There was, they say, a flipside to every fortune -- every turn of luck mirrored by misfortune, every good thing balanced by a tragedy -- and this, perhaps was his punishment. In retrospect, perhaps he should have kept in mind that peace was something he had never been allowed for so long -- not while his tormentor was still out and alive. But this sudden harsh awakening, instantly drowning out what small true happiness he'd had -- (I'm sorry, everyone.)
It was the movement that snapped him out of his shock, and he flinched back instinctively when Genkaku stood up, moving quickly. Hands running across the razor at his belt, drawing swirls of blood that coiled through the air, gathering into the familiar bright spheres -- and they circled him, almost angrily, bristling, dripping, a violent red that was a clear reflection of the rage he was just barely containing.
"Must you remind me of the travesties you've committed." Low words spoken in harsh tones, edged with frost -- and there was anger there, seething hatred that wasn't quite hidden by the synthetic voice. "First the children, now this --"
And he knew, of course, that this would end in violence -- there really was no other way to fend off this monster -- and that words were useless. But still, but still -- pale eyes fixed in a furious glare, he bit back the crushing agony at the sight of his comrades strewn dead across the floor. And the spheres of red continued to circle him, ever closer to Genkaku -- ready to explode on impact. (Like this situation, the tension mounting. Blood thick in the air.)
The monk just scoffed at the other’s words. His travesties? Shit, this was going to be hilarious. Genkaku just laughed at Nagi’s words as though they were nothing but letters coming from a child’s mouth. He couldn’t be fooled by feeling anything. And he let a feral cackle escape from his lips, showing carnivorous teeth that were ready to stick into his prey.
Swirls of red appeared before Genkaku’s violet hues and he just let out a bored sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Damn Nagi, I thought you had more brains then that." He mocked Nagi and flicked his wrist to take hold of a few prayer beads. It was so damn easy to disarm those fucking bombs, it was almost child’s play "We all know how Deadman go against undertakers, just look around."
After he had cleared the way to his Owl, Genkaku rushed towards the older man and grabbed one of Nagi’s thumbs and pressed it towards his lips. His tongue darted out and he let the organ lap up the crimson that seeped through the minor wounds. "Heh. I missed this taste."
It was a strange and sudden chill that ran down his back, at the sight of his powers so easily nullified with the touch of prayer beads, and all he could do was stagger back a step, breath hitching in his throat, because -- why -- how? The Branch of Sin shouldn't have been destroyed, and yet -- . Brilliant red orbs broke apart and splattered to the ground, nothing but harmless splashes of red -- and Nagi felt the cold grip of fear in his chest. He needed to find a different way of fighting back.
But before he could even move, Genkaku was before him, grappling with his hands -- tongue teasing across his fingertips -- and Nagi acted immediately, out of disgust, out of fear, out of hatred. "Get your hands off of me." Wrenching away his wrist, he aimed a kick to the side -- and without waiting to confirm if the attack had connected, he backed away, breathing heavily, expression focused -- but showing the slightest traces of panic. "Stop -- stop this."
Pale eyes darted over his surroundings, searching for something he could use as a makeshift weapon, but finding nothing -- and he backed away a step further, stance defensive, above all -- trying to buy time in order to escape.
The kick that collided with Genkaku’s side was pathetic and easily brushed off with a soft sound of mocking amusement. The guy was weak and shit. If it wasn’t for how crazy the bastard was and how much the monk admired that damn hidden chaos then Nagi would have ended up on the ground like the rest of the corpses. But Nagi was just one hell of a lucky guy.
Strong fingers made their way around Nagi’s neck and Genkaku pushed his fingertips in the soft of the skin. Shoving Nagi against the wall with a sharkish grin and smoke leaving the end of his cigar right in the bastard’s face. "Geez, you’re making me sound like the bad guy." Genkaku murmured with bemused sarcasm. Hell, he loved this situation, the type that made them both seem so intimate. "You’ve done way worse, ya’know."
After several seconds, Genkaku moved backwards with his grip still on Nagi’s neck, the fingers tightened slightly before the Genkaku practically tossed Nagi onto the ground. "Don’t tell me you forgot." He uttered with a vicious tone. "Maybe it’s time for a history lesson."
