His right arm lowered, crossing over his waist as the upper physique leaned, giving a courteous, and rather insightful look into very own mind.

Her death had driven him past his point of redemption, and he was going to slaughter them all. Mamoru had the very same opportunity, to pull the trigger and leave a single hole between sinister eyes, but he refused. His mind, his soul, his body; they were all begging him, urging him to take his time, to feel bones break beneath the pressure, to brutally beat the life out of human beings. His gaze lifted from the ground, and straight to Raphael, remaining uncharacteristically silent the entire time.

`` Is that why the food tastes so strange? I always thought I tasted a hint of fear, of cowardice, whenever I ate after killing one of your agents. Well, now, I can't wait to taste the food after you've become a part of it, Raphael. I think I'll stay in London just long enough for that one luxury, you know. I won't deny that I'm a monster, either. I've never been in denial of that. We're one in the same, you and I. Except that, I'm, y'know, better than you. ``

His physique raised, except that he began to take the stance of what he assumed was to be an ancient martial art; the brutal Taiwanese art of Muay Thai. Firearms, blades, and even the art of eight limbs, it seemed that his parents trained him be an all around fighter, but he was better than that; he was a god damned master. San Shou, Muay Thai, Go-ju Karate, Krav Maga, Judo, Aikido; he knew them all, and even more.

`` The art of the eight limbs -- ever heard of it? I don't really need a gun or a knife, because it takes all of the fun out of fighting!

Do you wanna hear the truth, though? Those weak, stupid fuckers weren't my friends at all. They were human diversions that allowed me to do my job, and after I was done with them, I was going to fulfill the other end of my contract. I was going to personally put a bullet in the Yukio kid myself. ``

Michael had created a vengeful monster, one that was going to destroy any and all opposition. His payment had already been deposited into an anonymous bank account, and all he had to do was finish his business. As hastily as the stance had been assumed, it was immediately dropped, and Mamoru made his way up to that man, removing his tie and throwing it to the wind. The red cloth drifted off onto the horizon, never to be seen again.

Lower joints bent, his knees lowering his physique to aide in the sudden rush, and all of that untapped potential exploded. Digits curled into a tight fist, his arm shot outward in a brutal right hook, abdominal muscles flexing and contracting under the white shirt. His hips, shoulders, trapezius muscles, all worked in coordination, all aimed to deliver one hell of a punch. In the mind of a fighter, it was a technical masterpiece, air visibly distorting as the appendage sailed.

In that one moment, where time had slowed between the actual punch, Raphael could see a single, exposed ocular. Golden sclera held a playful glint, and behind his arm, behind that mask of anger and insanity, was a childish smile.

[Toxic Variations]

Damn, what was that? Something just bit him. Some sort of insect? The tiny, glittering creature was but a grain of sand, easily forgotten amongst the sea waves. The flesh of his throat ached and that white hair, soft and white as a dove's wing, was pushed back behind narrow shoulders. A simple momentary distraction, at best. Back to reality. Why was it, all of a sudden, he felt as if this was to be his final battle? It was quite strange to feel that forboding wave wash over him. Yes, it was even stranger to admit this: he was excited about it! The final chapter, of his story, would be a memorable one. The question was: Would it be a happy ending or a sad one?

" Yes, I know. You should be glad you have the chance to kill me. A chance like this doesn't come twice. So, let's get down to it. We can take our time. I prefer to draw it out. "

Raphael would click his tongue, against the roof of his mouth, and then he'd glance down at his right hand and flex his fingers in and out. As his noble opponent, the last of the rebellion, spoke - his mind would drift. He would swirl his tongue against his own teeth and taste the bitterness there. The taste of corpses and the bitter iron of blood never left him.

" Tut, tut tut. Work before pleasure. Ohhhh. Ouch. Better then me? Mmmmmm. Maybe. We'll see. "

Right eye would wink. He seemed almost amused by the man's words In truth: He was. Raphael's interest, in the man, was slowly growing. Perhaps Mamoru would prove to be not so boring. Eyes would drift off to the left. An ancient flowering vine was growing through this dilapidated building. In the hazy air, Raphael could spy a few of it's white blossoms. Beauty blooming in the midst of destruction. White blossoms. He had seen those same petals before - but where? A vision of a dark haired, teenage girl filled his thoughts. She was singing while carefully arranging those white petals in her slick, black hair. Raphael didn't know her, he had never met her, but he always saw her in his mind. For some time now, he had been frequenting a cafe near by. A young waitress worked there and she resembled the singing girl in his distorted thoughts. A slow nod of his head, a hum, as he stepped forward and looked back to Mamoru.

