This is a story for a contest on TinierMe. A Battle Royal, actually... the task was the write out the battle and such and such. So for this one, it was MukuroXGinger BreadXKikyo. Yeah. Sorry for the OOC, if you think it is so. Anyways, here you go... Some kind of failed fanfic that is not really one but ANYWAYS.

Disclaimer: Because I'm /so/ sure I'll suddenly own this one day after spotting Hibari riding a unicorn. (Heard the sarcasm.)

Enjoy.

The arena was a vast field of bright, cheery sunflowers and blue bellflowers under a crisp, cloud-spotted sky. The perimeters of the battleground were marked by menacing mountains, towering up so high that their tips disappeared into the dense mist. He couldn't help but let a shudder race through his spine, feeling his blood tingle and his mind blur. This was a game in which anything was possible, in which cheating was legal.

And the danger of that made everything so right.

Mismatched eyes scanned the horizons, alert and aware of every twitching muscle. The black-gloved hand gripped the trident so tightly, the man was sure his knuckles were a bone-white. Over-confident smirk on his face, eyes narrowed with the prowess of a natural predator, the pineapple haired male waited patiently, a white owl perched wisely on his shoulder, and plotted.

Crackle.

Mismatched eyes widened as the man whirled around, trident readied in an outstretched hand. The points were dangerous close to the throat of a young redhead. Well, his hair colour was more of an orange hue, the locks curling in bizarre manners. A dark witch-like hat decorated with a yellow ribbon upon the young one's head and a midnight cloak enveloping a lithe body- the child could fit under the category as cute... but he simply wasn't.

Disgusting thing.

There was this vibe that the man disliked... And he loved it. Both feelings conflicted in a perfect harmony... because this boy was like him. Twisted and unloved. Already broken... which was what Mukuro hated. Because broken toys weren't fun to play with. Then again... this child's arrogant grin was something worthy of being scrubbed off. And arrogant he was, with his first words even.

"You're that illusionist named Mukuro, aren't you? Pitiful thing, locked away in Vendicare."

The pineapple haired man kept his calm though and suddenly, that child's smirk was instantly transformed into a pained cry. Mukuro could see the edge of his trident pointing out from the front of the young chest, a red liquid oozing out like an infection. The illusionist's cold eyes barely continued his sneer, though his lips remained in an over-confident grin. That was easy- so easy that he felt an ill wave of pity for his victim.

Or not.

Mukuro masked his confusion and slight surprise well, as he noticed the cracks and fissures upon that delicate face. The skin was hard and dry, like wood more than flesh, and those blank, beady eyes were like a toy's. A puppet: that was what the corpse on the ground looked like. A sort of sick irony hit the illusionist- yes, this opponent was a broken plaything indeed. His red eye gleamed in contentment as Mukuro slowly turned around, in an irritating relaxed manner.

"You let a doll fight for you?" Mukuro mocked, voice dripping with smooth sarcasm. It was kind of annoying having to stare upwards though, since his opponent (the real one) was floating upon a broomstick and smirking at him. The kid had odd stars in his eyes too, which only added to Mukuro's dislike for the other. Oh well, you weren't supposed to feel for the opponent anyways.

Eyes narrowed, Mukuro pointed his trident at the other with an infamous: "kufufu~". As if to make his point, a pink tongue darted out, licking the cold steel of his weapon with a dangerous aura flowing about him. His long, raven-coloured ponytail flipped in the air as powerful legs propelled him into the air. With a sharp shake of a wrist, the trident lashed out. Hit, hit, avoid, avoid: with the constant repetition of movements, Mukuro was quickly becoming bored. It was time to end this.

In a particularly unpredictable technique, the orange-haired child was found pinned to a nearby boulder with Mukuro's face harzardously close. "Welcome to Hell," the older man breathed out, chuckle resonating deeply in victory. And then a sharp pain as mismatched eyes witnessed spurts of copper and iron coming out from his shoulder. Mukuro let out a half-scream, half-strangled cry as more of his flesh was being blasted off with cruel brutality. The orange haired child giggled, unpinning himself from the boulder. With a snarky tone, the young boy declared a sadistic and painfully ironic retort: "Welcome to your Hell, Mukuro."

Pain, pain, pain: long shreds of electrifying pain.

Not really.

The sky blackened as some of the rocks from the mountains started to float. The flowers withered up and died, one particularly large sunflower floating right in front of the star-eyed child. Confliction and fear were evident as Mukuro suddenly came down from the inky sky. The man snapped his fingers and in an instant, the bloody body vanished into crystalline droplets. "Spiders? Kufufu, I'm afraid that won't work," laughed Mukuro, hand gesturing as he spoke, "You see... you've been in Hell the whole time."

And the sunflower grew and grew, until it became enormous, sickly petals brushing against the black sky. A shrill scream resonated through Hell as the sunflower's seemed to open a non-existing mouth and sucked the child in. Mukuro smiled with approval and with that, blue started to eat at the horizons again. Mismatched eyes stared at the unconscious, twitching child at his feet. The boy was covered with a slick sheen of sweat, face so pale Mukuro doubted he would ever recover from the shock.