The grasp of narrow fingers at his throat was sudden and brutal, and Nagi could only claw at the other's wrists, struggling to free himself even as his breaths turned to stuttering gasps. "You're -- lying, I've never --" Nails scraped against the scar branded across his neck, and he fought to free himself, trying desperately to ignore the burning cigar too close to his face, the vicious words that seared into his thoughts.
And just as he was starting to see dark spots eat away at the edge of his vision, the grip around his throat tightened, then let go, throwing him to the floor -- and he let out a choked gasp, trying to recollect his thoughts as he backed away, breathing haggard and rough. ('History lesson'? 'Forgot'? -- no, no.)
"I've done nothing, bastard -- you're trying to rile me up, you're lying." Words escaped in a rush, his voice low growl as he dragged himself away, maintaining the furious glare. Hands groped behind him, searching for something, anything to fight with -- and found the handle of an old pipe wrench. (It would have to do -- he'd attack without hesitation, the moment the other drew near.) Grasping it tight, he hissed in unrestrained fury. "This is all meaningless."
Once the monk had released Nagi, his feet took him back to the couch. A hand ran through his hair and he figured out he’ll have to deal with this the hard way, but Genkaku always liked to play a little bit of rough-house when it came to the other. He picked up one of the separated machine guns and made his way to the older that seemed so pissed off. That permanent smirk on the monk’s face tightened as he let out a deep chuckle.
He pointed the barrel just a few feet away from Nagi, totally oblivious to the wrench in hand. Genkaku was way to confident and thought he had the shithead right where he wanted him; just pathetic and weak, like a wounded animal backing off from a snarling predator.
"Alright Owl, we’re going to play a little game." Genkaku muttered and loaded the guitar-esque gun.
And Genkaku's confidence, that insane arrogance, perhaps, was the only weakness that Nagi could find and exploit. He'd watched in silence, as Genkaku approached, putting on the best facade of terrified panic that he could -- which wasn't too difficult, with the frantic beating of his heart and the way his breaths came ragged and harsh. (I cannot die here, I cannot fall, not when there's something to fight for, I'll never succumb, not to you.)
Even though each drawled word -- dripping with sadistic content -- cut him deep, he waited, waited, feeling a bead of sweat roll down his jawline -- and found the faintest chance, when Genkaku looked away to load his gun. Both hands occupied, not paying attention --
In an instant, he was on his feet, lunging forward to give the pipe wrench a full-armed swing aimed directly at the other, and it traveled a sharp arm in the air -- metal screeching through air -- and he thought, that moment, -- if this blow connects, I can win, I can escape, this one blow, that's all that matters --
For a brief moment, Genkaku’s lips curled upwards in a violent sneer. He wasn’t going to blow Nagi’s head off. Just fill his limbs with lead until the older actually accepted who the hell he was. And Genkaku knew that Nagi was no saint, the complete opposite, and Genkaku wanted to peel that fleshy mask of fakeness to revel what kind of monster the other really was.
But his thoughts of a victory were interrupted by a harsh sound of metal that went through the air. Genkaku saw the wrench after he watched Nagi get up on his own two damn feet. What an accomplishment.
"Tch..." He grunted out of frustration and lifted up half of his dissembled guitar to block the metal tool that was about to collide with his shoulder. Then Genkaku twisted the instrument and jerked up the end of his boot to kick Nagi just under the jaw.
The screech of metal on metal rent through the air, and for that single moment, Nagi felt the faintest traces of what people called despair -- this chance, he'd blown it, if even a surprise attack didn't work, then --
-- the hard strike to the jaw scrambled his thoughts, and he staggered back, immediately tasting blood, balance gone, vision blurry -- and a crashing wave of agony instantly spreading through his body. Strange, almost, how he knew, knew that he had to recollect himself, fight back, flee, something, but his body refused to listen.
And it was through sheer willpower that he managed to stay on his feet, staggering, swaying, blood dripping from a torn lip and glare fixed on Genkaku as he tried to focus his vision -- to no avail. The world was spinning before his eyes, and he tried to feign strength, maintaining a tight grip on the wrench, clutching desperately at it. (I cannot fall here.)