" Mmm humm. You're one bad fucker. Is that what you want me to say? Come on. Show me what you got. "

He stood there, patiently, as if he were waiting for the inevitable crash of knuckle against his flesh. The fist did find him and Raphael was hit, right where Mamoru was aiming; the force, of the punch, caused his head to snap to the side. Blood trickled, from his lip, as he laughed. Dazed he was! Raphael's hair, hung over his face, as he brushed his right hand over his aching jaw and mouth.

" Good, good. Keep that up. This promises to be an exciting evening!"

Raphael pivoted on his right foot. Smiling, with equal childish glee, he'd aim for Mamoru's face. He'd curl his left fist up for a quick jab to his opponent's face, followed up with a right cross punch. If both hits landed? Good! If not, even better. There was no escaping him. Raphael's confidence, in his own abilities, was unshaken. That disgusting, blind arrogance of his knew no bounds - at least for now.

[Cavallone]

knuckles smashed into the foundation of flesh, head snapping back momentarily upon Raphael landing that simple jab. cranium lowered, golden oculi catching each movement of the body, most noticeably those of the legs and feet ; movement was possible, so much so that a counter punch could have been immediately devised and launched for the temple — but no such movement was made. that right cross crashed into his visage, sending his physique backward, legs unable to withstand the pressure.

muscular upper body leaned back, visage obscured by lengthy strands of raven pigmentation ; bloodied tiers parted in a cheerful smile, pink vessel snaking out to sample the sanguine delight. his head tilted back, piercing gaze of amber hue staring heavenward. his legs were shaky, proof of two things: adrenaline, excitement. slowly, he began to straighten his physique, staring almost gleefully at the devil before him.

his left extended all the way out from the side of his body, heel pressed firmly against the floor of the roof. his opposite knee bended fourty-five degrees, the foot angled slightly outward as his right hand lowered to his stomach, an upturned fist facing skyward. finally, his other arm raised bove his knee, fist facing outward at the head. could the man recognize the stance that the broken youth had taken, or would it fly over his head? a sense of ferocity leaked from his soul, washing the area in a wave of intensity.

the tightening of his musculature, the narrowing of golden hues, a slow exhale escaping the air passages before the physique surged forward, controlled steps of masterful precision covering the short distance between the two combatants. his stance shifted flawlessly once he was within range, his right hand shooting upward in a brutal diagonal palm strike. digits were bared similar to claws, and appendage eager to rip through the flesh of the throat. there was a similar distortion to his earlier approach, though it had little to do with the actual force of the attack — it was a mindgame.

`` Let's see what you've got, Raphael! ``

the only sound to leave the vicinity of the youth was that of controlled and regulated breathing, clothes rippling and caught in the wave of inward force from the sheer deadliness of his blows. it was painfully clear at that moment that someone was going to die, and if anyone could finish the job the rebellion started, it was the raven soul standing before the devil.

[Toxic Variations]

The tiger stance. It was fitting, wasn't it? Perfect for the amber-eyed mercenary and a challenge for Raphael! Unfortunately, for the tiger, his flesh would soon be ripped and torn. All the pride Mamoru carried in every step, in every burning glance, would soon be stolen from him. Like all those before him, and those who would follow him, he would be transformed into a statistic, a mere number! That was the way of the world. We try so hard to change it! There is no change. There is only sad and dreary conformity.Accept it. Big Brother knows you, he understands you.

Monster was ready. It wouldn've been in his best interest to dodge the attack, however, Raphael wasn't looking to dodge anything. As Mamoru advanced upon him, the claw of the tiger ready to tear into his throat, Raphael would parry Mamoru's striking arm with his left arm. A mad, blood thirsty grin drifted across Raphael's lips. Whether he was actually successful or not - depended on his reaction time and Mamoru.

" Come onn, come onn, come onnn! Give it to me! "

He felt so alive at this moment! Staring into the eyes of your hated enemy - it gives you a cheap and dirty rush! It's like being tangled up with a whore, lost in sweaty sheets, you just beg for more. Raphael would then attempt to deliver a brutal, right forearm strike to the man's chest, followed up with a swift backfist strike to Mamoru's temple.

