[THREAD] HEAVEN for the weather, HELL for the company

[striginae]

Who: Kengamine Nagi [ striginae ] & OPEN
Where: Elysium ; junction between residential and shopping districts
When: Mid-evening
Summary: The world's not quite fair, is it? Not fair for anyone -- not for Owl, broken, beaten, insane -- and not fair for you, either, any of you in his way.
Rating: R for violence
Other: Nagi is generally going through the

Comments

[cooperate]

A call came in over the police radio. Ivan wasn't technically on duty, which was why he was even in Elysium instead of Terra, but he couldn't ignore something like that when it was only a few blocks away. The promise of witnessing so much carnage? The opportunity to come face-to-face with the perpetrator? He couldn't pass it up.

He downed the rest of his vodka like it would give him strength for the upcoming battle, then tossed the bottle onto the floor of the passenger's side. Sirens screaming, he started the police car and sped like the madman he was toward the reported location. He pulled it to a screeching halt outside a corner store when he caught glimpse of a crowd of people fleeing from one specific side street.

Supposedly a slaughter was being conducted by some half-man half-beast. Ivan couldn't be too sure, but he didn't believe in being too prepared either. He walked around to the trunk of his car and selected a few things to supplement his standard-issue pistol: his trusty AK-47, which he strapped onto his back; a long curved machete, which he sheathed at his belt; and a long lead pipe he'd wrenched out of a wall somewhere to replace an antique he'd lost. The pipe he kept in hand.

"Now let us see," muttered Ivan under his breath as he turned a corner to spot the monster and the remains of those who had crossed its path. "Are you like Koschei, I wonder? How much fun we will have..."

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The air was thick with a medley of scents -- the sharp sting of blood, the bitter waft of bile, the faint sour aftertaste of brain fluid -- a pain to breathe, sickening, suffocating. But none of this mattered, not to Nagi -- pushed beyond all psychological limits, the only thing that occupied his mind was the overwhelming hatred that drove him onward.

Sirens, from the distance, the familiar wail that played background to the fading screams. Many people had already fled from these streets, but not before a handful had been brash enough to challenge him -- and the idiotic young man who'd dared to stand up against him now lay on the ground, abdominal cavity ruptured. Coils of intestine decorating the pavement.

A pause, and Nagi stood over the body for a moment, seeming lost in thought, before shooting a glance over his shoulder to where some movement crept into the corner of his vision. Someone. Drawing near. Armed. -- what did it matter. Blood swirled around him, adorning the air with streaks of crimson, orbs of color that bristled, as he turned to face the newcomer. Expression impassive past the mask.

[cooperate]

The heavy smell of blood drew a sigh from his lips, a sound of longing. He found all of this so very nostalgic. Heavy boots trampled entrails as he walked forward. Walked, and did not run, because he wasn't in a hurry and because one did not run forward in a man-to-man duel. And yes, it was a man and not a monster. A man even smaller than Ivan, although the Russian wouldn't underestimate him just because of size.

A glance at the bodies strewn around told him mostly what kind of weapons he would be facing. Bombs of some kind. A long-range weapon at least. He tossed the pipe aside, trading for the AK. He could see the orbs hovering in the air and guessed that they were the weapon he was expecting. As a test, his first move was to lift the gun and fire, not at the man but at one of the "bombs".

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Nagi merely waited, as the other drew close, eyes narrowed in a scrutinizing glare behind the translucent lenses of the mask. Somewhere past the irrational hatred clouding his mind (kill him, kill him, what's he done to deserve this life that he most likely doesn't even appreciate?), he was quite aware of the potential danger this figure presented, with all those firearms.

But this fragment of rational thought dissipated quickly, very quickly, when the gun was drawn, and a shot fired, setting off one of the orbs of blood. The explosion tore through the air, tearing off a nearby street sign and sending it clattering to the blood-stained pavement. And Nagi stepped forward, stance lowered, limbs tensed, more blood swirling around him -- a rasping breath escaping his lips, as he approached the other.

[cooperate]

"Very nice," Ivan uttered appreciatively as he witnessed the explosion. He thought that those would probably hurt. He watched the streams of blood float from the man like serpents in the air, watched them coil and take form. An ordinary man might have stood, gaping at the display, but this madman saw magic there and didn't stop to question how.