Genkaku already knew this was a futile attempt from Nagi. He knew that Nagi was just relying on that fucking bullshit called hope but where the hell was hope when the monk continued to squeeze the very life out of it. It was getting boring.
"Come on Owl." He breathed with annoyance and boredom together, taking a few steps towards his prey. "You’re a real masochist, ya’know, fighting me like this, I’m starting to think you like it." He had enough of it, really. The monk loved fighting, sure. Hell, he loved provoking and riling up shitheads like Nagi, but killing was way more satisfying and the only thing that made Genkaku stop was Nagi’s animalistic impulses that were buried deep in that calm and shit-eating polite demeanor.
But that didn’t mean the monk wouldn’t shoot him if need. A dog has got to be put down if they don’t behave. The monk cocked the machine gun once again and aimed for the other’s thigh, and then he pulled the trigger.
The blow to the jaw had shocked him badly, and Nagi was still barely keeping his consciousness intact -- his vision blurring, breathing ragged-rough -- and he forced himself to answer in faltering tones, spitting out each choked syllable with the splatter of blood on the floor from a torn lip. "I'm not -- anything like that." And it hurt to talk, to stand, to move, but still, he tried to force lead-heavy limbs to do something, anything. -- Really, his answers were only a desperate attempt to draw time. "You're the one -- forcing me --"
And then, and then, there was not longer a point in speaking, because the gun was lifted, finger on the trigger, and Nagi realized that time was running out. (I have to move, I have to run, I have to flee, now, now --)
It was a pity, really -- because he almost moved in time. (But almost is never good enough.) A staggering dodge to the side that was futile in the end, and he hit the ground with a ragged gasp, clutching at his bleeding leg with one hand, trying to quell the shards of pain that ran rampant in his system. (I can't give up, I can't give up.) And the fierce glare he had fixed on the other -- almost wild, almost feral -- never wavered, even then.
The monk let out a soft hiss of self-satisfaction as he watched crimson bead around the wound and splutter out. Wet droplets emitted onto the cold ground and platforms echoed throughout the building as Genkaku went to stalk over to Nagi. His lips curled up into a dangerously violent smirk and he pointed the barrel at Nagi’s head once again. For once, Genkaku would love to just force that brain out of it’s skull.
"What’s with the face?" He murmured with faint hints of amusement in his voice. A small chuckle erupted from his throat before it became a deep laughter. The cigar was place between his thin lips once again and he inhaled and maneuvered over his friend, so that Nagi was lying between the monk’s feet. "Damn...whatever Owl, deny it all you want. I know what you really are."
Genkaku sat down on Nagi’s hips, his knees jerked up and he looked down at the other’s face. A sharkish grin graced his features and he inhaled the toxin only to exhale on the bleeding and beaten man. Genkaku placed a foot on Nagi’s elbow so the Deadman couldn’t move it while the half-guitar machine gun pointed at the other arm and cooed, "I like you when you’re like this better."
It hurt, it hurt, the jagged burn of ice in his veins traveling up from his leg, where blood pooled from the bullet's entry point -- but that wasn't the main ordeal. The pain alone, Nagi might have been able to bear, but no, what crippled him here wasn't the pain alone -- it was some combination of the drawled taunts, the searing agony, the freezing grip of fear in his chest. And he could only watch, struggling to stay conscious, as the other drew near -- his heart a wild tattoo against his ribcage when the barrel of the gun was aimed at his head. (-- I can't die here, I can't die here, I can't die here --)
But just as quickly, it was turned away, and he flinched at the sudden weight across his body, struggling to free himself, to no avail. The press of the leather boot against his arm, the bitter taste of smoke that curled in his throat, the smug laughter that stirred up the deepest sparks of anger that lay deep inside him -- he hated it, hated this, hated Genkaku more than he could bear.
"-- get off of me." Soft words that were a far cry from gentle, edged with ice, stuck somewhere between a plea and a cold demand -- he hissed in between rasping breaths, fighting to free himself, "Let go, this -- this won't accomplish anything, stop --" And the swirls of blood once more coiled in the air from Nagi's wounds, a clear reflection of the desperate rage with which he wished to escape.