Yes, he was just getting started! This conflict was newborn. Of course, it would grow and become all the more brutal. Dogs do nothing better then tearing each other to bits. Raphael's heart was racing and his right arm? It ached and throbbed. Blood leaked from the agent's bruised and swollen mouth. He was not invincible and the events of the past day, along with the events of this battle, had their natural toll on his body. If the battle went on and on, for hours, he would likely fall. Death lingered in the air. These two would probably beat each other senseless in the end. They had all the time in the world, didn't they? No one was going to step in and stop them. The scenery, even the time of day, was a perfect backdrop for the collision and collapse of two giants.

[Cavallone]

just who is the devil in a battle between the corrupt?

the one who kills for money, or the one who does it for fun?

tip of his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, savoring the taste of iron and copper that spread across his taste buds. his palm came to an abrupt stop in its own murderous path, illiciting a glare of cold rage. time slowed for the raven haired individual, but no distress accumulated within amber oculi ; his digits tightened, clamping down on raphael's arm, and suddenly. .

time continued as normal.

the sleeve of his left arm flew back, forced to do so by a burst of speed. perfect synchronization took place, upper right appendage yanking downward on raphael's left. his abdominals clenched and tightened, flexing under the sanctity of both ebony and ivory veils ; hips shifted and turned, the left arm exploding toward that visage with only one idea in mind — devastation.

it didn't matter if raphael had found a way to fight back through the immediate downward pull, that fist was explosive and seemingly filled with plastic explosive. unfortunately for raphael, the mercenary had no intention of letting go after merely one blow ; the upper left appendage continued to rain down with hammer like blows, left leg slipping back to provide a lesser target for which a plausible retaliation could be possible.

various imagery flashed through his mind, the last of which was that of a dilapidated old building, the air stained with the scent of blood. why was he continuing to fight a battle that was lost long ago? the woman was merely a friend and employee, nothing less. no matter what he tried to do, or how he tried to stop himself, he couldn't help but murder the ones who had her taken from the material realm. maybe, somewhere deep inside, a childlike sense of naivete existed alongside the cruelty he never possessed the will to release until now.

the only sound to emanate from his person was that of regulated breathing, eyes alight with the glimmer of the setting sun. mamoru was so focused, so intent on bringing harm to his opponent, that he didn't care whether or not he was punished or rewarded for his overzealousness.

[Toxic Variations]

Relentless blows struck Raphael over and over again. Mamoru's fist laid that pale, smirking face to waste. The fragile bones, in the agent's nose, broke underneath the onslaught of those powerful strikes. Blood flowed from those twin nostrils and down into Raphael's throat. For a moment, he couldn't breathe or swallow. Blinding pain raced up the bridge of his nose and settled in his cranium. Nausea, pain -- he felt all of this as the mercenary worked his magic.

Raphael spat the blood onto the ground and it splattered as the fragile flesh, of his face, was broken and bruised. Saliva, blood, gathered on the collar of his jacket and fell in droplets down his chest. Grunts left him and what else? Laughter. He choked, spluttered, and laughed during the barrage of fists and sharpened knuckles. He felt as if he was ready to retch right then and there -- so great was his excitement, so painful was his various injuries. This murderous dog enjoyed pain as must as he loved giving it.

Disorientation usually follows when one is struck without mercy and Raphael was disorientated. The world spun, he felt his eyes roll back into his head -- unconscious oblivion threatend to embrace him, until his lust for battle picked him up and forced him back into action. Childhood training kicked in. He saw himself surrounded by a dozen or so men - he was expected to take them down, despite personal injury to himself. If you must drag yourself to victory, you will do so. Blood and bruised, half dead; it doesn't matter to us. As long as you complete your mission. Understand, little boy? You are a weapon, nothing more.


Left eye was swollen and it was leaking a clear fluid with a bloody hint to it. Through the abuse, Raphael smiled. Injury after injury merely served to drive him harder. Using his free arm ( his other arm was locked in Mamoru's iron grip ) he'd move his fist back and, with surprising strength, jam it into his opponent's solar plexus. Raphael showed no mercy as he forced his knuckles and hand into the fragile flesh and muscle. The agent's teeth were bared, his lips curled back into a feral snarl. If the attack hit - it would hurt like hell. That could bring most men down to their knees and fast.

