KO
No, it is not "ko" like "ko". Like "knockout," mmks.
Also, no SCRYED owning for me. Oh noes.
His still feverish skin does not flush as Kazuma's does when anger rises up from the pit of his belly, constricting his insides and burning heat across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. The Shell Bullet hollers and thrusts out his mecha arm with a stream of crude and valiant obscenities -- that right arm pounding with a vengeance, veining with scars that crawl along his shoulders and his flaming cheeks -- but so unlike his rival.
He is a cold and precise red-eyed angel, desperate in his need for something to believe in. His hands are delicate -- caressing and killing with meticulous accuracy. Now he lies sprawled at Torisuna's feet, the infamous rebel beast that is known as The Treasoner and feared throughout the wastelands having ground him into the earth.
He is a rapturous vision.
Flawlessly pale and latticed in blackening bruises, all claimed by the wicked blows of the rivaling Alter User. His face was swelling on the left side, streaking a thin layer of sweat and dirt and dribbling spikes of blood that ribboned from the soft, sweet corner of his slightly parted lips, then dried to brown. Tasteless, flaking.
His otherwise clean-pressed HOLY uniform is shredded beyond the state of reasonable recognition, torn off his hips in handfuls like claws and left in blood-spotted tatters. The clinging filth and grime of their recent battle efficiently sullied the lissome, if unconscious body, making the once-beauty almost unrecognizable at a glance.
He keeps bleeding out with every labored breath that pumps his veins and makes his chest rise, less than usual but enough to be the subject of someone's concern. Mimori Kiryu would have thrown a fit if she'd seen.
Dripping and dipping from below his naval, lower still, winding itself into his velvet thighs in streams of blackest red.
Kazuma watched him from above.
Pretty blue-haired angel, sweet lips drawn somewhat slack and strands of sweat streaked spearmint-azure sticking to the sides of his face and also bleeding forehead.
He bends down, one knee propped up with an elbow draped across his thigh, and brushes a few loosened blue-green locks from the other's cheeks, the corners of his eyes -- sidesweeping the blood so that it trickles weakly off to one side. A victorious smirk curls lazily over his parched and cracking lips as he feels the other's heart shuddering unconsciously against ribs that were most likely either bruised or broken, signaling to him that Ryuhou was still alive.
He could have killed him, but a good fighter doesn't strike his opponent when said opponent is incapable of resistance. Not that -- and he'd never admit to this aloud or otherwise -- he would have done the HOLY bastard in, even given the most opportune moment to do so. It almost made him feel a little sentimental.
A sweet and creeping weakness, blooming in his stomach and twisting his insides.
Rolling the aching joints out of his right arm and shoulders, he gives his neck a good cracking as he stands to his full height once more, dirt and debris clinging all around him to the ravaged atmosphere. Glancing down, he allows for a smug and almost canine smirk, one rough hand poised over his hip and shoulders rounded back.
It was a strong temptation not to lick his lips.
Baring dampened diamond skin, battle worn, and sharp, delicate features having acquired a deeply sultry sheen from the dark and tousled strands of hair that stuck against his cheeks and the nape of his neck, the fallen rival was quite a ravaged and ethereal vision to behold. Kazuma liked him better this way -- downed and submitting.
He could hear the sputtering of a jeep behind him though -- too soon, he thought -- and he knew lovergirl and her crew would be all over their for now defeated comrade in a hot minute. He wasn't in the mood.
With a look dropped over his shoulder, he grins. "Don't forget to come looking for me when you wake up, asshole. I'm looking forward to it ."
Flexing his fingers, he gave a small chuckle as that strange feeling wound its way up inside of him again, blossoming almost painfully in his stomach.
Damn.
He'd have to hit the bastard harder next time.
End.