Genkaku’s movements were rough; the way the tip of his platform boot would dig into the soft of Nagi’s elbow, how he weighed his whole self on Nagi’s stomach and hips. Fuck he just wanted to play it all rough. All that pain that the other was experiences made Genkaku chuckle deeply with smoke in his throat and a raspy tone. His eyes half narrowed with the ecstatic self-victory he thought he claimed.
The corner of his eye spotted the swirled of blood red that hurled upwards in mid-air. He sniggered under his breath and like before he quickly made them disappear into splurges of crimson that did nothing but fall to the ground. "Shit, you need some damn new tricks, ya’know?" He said all too chipper and placed the barrel of the gun just a little bit above Nagi’s elbow.
"Alright, here’s the deal." He said as he rolled his head, free hand rubbed the back of his neck. "Since you’re so cute like this, you get a special encore." Tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip in a vulgar fashion. "Bet you’re wondering ‘Why doesn’t he kill me now’ aren’t you? I’ll tell you why, it would just be pretty damn merciful if I sent you along with your bitch." A arrogant snort. "Your woman and my men you killed those years ago, remember yet?"
Something hurt, deep inside his chest, at the sight of the Branch of Sin neutralized so easily. More than the weight across his abdomen that made it hard to breathe, more than the dig of boot-heel into his arm, more than the wracking pain from the gunshot wound, more than anything -- something about this utter futility made him swallow hard, trying to ward off the bitter taste of despair that coiled at the back of his throat. (There has to be a way out, even in a situation like this, even faced by him, there has to be, there always is, there's always hope, so please, there has to be a solution.)
And it didn't help, when the barrel of the gun weighed heavily across his arm, and drawling words hit the air -- words that he didn't know the full implications of, words that he didn't understand, but it didn't matter. They still came frighteningly close to setting off the sparks of fury that he'd been trying so hard to hold back.
"Shut up -- shut up," came the low snarl. Expression twisted in barely suppressed rage, Nagi strained to free his arm from beneath the other's boot, speaking in a rush of furious words. "I don't know what you're talking about, but you have no right to speak of her -- you, of all people, you sadist bastard. Release me."
Genkaku was just a big fucking ball of mocking amusement. Each word Nagi said his grin widen with that murderous intent that he was famous for. It was annoying, though, to hear Nagi dribble on about the same shit, made the other sound like a broken record and Genkaku ran a hand through his hair and gave Nagi a expression of pure mockery.
"Wrong answer, Owl." Genkaku’s finger pressed down on the trigger of his guitar-like gun. He started with one shot into Nagi’s arm before backing off and inhaled the gun smoke. "I wonder if you’re crazier for forgetting." He cooed teasingly. He fingers of his free hand went to the bullet wound and he teased it roughly with his fingers before letting the crimson liquid wet his lips. "Ya’know, you just don’t forget slaughtering twenty of my men."
It was the movement that snapped him out of his shock, and he flinched back instinctively when Genkaku stood up, moving quickly. Hands running across the razor at his belt, drawing swirls of blood that coiled through the air, gathering into the familiar bright spheres -- and they circled him, almost angrily, bristling, dripping, a violent red that was a clear reflection of the rage he was just barely containing.
"Must you remind me of the travesties you've committed." Low words spoken in harsh tones, edged with frost -- and there was anger there, seething hatred that wasn't quite hidden by the synthetic voice. "First the children, now this --"
And he knew, of course, that this would end in violence -- there really was no other way to fend off this monster -- and that words were useless. But still, but still -- pale eyes fixed in a furious glare, he bit back the crushing agony at the sight of his comrades strewn dead across the floor. And the spheres of red continued to circle him, ever closer to Genkaku -- ready to explode on impact. (Like this situation, the tension mounting. Blood thick in the air.)
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Swirls of red appeared before Genkaku’s violet hues and he just let out a bored sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Damn Nagi, I thought you had more brains then that." He mocked Nagi and flicked his wrist to take hold of a few prayer beads. It was so damn easy to disarm those fucking bombs, it was almost child’s play "We all know how Deadman go against undertakers, just look around."