If the attack connected as Raphael hoped, the agent would reach out his free hand as if to stroke Mamoru's face. However, he did not have such ' gentle ' intentions. Raphael would thrust his fingers right at the mercenary's left eye and, with much cruelty, would rip the eye clean out. The eye would dangle from his fingers and Raphael would hold it up, against his own cheek, while staring through blood and dishelved, white hair. Mamoru had really done a job on him. It was surprising he hadn't lost consciousness.

" An eye for an eye, brother. "

Whispered the agent as blood dripped from his busted mouth --
Raphael was lucky not to have suffered a broken jaw from Mamoru's attacks, it was definitely a close call for him. He would brush the eye against his cheek and then he'd rake his tongue over it. The dog would then put the eye, in his mouth - suck on it - and then he'd spit it out. The eye lay there, in a puddle of his own spit and blood.

If neither one of his attacks hit Mamoru. Raphael would still be in the same position he was before, suffering those hard hits to his face. He would attempt to ram his knee into the mercenary's stomach and then pull up his free arm in order to deliver a painful hit, to Mamoru's face, with his elbow.

[Cavallone]

that sole fist crashed into his body, his arm frozen in place within that second in time. slowly his physique fell back, his breath caught in a figurative twilight ; his knees buckled before he threatened to drop, amber oculi widened in a terrified response to his own predicament. upper body hunched over slowly, only for a twisted caress from the hand of that platinum devil before him — it sent shivers up his spine, his soul chilled and frozen. his vision froze over, overtones of icy hues washing over his visual sense. a pair of digits flashed before his eyes, but it was much too late.

he was only able to draw in a single breath before letting out an agonizing scream.

crimson spewed from the socket, staining ebon locks and colored flesh with red. his hand instinctively snapped to protect what was missing, the resulting pain forcing the mercenary to collapse upon his knee. words spoken by the man were heard, but unacknowledged, putting his energy toward the effort of standing. blood poured through his hand, dripping incessantly and splashing on the dirty, dusty roof. pulling the appendage from the empty socket, a simple flick of the hand sent droplets of blood flying, before wiping the remnant on the once pristine black suit.

`` That's fine. I'll be taking yours as payment. ``

that single eye stared, until the whole of his physique exploded with a burst of speed, feet propelling the mercenary with frightening agility. the thought of a detailed battle plan, the mere idea of technicality, were all thrown out of the window ; he only cared about crushing his enemy as painfully as he could possibly imagine. utilizing every bit of momentum and natural strength his body possessed, Mamoru aimed to drive his knee straight into his adversary's stomach, blood dripping from his facial structure.

proposing the strike made contact, the mercenary reached down and pulled Raphael up gently by the chin, before lightly slapping him on the cheek. if, and only if the knee had forced the breath out of him, would he slap him twice ; his fingers created a solid base, applying enough pressure to turn the man in a complete one eighty before bending his own knees. two arms came around, wrapping and locking around his waist before an upward propulsion took him off his feet. with every bit of strength in his body, mamoru fell back, utilizing momentum and his own strength to slam his opponent into the floor.

. . and through it.

[Toxic Variations]

A sadist adores pain, he craves the art of inflicting it on anyone. Man, woman, child - whoever crosses his path. The same could be said of Raphael. The blood-thirsty dog wore his collar well, he was forever on Big Brother's leash - unable to free himself. He would stare at Mamoru's face with a vile expression of giddy satisfaction. Pleasure coursed through the madman. He enjoyed seeing eyes ripped from sockets, blood settling over infected wounds; screams took the place of beautiful, forgotten music in his black heart.

" Scream. Now, get up. -- "

Raphael coughed and sniffed as he addressed the kneeling mercenary. It almost sounded like he was encouraging Mamoru! Most likely, he was. Raphael didn't want the fun to end just yet. The blood was settling in his nasal cavity and at once he found it difficult to breathe. He would spit out more blood. He would not give Mamoru time to rest, oh no. He was already moving forward, intent on grabbing the mercenary by his hair and ramming his head against that blackened, brick wall. Raphael was going to do it over and over again - until that head was as soft and blood red as a freshly cut tomato.

Unfortunately, for him, Mamoru was up on his feet and delivered a swift knee to the agent's stomach. Raphael doubled over with immediate pain -- his muscles clenched and his ability to breathe was absent for a moment. The man's mouth was agape as he coughed and wheezed, blue eyes bulging with surprise and pain. At once his face was lifted and slapped once. You could only imagine his rage at that point - to be slapped like some little bitch. At the next strike, he'd attempt to grab that hand and, if he was successful, he would bend back Mamoru's index finger and middle finger and break them both with a clean, sickening snap.

