Keep an eye out for a pun

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A/N: unbeta-ed. Feedback highly appreciated!

"That's him then?". Knives turned, posture all feigned casualty, a slight smile ghosting around his lips that failed completely to hide the disgust in his eyes. His eyes that were so blank and yet so full of an alarming forcefulness that Wolfwood had a hard time trampling down his instincts when those eyes, now, held his for the first time. He kept his gaze firm and waited.

Knives gave him a look-over, then turned half to his side in a seemingly dismissive gesture and snorted.

"Well, let's see." In a flash, Knives had his revolver out, pointed in a shockingly bored, indifferent manner at Wolfwood's left shoulder and pulled the trigger.

Sweat and blood sticking his clothes to his skin, Wolfwood still managed to hold his ground without even so much as a tremble, counting his breaths to keep the anger and pain out of his mind. The Cross Punisher a solid, reassuring weight against his back, it still didn't quite stop his guts from twisting in something like dread. Yet, his focus was fully on Knives, too used to pushing pain and fear aside to get distracted from his goal. Which was to prove that he was up to this.

Failing in this was not an option.

He took a small breath, lit another cigarette and concentrated on appearing both unaffected and obedient.

Knives studied him for some moments more, apparently considering something he found interesting. A second later, his expression got blank again, the corners of his mouth still slightly turned upwards in what seemed like a mixture of disgust and dark amusement.

"I rather like your shades, actually. Suits the dark fate that awaits you. No really, I'd advice you strongly to wear them, at best constantly." He had started smiling in a disturbingly patronizing way. "My brother is surprisingly perceptive sometimes, you know. Can't have that he sees the weakness in your eyes and shrinks back in terror the moment he stumbles upon you, can't we?"

He chuckled softly as if enjoying a particularly entertaining private joke, turned his back on the priest and walked away.

Wolfwood fought hard against the sudden tremble in the hand that still clutched his gun, the Cross Punisher on his back suddenly seeming to suffocate him, barring him down on the ground, making him breathe dust and death where there was only stale air and metal ground. All his muscles rigid, he straightened, tucked the gun away and turned towards the exit while lighting another cigarette. Inhaling the smoke deeply he cursed under his breath. With all these bastards around he was going to be in need of even more packs than usually.

Because it was definite know. He couldn't allow himself to fail – and therefore had to go willingly down the road that he was being pushed towards. Whatever that meant for his soul in the end.

Shifting the Cross to something at least resembling a comfortable position on his back, he walked on across the hard-packed earth.
The sunglasses came into place with forced ease and stayed there.

He could feel Knives in his head, how his power seemed to crush the walls of his skull and he bit down on his cigarette to ignore the pain. Somewhere in there he could hear the devil's laughter.