He would have to keep this a long-range battle, at least for as long as he could. When the man began to approach, Ivan took steps backwards. Paused. Aimed. Fired at another orb of blood. Another step back, then he fired again. And again. He would take out as many as he could before they got too close. He certainly didn't want to be within the bomb's range.

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Words. Something had been said, but the noise was swallowed up by the blast of the explosions, as the bombs were taken out one by one, splatters of blood adorning his clothes, his mask. The imitation feathers, once brown, now dyed a murky red.

Regardless of how deepset in his hatred he was, Nagi knew that he couldn't allow this to go on -- there was, after all, a limit to how many of these explosives he could create. Though. This man seemed to be underestimating him. Lips curled in the sick imitation of a smile as he paused for a moment, wavering where he stood.

Then, a blur of motion -- the blood spheres shooting forward in a pincer formation, closing in on the other, one from each side -- and Nagi lunged forward, thirsting for violence.

[cooperate]

He'd known this tactic wouldn't carry him through the entire battle, and he was glad, because that wouldn't have been very fun at all. Now everything was going very fast. It put Ivan at a disadvantage; his size and strength also made him slow.

Rather than making any attempt to retreat or to dodge (he would fail completely if he tried), he hunched down, centering his power to brace for inevitable impact. The bombs were powerful, yes, but he was thick-skinned and unafraid. Let anyone test his immortality. He would show them. He always did.

At the same time as he crouched, he raised the nose of his AK and fired again. This time he aimed for the body racing toward him. He didn't see the results of his shot before the blood had reached him.

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Any normal man would have faltered then, wavered at the sound of the gunshots, hesitated at the sight of the gun barrel pointed straight on, the muzzle flashing. It took true insanity to continue to lunge forward against gunfire. (Or maybe this was his sanity, now that all those pitiful delusions of his had been shattered.)

The two spheres of blood collided directly over the officer's head, the impact of the blast pushing him forward -- and at the same instant, several brilliant spheres whirled in front of Nagi, catching the bullets in their path and deflecting them enough to prevent any serious injuries.

No hesitation, no pause -- ignoring the way the shots grazed his side and arm, Nagi pressed on relentlessly -- arm outstretched, hand a vicious claw aimed for the soft abdominal cavity of the man before him.

[cooperate]

There was a flash. Ivan couldn't tell if it was in his head or outside. When he could see again, his cheek was on the pavement and the AK was lying several feet away. Too far to reach. Blood ran down his face and coated his platinum hair. Whether it was his own or just splatter, he didn't know. There was pain all the same.

No time to worry about it, not that he worried in the first place. He pushed himself back up, first to his knees, then staggering to his feet. The man in the mask was upon him then but Ivan seized the arm that reached for his stomach, trying to twist it away. While they struggled, he coughed out little giggles. "M-Maybe a monster after all," he spoke to himself.

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A pause, as Nagi let the other grapple with his arm. Despite his narrow frame, his physical strength was not something to brush off lightly -- and he managed to hold his own, canting his head to the side the very slightest at the sound of disjointed words. And then, gave a response -- abrupt, rasping, hissed in venomous words that crackled with static. "No -- I've only come back to my senses."

A sudden jerk of his arm, as Nagi drew his arm back partway. And the next moment, another sphere of blood came streaking through the air, aimed at the officer's unprotected side -- it would tear open flesh on impact, immediately weakning whatever defenses were still present.

[cooperate]

Ivan's eyes went to the man's face, or rather, the mask that obscured it. He wished it wasn't there. He wanted to know who was facing him, who it was that dared to charge him like this. Before his indignation could rise further, the thing spoke in its inhuman voice. I've only come back to my senses. And Ivan's head lolled back, those violet eyes going momentarily to the sky. He could understand that. When the chorus of his children's screaming voices rose, weren't those his clearest moments?

The attack surprised him. A gurgled cry escaped him while his large body swayed with the impact. He didn't let himself fall again, though, even as the blood tore through him. Ragged laughter escaped him as his other hand went for the machete at his side. "Let's battle until we lose our senses again!" he shrieked as he swung the blade in retaliation.

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It was surprising, the strength that this officer had -- the blow was powerful enough to disable most people, cripple them immediately and render them helpless, and yet for this man, his grip didn't waver -- only tightened for a moment, if anything. And Nagi never broke his vicious glare past the lenses of the mask, taking in the stuttering cry that escapes the other's lips.