If Raphael wasn't successful with that, he'd be slapped yet again and then he'd purse his lips and spit at Mamoru. The agent was turned and then grabbed by the waist -- it happened in an instant, he was thrown backwards and he fall right through the floor. A cloud of dust blossomed from the point of impact. Raphael landed on the floor below. The sound of his body, striking that old floor, was loud and horrifying. It sounded worse then what it was - then again, he wasn't moving just yet. A pile of debris lay around him and that smoke still drifted upwards and through the hole his body had created.

Damn that mercenary.

[Cavallone]

`` Stupid bastard. . ``

his chest heaved, single amber ocular staring heavenward whilst attempting to regain his composure. the luxury of being able to simply lie down and catch his breath was one he couldn't afford to pass up, not with that monster as his opponent. in many ways, and in terms of strength, he had to wonder just why that pathetic creature Seraphim had come to be on the top of his list. a familiar, searing pain ripped through his skull, morbid curiosity urging him to feel the damage to his eye. one bloodied digit lifted, poised, only to dip into the socket and partake in a gross experiment. his stomach churned, breath caught in his throat before he rolled over onto his side, emptying the contents of his stomach onto the dusty floor. burning tears flowed from his remaining eye in response to the horrid smell, throat burning horribly in response.

coughing, sputtering, and abnormally dizzy, the mercenary slowly pulled himself together, palms pressed against the floor before he could finally stand. his knees buckled, wiping the blood and tears from his countenance. shooting a glare through the dust and debris, he contemplated jumping down, or simply pulling the .44 from within his jacket and riddling the body from above. the more sadistic of the two choices won the mental battle, squatting down as his right hand came to brace against the hole of the pit. jumping down, the mercenary landed on the ground a mere few feet away from the pile of debris and rubble.

reaching into the sleeve of that black suit, mamoru withdrew the very same combat knife he brandished earlier — a blackhawk tatang, which various militaries fitted their soldiers with throughout the years. conducting quite the balancing act with his index finger, the raven soldier of fortune stepped closer cautiously, taunting the fallen opponent with whimsical movements of the knife. mamoru lagged, making doubly sure to keep his distance.

`` You know, you took a part of my identity with your little eye-gougin' trick. Soooo', I think I'm going to take part of yours ; the eyes you can keep, though. ``

he stepped closer, leaning his head sideways in order to generate a sickening crack of the vertebrae.

`` I can't believe I didn't go for you last. Compared to what I've seen, Seraphim is a pussy compared to you. ``

[Toxic Variations]

Silence. It weaved it's way through the clear night and, at once, laid it's ice cold arms over scene of carnage. Raphael lay in silence. Splintered wood and rusted nails lay against his torn and bloody skin. Did he lose consciousness during the descent? Perhaps, all dark and light was lost as he hit the floor. Eyes were closed and, as he drifted in darkness, he dreamed such dreams. Monstrous, vile, and as distant as the stars themselves. Eventually, vivid azure eye would open and it reflected the hole from which he had fallen.

For quite some time Raphael gazed upon it. A tiny thread of blood moved down his temple; it flowed into his hair and then down his neck. Pain raced up and down the agent's body and then through his aching limbs. Slowly he would stand - ripped fingers clutching at splintered wood and nail. Sinful smile graced his mouth. So he took a part of Mamoru' identity, did he? He understood that; Raphael embraced it. Now, brave mercenary was going to take a part of Raphael's? Take it. Do it. Cut skin off, rip it off, break bones and disembowel him. Whatever. The pain of his injuries now was merely a dull thud. What he could not do was sympathize with another's plight.

There was no remorse, no guilt, as he strung up the begging thought criminal -- not a twinge of feeling as he held down the helpless girl and proceeded to skin her with such care as if it were a holy ritual, pure, and just. Forever on the outside of human feeling, he could not comprehend why people rebelled against the natural order of Big Brother. If they rebelled, they should be destroyed or - simply put - transformed into those they rebelled against. And yet, as the days wore on, he began to feel more and more and this, above all things, confused him. Dull eyes stared at Mamoru and then they fixated upon the combat knife he brandished.

" ... So we're switching to combat knifes now. Fine with me. Use it well, kiddo."

