The game is over. Nobody won, any more than anyone in the Shinigami realm really won those interminable rounds of gambling. As soon as he realizes the game was coming to an end, that Light's fascinating plan had fallen apart, Ryuk leaves the warehouse, leaving the humans to squabble among themselves and phasing through the iron roof before vaulting
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"Fuck!" Caliban yells descriptively - that burns - and looks straight at Ryuk. "What the fuck are you?"
Polite can wait. He has hot coffee on his shirt.
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"Heh-heh-heh, that's gonna leave a mark," he snickers. Humans flailing are always good for a laugh.
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"And you didn't answer the question."
You're not half as bad as Abbagor, that's for sure, says Cal. And you smell a lot better too.
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Cal takes a moment to file through the dusty catalogues of lessons Niko's given. Asian, so he starts there. And shuffles through several (kappas, no, kitsune, no...oh, right.
"Ah," he says, giving him a bit of a sideways look. "Well, aren't most ways? On the other hand, I hope you're not planning on - uh, what was it. Stealing my soul? Because I'm not sure you're going to find much."
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There's something really weird about this guy, but Ryuk somehow likes the idea of playing with him a little, just to keep him jumping. The first time was priceless and he wonders if he can get as good a rise out of him a second time.
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He figures he's been through hell and back a few times already. What's a couple more between friends?
"Do you have a name, or is it some kind of unpronounceable, unknowable shit that'll drive me insane as soon as look at me? --not that you'd know the difference."
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