After he had cleared the way to his Owl, Genkaku rushed towards the older man and grabbed one of Nagi’s thumbs and pressed it towards his lips. His tongue darted out and he let the organ lap up the crimson that seeped through the minor wounds. "Heh. I missed this taste."
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But before he could even move, Genkaku was before him, grappling with his hands -- tongue teasing across his fingertips -- and Nagi acted immediately, out of disgust, out of fear, out of hatred. "Get your hands off of me." Wrenching away his wrist, he aimed a kick to the side -- and without waiting to confirm if the attack had connected, he backed away, breathing heavily, expression focused -- but showing the slightest traces of panic. "Stop -- stop this."
Pale eyes darted over his surroundings, searching for something he could use as a makeshift weapon, but finding nothing -- and he backed away a step further, stance defensive, above all -- trying to buy time in order to escape.
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Strong fingers made their way around Nagi’s neck and Genkaku pushed his fingertips in the soft of the skin. Shoving Nagi against the wall with a sharkish grin and smoke leaving the end of his cigar right in the bastard’s face. "Geez, you’re making me sound like the bad guy." Genkaku murmured with bemused sarcasm. Hell, he loved this situation, the type that made them both seem so intimate. "You’ve done way worse, ya’know."
After several seconds, Genkaku moved backwards with his grip still on Nagi’s neck, the fingers tightened slightly before the Genkaku practically tossed Nagi onto the ground. "Don’t tell me you forgot." He uttered with a vicious tone. "Maybe it’s time for a history lesson."
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And just as he was starting to see dark spots eat away at the edge of his vision, the grip around his throat tightened, then let go, throwing him to the floor -- and he let out a choked gasp, trying to recollect his thoughts as he backed away, breathing haggard and rough. ('History lesson'? 'Forgot'? -- no, no.)
"I've done nothing, bastard -- you're trying to rile me up, you're lying." Words escaped in a rush, his voice low growl as he dragged himself away, maintaining the furious glare. Hands groped behind him, searching for something, anything to fight with -- and found the handle of an old pipe wrench. (It would have to do -- he'd attack without hesitation, the moment the other drew near.) Grasping it tight, he hissed in unrestrained fury. "This is all meaningless."
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He pointed the barrel just a few feet away from Nagi, totally oblivious to the wrench in hand. Genkaku was way to confident and thought he had the shithead right where he wanted him; just pathetic and weak, like a wounded animal backing off from a snarling predator.
"Alright Owl, we’re going to play a little game." Genkaku muttered and loaded the guitar-esque gun.
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Even though each drawled word -- dripping with sadistic content -- cut him deep, he waited, waited, feeling a bead of sweat roll down his jawline -- and found the faintest chance, when Genkaku looked away to load his gun. Both hands occupied, not paying attention --
In an instant, he was on his feet, lunging forward to give the pipe wrench a full-armed swing aimed directly at the other, and it traveled a sharp arm in the air -- metal screeching through air -- and he thought, that moment, -- if this blow connects, I can win, I can escape, this one blow, that's all that matters --
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But his thoughts of a victory were interrupted by a harsh sound of metal that went through the air. Genkaku saw the wrench after he watched Nagi get up on his own two damn feet. What an accomplishment.
"Tch..." He grunted out of frustration and lifted up half of his dissembled guitar to block the metal tool that was about to collide with his shoulder. Then Genkaku twisted the instrument and jerked up the end of his boot to kick Nagi just under the jaw.
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-- the hard strike to the jaw scrambled his thoughts, and he staggered back, immediately tasting blood, balance gone, vision blurry -- and a crashing wave of agony instantly spreading through his body. Strange, almost, how he knew, knew that he had to recollect himself, fight back, flee, something, but his body refused to listen.
And it was through sheer willpower that he managed to stay on his feet, staggering, swaying, blood dripping from a torn lip and glare fixed on Genkaku as he tried to focus his vision -- to no avail. The world was spinning before his eyes, and he tried to feign strength, maintaining a tight grip on the wrench, clutching desperately at it. (I cannot fall here.)