Ah, so - their talk was going to turn to other subjects. Seraphim, was it? Raphael's smirk would wither and then completely vanish. His expression was stoic, detached, as he climbed out of that rubble. The man swayed, he nearly fell down the pile of rubble from which he had been buried. Jacket had been torn off during the descent and the sleeve, of his white shirt, was ripped clean off revealing pale, sculpted arm. The dust had settled, on his hair and face, giving both an icy glow. Raphael would speak once more - his voice dripped with venom, but of course it wasn't directed towards Mamoru. He would address the Seraphim comment.

" -- I'm glad you liked the show. I'm here to please. "

A long pause as the enigma raked a long, black nail over his lower lip and then over his broken nose. Long, serpentine tongue drifted over the dried blood on Raphaels index finger.

" Hum mmm mmmmmm, oh ... I like you! No, I think I adore you. "

Change of subject. Why bother voicing his feelings for the other man? No attempts to defend his superior - my how the world changes! Raphael may have been the weakest of the trio - it was simply his cunning and his cruelty which kept him alive. Uncontrollable he was, at times, always seeking to outsmart his comrades and lead them to their ultimate deaths. Better that he should be kept, eternally, on a leash - chained.

" ... I don't have one on me. It's not needed. I'll just take that one. "

A long finger would point to the knife in Mamoru's hand.

" I'll take it and carve my name into your fucking back. "

Raphael would move towards Mamoru until he was mere inches away from the mercenary. The agent would tilt his left arm up, so that his forearm would block the whimsical movements of the combat knife. His right hand would grab Mamoru by the shoulder of the arm that was, of course, still wielding the knife. The grip, of his hand, was painfully tight. Perhaps, now, the real fight had started. Applying sufficient force, Raphael would attempt to bend Mamoru's body over. If he was successful - the mercenary would be bent at the waist. Raphael would quickly step behind Mamoru and, if his attacks had connected, Mamoru's knife arm would be bent behind his body - trapped within Raphael's left. The agent would pry the knife, using his right hand, out of the youth's long fingers and, if he was able to do this, Raphael would grin and ram the blade deep into Mamoru's back.

However, if his attacks missed, Mamoru had every chance to exact his vengeance for his missing eye.

[Cavallone]

`` Mind you, I'm not judging entirely based on combat performance. ``

his head tilted, biting down loosely on his lower lip while contemplating the truth behind those statements. the mercenary couldn't help but find himself amused, glancing over the wrecked physique his opponent sported ; his fight against Michael was considerably easier for a number of reasons, the most important being just how predictable the violet haired bastard was. alas, he was allowing himself to get distracted, but one question kept his mind clouded and doubtful. raising his gaze back to Raphael, the mercenary was shocked to see that the distance between the two had been covered so quickly.

and in the worst possible way — pale hand clamped down on his shoulder, arm wrenched and held back while his upper body was forced to bend. blackhawk ripped from his grasp, already painfully embedded within the flesh of his back. never before in his life had someone pierced him with his own weapon, an unrivaled sense of pride and anger slipping a thick veil over his sense of well-being. his response wasn't to scream or show a sign of weakness, no no. a series of quick steps, manipulation of weight and angle, utilizing the positioning of his opponent and his own to bring himself out of that upper bend, digits gripping at Raphael's hand so as to bring him closer to Mamoru.

lower right appendage shot upward, hellbent on driving his knee into the solar plexus as a statement to prior comments. suddenly, he was a bit too eager to respond to what Raphael had to say about his superior, arm pulling back to yank the knife out of his back. tossing it out the nearest window, that teasing, playful fool returned to the surface. one digit raised, wagging in admonishment at the agent.

`` He's a pussy. Michael came for me, you came for me ; every agent that's come for me either came at their own volition, or were sent by that pussy. I don't really respect any of you too much, but you're only doing what you were made to do, `` his words seemed to require little forethought, or maybe it was something he had been considering ever since he was hired to be a part of the resistance?

`` No, I don't give a flyin' fuck about your life, nor do I give a damn where you or he came from. A real leader damn sure doesn't put the life of his subordinates at risk simply because he's afraid to die, and I've never once seen him make a single effort to put an end to me, especially considering just how many of you I've killed.