Letting out another "kufufu", Mukuro set tried to remember the characteristics of his next opponent, his next victim. A cloud, it seemed. Or at least, that was what his other illusion told him. The man was pretty strong too, for knowing that it was an illusion and snuffing it out in an instant. He would have to be careful. This man's name was Kikyo, Mukuro remembered, and he was a loyal subordinate to Byakuran. Byakuran. Thinking of that repulsive man made him want to throw up and the icy, smiling mask was twisted in a sneer of disgust.

Byakuran, mafia: all things he hated and had to destroy. At times, this furious and mind-consuming hatred would frighten him... but in these kinds of moments, Mukuro couldn't help but feel an excited shiver run through him. It made him want to vomit, but the thought of being able to kill those who have wronged him and so many others... it appealed to him, he who would destroy the mafia one leader at a time. Starting with the Vongola. Yet... when was it that he had started to grow soft?

Mukuro let out a low snarl, an unusual expression of irritation on his handsome face. Kicking the weakness from his mind away, the mismatched eyes man readied himself, instincts sharpened and in search of his next victim. Electric-turquoise hair that cascaded in the breeze like a pure stream under sunlight: his opponent was one hard to miss with a stunning beauty and cold charm. But that only made him more dangerous, in the same way poisonous fishes had extremely bright and joyful colours.

Green eyes decorated with aquatic eye-liner flickered to Mukuro's hiding spot, those eyes so familiar yet so distant, and the illusionist was not the bit surprise, even as this man suddenly vanished and reappeared inches from his face. "Kufufu~" Mukuro breathed out, a hand reaching out to mockingly stroke the other's cheek. This was replied to by a sharp kick to his left side, which he countered with the same lightening speed. Both men were blown apart by the impact of their encounter.

Mukuro landed elegantly on his feet, an ever-so taunting smirk at his lips. The same smile was pasted confidently, overconfidently even, on Kikyo's face. Mukuro knew this man, recognized those features, that voice, the sweet smell of dead flowers that seem to hang around him. Mukuro gave a pitying scoff and sneered in a dry tone, "Where is that 'Byakuran-sama' you're always following?"

"Byakuran-sama is busy with another battle. He doesn't have time nor reason to deal with trash like you," retorted the other right back. Mukuro let out a pleased-sounding hum, and in the next instant, a trident would have been implanted in soft flesh if there weren't for the flowers wrapping around it, stopping it. As if the flowers were greedy wolves around a steak, it began crawling up the trident, to Mukuro's pale hand and wrapping themselves around it, sucking out his power.

"Kufufu, it's seems as though I'm dealing with so many flowers today~" laughed the man as instantly, the vines were sliced to tiny pieces by some invisible force. Mukuro rubbed his wrist, where the vines had squeezed a little too hard and drew a thin, precise line of blood. Grinning even more, the man brought his wrist up to his face and licked the blood off slowly, all the while locking gazes with his victim. A dance to the death?

Yes, of course.

How wondrous.

In a twisted way?

Of course.

They both had the world betray them... the only difference was that the illusionist wasn't weak enough to fall into the illusion of safety. He had relied on himself, as opposed to Kikyo who had to be supported by Byakuran. This was why he would win; this would why the other deserved to die. The two clashed again, and again, reaching a higher level of combat every single time. And not even a droplet of confidence had evaporated from those mismatched eyes.

Yet, with every single step he took, he felt the other going faster and the hits stronger. What was happening? No... Kikyo was the one getting stronger... Mukuro's eyes widened in surprise, as this time, the punches and kicks sent him reeling and coughing out the taste and smell of iron. The other began to laugh and sneer: "Have you realized it yet? You've been under my trap since the very beginning!" Mukuro felt a twinge, a sharp pain, in his chest area. "They are killing you from the inside out, usurping all of your energy!"

It burned, as if the other had injected some sort of poison in him. The man coughed out more blood, face twisting in a red-hot agony. "Go to Hell," murmured the pineapple-haired man, voice low yet menace well-poised and alarming. The red eye started to glow, colour darkening, and Kikyo felt a pang of... fear? Was this fear? He shouldn't be afraid though. H-He... He had the upper-hand here, why should he be afraid of this trash?

Yet... even Byakuran-sama had thought of this illusionist as a threat, small or not, a threat. And that was a worthy mention. So maybe the pounding of a heart and swirling of the head were justified, in some absurd sense of the word. Maybe... No! He refused to admit so. B-But that gaze, one that bordered on insanity and conscience. This man was strong... but Kikyo's vanity denied the fact with a stubborn foolishness. It would prove to be his demise...

Even the man's transformation into his that of a huge, dinosaur-looking monster couldn't save him. At his very feet, the ground collapsed. At the very sky, there was a cage of fire and bones. Death, death, everywhere. Like Daisy in some sense, that zombie who desired mortality. He was falling and falling, some horrifying nightmare that attacked at every weak spot of his mind as large, never-blinking eyes watched. "Stop looking at me!" he wanted to scream.

Resistance was futile though. There would be no mercy other than that of a swift death... but Mukuro wasn't so kind as to offer that.

All was left was a puddle of red and a corpse. Unlike the child, this was a man Mukuro couldn't allow to live. This type of man resembled the ones he hated so... And upon turning his mismatched eyes to the glower of the red sky, Mukuro watched the flower field burn into nothing but an overcast wasteland. Sunflowers, bellflowers: everything was but ashes on the ground. A pity, but it was a must. He was the one who would rule the world.

It was for them.