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"Come on Owl." He breathed with annoyance and boredom together, taking a few steps towards his prey. "You’re a real masochist, ya’know, fighting me like this, I’m starting to think you like it." He had enough of it, really. The monk loved fighting, sure. Hell, he loved provoking and riling up shitheads like Nagi, but killing was way more satisfying and the only thing that made Genkaku stop was Nagi’s animalistic impulses that were buried deep in that calm and shit-eating polite demeanor.
But that didn’t mean the monk wouldn’t shoot him if need. A dog has got to be put down if they don’t behave. The monk cocked the machine gun once again and aimed for the other’s thigh, and then he pulled the trigger.
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And then, and then, there was not longer a point in speaking, because the gun was lifted, finger on the trigger, and Nagi realized that time was running out. (I have to move, I have to run, I have to flee, now, now --)
It was a pity, really -- because he almost moved in time. (But almost is never good enough.) A staggering dodge to the side that was futile in the end, and he hit the ground with a ragged gasp, clutching at his bleeding leg with one hand, trying to quell the shards of pain that ran rampant in his system. (I can't give up, I can't give up.) And the fierce glare he had fixed on the other -- almost wild, almost feral -- never wavered, even then.
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"What’s with the face?" He murmured with faint hints of amusement in his voice. A small chuckle erupted from his throat before it became a deep laughter. The cigar was place between his thin lips once again and he inhaled and maneuvered over his friend, so that Nagi was lying between the monk’s feet. "Damn...whatever Owl, deny it all you want. I know what you really are."
Genkaku sat down on Nagi’s hips, his knees jerked up and he looked down at the other’s face. A sharkish grin graced his features and he inhaled the toxin only to exhale on the bleeding and beaten man. Genkaku placed a foot on Nagi’s elbow so the Deadman couldn’t move it while the half-guitar machine gun pointed at the other arm and cooed, "I like you when you’re like this better."
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But just as quickly, it was turned away, and he flinched at the sudden weight across his body, struggling to free himself, to no avail. The press of the leather boot against his arm, the bitter taste of smoke that curled in his throat, the smug laughter that stirred up the deepest sparks of anger that lay deep inside him -- he hated it, hated this, hated Genkaku more than he could bear.
"-- get off of me." Soft words that were a far cry from gentle, edged with ice, stuck somewhere between a plea and a cold demand -- he hissed in between rasping breaths, fighting to free himself, "Let go, this -- this won't accomplish anything, stop --" And the swirls of blood once more coiled in the air from Nagi's wounds, a clear reflection of the desperate rage with which he wished to escape.
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The corner of his eye spotted the swirled of blood red that hurled upwards in mid-air. He sniggered under his breath and like before he quickly made them disappear into splurges of crimson that did nothing but fall to the ground. "Shit, you need some damn new tricks, ya’know?" He said all too chipper and placed the barrel of the gun just a little bit above Nagi’s elbow.
"Alright, here’s the deal." He said as he rolled his head, free hand rubbed the back of his neck. "Since you’re so cute like this, you get a special encore." Tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip in a vulgar fashion. "Bet you’re wondering ‘Why doesn’t he kill me now’ aren’t you? I’ll tell you why, it would just be pretty damn merciful if I sent you along with your bitch." A arrogant snort. "Your woman and my men you killed those years ago, remember yet?"
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And it didn't help, when the barrel of the gun weighed heavily across his arm, and drawling words hit the air -- words that he didn't know the full implications of, words that he didn't understand, but it didn't matter. They still came frighteningly close to setting off the sparks of fury that he'd been trying so hard to hold back.
"Shut up -- shut up," came the low snarl. Expression twisted in barely suppressed rage, Nagi strained to free his arm from beneath the other's boot, speaking in a rush of furious words. "I don't know what you're talking about, but you have no right to speak of her -- you, of all people, you sadist bastard. Release me."
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"Wrong answer, Owl." Genkaku’s finger pressed down on the trigger of his guitar-like gun. He started with one shot into Nagi’s arm before backing off and inhaled the gun smoke. "I wonder if you’re crazier for forgetting." He cooed teasingly. He fingers of his free hand went to the bullet wound and he teased it roughly with his fingers before letting the crimson liquid wet his lips. "Ya’know, you just don’t forget slaughtering twenty of my men."
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