He's a bitch made, pathetic excuse for a leader. It doesn't matter how many people think he's perfect, dangerous, or whatever ; he's too afraid to get off his ass and come for me himself. Just because you're a leader doesn't mean you're a good one. I don't suppose it matters, though ; he'll send them to me, and before he knows it, he'll be the last one left. I suppose you wouldn't be able to tell me how many of you are left? Not a lot, I'm willin' to bet. ``

and at that moment, he seemed perfectly content to simply lean against the wall and talk.

[Toxic Variations]

Knee slammed into Raphael's solar plexus and, at once, he was on his own knees. You'd think he'd be used to it by now - that all those nerves and muscles would've been used to torture. But they weren't. He choked and coughed -- grunting as a wave of familiar nausea rushed through him. His face was red and he struggled to catch his breath. His left hand was spread against his stomach and his good eye was nearly shut. He would stay there, for several minutes, as Mamoru learned against the wall and decided to have a ' chat '.

A chat? Why not. They were both bloody and bruised - a momentary intermission, for the dramatic battle, should occur. Raphael would listen as he rolled backwards and lowered to sit on his ass -- eyes wide and expression beautifully comical as he placed his right index finger and thumb against his chin. He would rub his chin and look so serious, so drawn into the conversation. As Mamoru talked the agent would notice a scurrying rat dashing across the dusty floor. It was very close to his right foot. Powerful right hand would dart out and grab the struggling animal in long fingers. It's struggling, writhing body was large and brown and it squeaked and bared it's teeth as Raphael lifted it in front of his own face.

He had such interest in the animal. Maybe it was because he had seen these animals rip off human flesh while the poor, unfortunate soul was still alive. So many thought criminals were afraid of rats. Raphael's left hand would move forward and he'd use his long, index finger to stroke the creature's belly. Blackened nail, sharp as a talon, would roam over the rat's long naked tail and body. Then suddenly his right hand would curl around the creature and crush it -- it's tiny eyes would bulge and it's blood would ooze, like oil, from around Raphael's fingers.

" Seraphim didn't send me. I came on my own. I always do what I want. Other men may gave me orders, they may think me a devoted slave, but in the end? It's all pretend. I am the master. I follow no one, save him."

Raphael's tongue would slither out and touch the tiny tongue of the rat - which hung now, bloody, from it's vicious maw. Eyes would turn, to the torn and tattered poster nearby. Even in this ruined building, Big Brother was watching. Always watching. The rat would then be tossed away and Raphael would smile so innocently.

" War is Peace, Freedom is Slavery, Ignorance is Strength. We will make you one of us. It may not begin immediately, it make take years -- but we will, inevitably, conquer you. We are in everything, mercenary. Everywhere. Try to escape it, if you will. Try. "

Raphael would rise to his feet and continue to speak to Mamoru.

" Many have perished at your hands and many more will - that I'm sure of. It's all very true. Had it been me, I would've come for you myself - immediately. No one would've stopped me from ripping the world apart in order to find you. "

" As for how many are left: A few - here and there. Let me just tell you this, Mamoru: More will come. It's an endless flow. I'm not lying when I say that. More and more will come. And you will, most likely, be their prime target. I hope you're ready. You'll be hunted where ever you go. Does that get your blood to boiling? I bet it does. "

[Cavallone]

`` There's more to the world than what you've been taught; do you honestly think that Big Brother has an influence over the entire planet? That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard, and I can't believe people actually believe it. ``

an amused smile slowly came to grace those bloody lips, the mercenary shaking his head energetically. calloused index finger idly tapped against his chest, arms crossed in a display of patience — he was more eager to talk, enlighten his adversary, before the two continued to mutilate and maim one another. the flow of crimson from a formerly occupied eye socket came to a stop, lengthy strands of raven bathed in red. for once, mamoru, adrian, whatever he wanted to call himself, simply watched as raphael crushed that rat.

`` The world is a big place, y'know. Filled with all kind'sa people: big'uns, black'uns, small'uns and yellow'uns. Big Brother is only one man, one machine, whatever he is. He can send as many agents as he likes, as many men, as many soldiers as he can gather, because it doesn't matter to me, or us, in the end. ``

tapping his foot, mamoru dropped his gaze and stared at the floor, arms falling to his sides within a moments notice. he was sore and tired, but one thought could only brighten that smile of his. one man, one gun, had been enough to throw their organization and structure into disarray. it was something none of the other resistance members could have hoped to achieve, not even the " white wolf " with his abundance of money and immunity.