But what truly startled him for a moment was not the sudden reaching for the blade handle -- but the irrational scream. (Lose my senses. Return to my delusions? You think that that would happen again?) This hesitation, really, was the only reason he was a split second late in shielding himself with an explosive -- an orb of blood shot into the path of the blade, the miniature impact blowing it off its path. But not enough. Pain shot through his arm as the blade glanced past his shoulder, tearing through the topmost level of flesh. (-- what reason do you have to struggle so hard for this life of yours?)

A low hiss, as Nagi let loose a barrage of explosives, aimed at the same spot as before. (Tear into him. Beat him down until he can't move. Show him that this is all pointless in the end.)

[cooperate]

Though he missed his aim, Ivan wasn't deterred. He swung again, and again, chaotically and blindly as red crept up on the edges of his vision. Surely he would hit something, some more soft tissue to rip and slice. Refusing to let his spirits dampen, he began to sing a lullaby in his high, gasping voice, "Bayu-bayushki-bayu, ne lozhi--"

His voice cut out as another explosion tore at his side. He hissed, tasting iron in his throat, and resumed his song with another unsteady stab, "Ne lozhisya na krayu... Prid--"

More of them, pounding away at him, chiseling his body like a mountain which needed a tunnel to pass through it. The work can't stop just because the mountain is crying. State money is funding this. Families will starve. What was he even thinking anymore? "--yot serenkiy v-v-volchok..."

He couldn't hold on. He had to let go of the machete or the arm. He chose to let go of the arm, and his body began to sink when he did. "On ukhvatit... za bochok..."

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Each wild swing of the machete, deterred with a carefully-placed explosion -- some slashes thrown completely off-target, others coming dangerously close to shearing off chunks of his flesh. But through this entire travesty, Nagi remained entirely impassive, silent, mouth a hard slant, teeth gritted -- eyes narrowed to a hateful glare behind the mask.

(You struggle so hard, as if this makes a difference. So did she, but still, they killed her all the same. Why should you be treated any differently?)

The song went on, words that he didn't understand, and so ignored -- even if the cracking melody tore through his thoughts, making him cringe. Movements weakened, as did the grip on his arm, and Nagi reacted immediately, reaching up to grip at the other's head, then slamming it into the pavement. Digging a knee into the arm that still held onto the machete so stubbornly.

A cant of the head to the side, before he asked in crackling words, "... why do you deserve this life?"

[cooperate]

Ivan took a breath to sing another verse, but his face hit the pavement hard and he sputtered on grime and dust and blood-- blood that coated the street and the blood now pouring from his nose and mouth together. The sunshine is very bright today, he thought, so bright that he couldn't see anymore. Not even a glimmer.

He felt a lot, though. His nose must be broken, his teeth shattered. Those were nothing compared to the pain in his side. So much of him, blown to little pieces... His ribs were exposed to the air. Where had his kidney gone to? He had never felt such intense, exquisite pain in all of the centuries he remembered.

Ivan's hand went numb and the machete slipped from his fingers as they uncoiled.

The creature was asking him a question.

It was difficult to form the thoughts for his reply. He didn't understand what his life was, but this man said deserve like it was something that Ivan had been rewarded. "I-I do... do not want my life," he answered thickly, blood coming up his throat. "I want everyone el--" He couldn't finish, head sagging as he coughed and gagged. As soon as he caught his breath, he only laughed.

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It took a long moment for garbled words to sink in, and an even longer for Nagi to comprehend their meaning, past the static screen of lingering drugs and overwhelming hatred that clouded his thoughts. But once their full impact was clear -- he couldn't help but freeze for a moment, fingers digging painfully into blood-slick skin.

The stuttering laugh filled the air, a grating noise that he hated with a great intensity, hated more than he hated this man, at this instant. Grinding the man's face further against the pavement, scraping off skin and staining the concrete a murkier red, he leaned in close. Breath coming in harsh rasps. "-- so did I." A hoarse laugh, just barely audible, before he went on. "It wasn't any use."

There wasn't any point to this any more. For a moment, fingers clenched tight, and it seemed he was ready to crush this man's skull -- but no. Some faint trace of who he used to be screamed at the back of his mind, and he instead slammed the man's head into the pavement once more -- expression twisted in pain and bitter hatred. Once, twice, three times -- if the officer hadn't already been unconscious, he certainly would be now.

He rose slowly, dripping blood -- his and this man's -- and stared down the streets, expression once more a blank visage of hatred. And, stepping over the body, he headed back down bloodstained path -- searching for another to vent his rage on.