`` Me and you have a lot in common, we really do. Out of the people I want to kill, only one is higher on the list than Seraphim. I hated Tokugawa, but I always hated pompous little shits like him. I remember the day I saw one of my subordinates working for him, and she told me in private of how she wanted to skin him alive, scalp him, remove his eyes. I could've let her, but my orders were to not kill any of them until the first half of my job is complete. ``

he wagged his index finger, similarly to how he did at first, straightening his physique and coming off the wall.

`` They can come for me all they want, but they won't dare step into my homeland. To us, your infrastructure and leader is nothing more than gossip turned true, but I can at least say it's real when I return. Big Brother, Seraphim, they're nothing compared to the men and women who lead men like me. ``

[Toxic Variations]

A playful, boyish smile on his mouth. Raphael slipped his right hand into the pocket of his slacks and withdrew an old, necklace of silver. It was blackened, it needed to cleaned, the metal was tarnished. Thumb glided over the smooth, linked chain and then over the locket that was, long ago, broken under the heel of an advancing guard. Azure iris gazed down upon it and the fiend would smirk bitterly.

" Memories."

A brief pause before he would place the necklace back into his pocket.

" In the end, it's inevitable. An endless chain - forever repeating itself. Man against woman, woman against child, friend against friend. Human beings are the worst type of animal. To be united, against a common foe, is beyond any of us. Money, position, power -- those are enough to dismantle armies. The higher ups will succumb to temptation and the grunts will fall to the wayside - sacrificial lambs for the men who lead them. That's the way it is. I know that much."

" People cannot work together. There are so few of you left. Few and far between. There are no noble lords left to serve. And if there were? You think any of them would give a damn about you? I doubt it. But we'll see, won't we? Bring your soldiers and your armies - bring your freedom of thought - bring whatever you wish. You will be crushed, snuffed out, dismantled before your very eyes. The truth hurts, doesn't it? I've seen it over and over again. But maybe - just maybe - the few and far between can make a difference. Maybe."

The talk would then turn to Tokugawa.

" Mm. I wonder? Will he die soon enough? Most likely. If you manage to kill me, then you'll have to hurry or he'll be beyond your reach. If you don't make it, someone else will have the pleasure of spilling that blue blood. Now, that would be such a big disappointment, wouldn't it? Aristocrats tend to have high opinions of themselves. Self-righteous, power hungry bastards. I'm sure he believes he's performing a great service for all the little people - but in reality - he's just fucking them over. In the end, he'll squeal like the rest. We'll let him play rebel leader, for a little while longer, and then we'll cut his head off."

A brief pause. What was he thinking? What the agent said, next, was almost comical.

" Lovely subordinate. There's nothing better then a woman with murderous intentions. Damn."

A growl of carnal lust and Raphael would lick his tongue over his own lips -- his eye glinting with pleasure. The pale, bloody agent looked like he was enjoying the thought of such a gruesome, passionate woman.

Now, I think it's time we continue this. You have places to go and so do I.

[Cavallone]

" She was a wild thing in the sack, lemme tell ya'. Girl even tried to stab me once, if ya' can be believe somethin' like that. "

a single amber ocular glanced heavenward, visage taking upon an expression of childlike innocence. lips parted, his words spoken in tone of an exasperated exhale. golly, this whole encounter really was taking up a lot of time, wasn't it? his upper right appendaged drifted to his thigh, idly patting down the black material to rid it of dust. as if it mattered. black attire was stained with his own blood, so what did a few specks of dirt even matter?

the fatigue that spread through his musculature all but faded, lazily leaning against the weak foundation that kept the building standing. his foot tapped in a rhythmic beat, head bobbing to the melody he played in the simplistic manner. bloodied and cracked lips formed the words, yet his vocal cords remained defiantly silent.

" You've been hit by, you've been struck by a smooth criminal. . "

mamoru harmlessly hummed the score, the heel of his foot coming to press against the wall behind him. both hands gripped loosely at his collar, arrogantly straightening the article of clothing before he snapped out of his reverie. facial expression mimicked one of error, shoulders rising and falling in a nonchalant shrug.

" My bad. We do need to get this outta the way, don't we? It'd be nice, because I'm fuckin' starvin'. "

the only thing to give them light amidst the darkness of their room was the large hole that remained overhead, and a few rays of sunshine that penetrated the wall behind the ecstatic mercenary.