Beauty is lost on most men.
He could see it in the out-of-shape businessmen with thinning hair, bleak tastes, and no semblance for aesthetics except for what they wanted in their women. It was hideous, what they did. Black market deals – drugs, weapons, the selling of sex... that was what happened when one sacrificed beauty for money and power.
Even more hideous was that even 'good' men looked at this and turned away. They were complicit in the ugliness that surrounded them, too weak to do anything about it.
It was nothing like the service to society Vega Antonio de la Cerda provided. His mission was to purge the ugliness from this Earth. Why, he should be venerated as a god for his generosity. A visionary, an artist, at the least. He gave another glance to the guests in his home - not his ancestral home in Barcelon of course. This was his mansion in Madrid, where most of his Shadaloo business was conducted under the guise of polite society.
Vega, of course, must keep up appearances. Despite his growing disdain for money and power, there was no use to point out some hypocritical flaw in his actions of living in his prestigious position . One in a station such as himself cannot simply disappear.
These parties do become nauseating sometimes. From crime lords tied to Shadaloo, to the tasteless Spanish nobles, base in their concept of beauty but only present due to the amount of money they had. Other types of cattle present who sought excitement in depravity shook hands with them freely. There were a few artists present as well, their patrons parading them and their talent around. What the artists could make were often beautiful, but their blind eye to the corruption of this world was lamentable. When Vega walked past a group of them, he heard their conversations regarding pieces that were recently auctioned, what family commissioned what, and what collectors said to them. He wished, for a moment, that these artists were portraitists standing before Vega, capturing his essence like a classical painter would have done for his ancestors, his worthy visage placed upon a canvas as opposed to these meaningless, post-modern statements.
He glanced behind his shoulder at the group, his eyes landing on one that stood silently and motionlessly among them, turned away as if trying to disappear- even when the group was approached by a lucrative collector. Perhaps that one understood the futility of the art that the famous sensationalized, wishing for talent to emerge independent from money.
And then there were those with no money or talent at all, somehow present by the fluke of having some kind of connection.
There was a pig in particular he held nothing but contempt for as soon as he laid eyes upon him. A giant brute of a man, with pasty skin and uncombed, thin hair which sat quite hideously upon his cranium, too tall and pointed for the rest of his bloated visage. He could perhaps liken it to the sagittal crest of a primate. Perhaps he was a primate, pretending he had a place within polite unironed shirt led to uneven collars that seemed to be in battle with his fat neck, where the length of his hair sat just past as well, a pudgy face forcing out a voice full of untrained words.
He didn't care who he was. Perhaps from his unflatteringly large presence, he was someone's guard. He stuck with a certain group for much of the party so far, so he clearly had his allegiances. But all the while, he did not appear sufficiently disciplined to be anything like the fighters Vega faced off against. Vega did not mean to compliment his past prey when he thought that any of them could vanquish this pig.
The elite were truly desperate.
Vega watched the pig squint his baggy, beaded eyes, noticeable to Vega even through the half-mask that Vega wished covered the pig's entire face. He followed the direction of the gaze over to a full-figured, bewitching woman with a tablet in hand, assisting her own employer. Vega would have ripped the creature's lecherous gaze away from the woman himself if the slob's boss didn't quietly reprimand his lack of attention. Vega picked up a glass of wine from a passing tray, sampling it but finding himself unable to ignore the ugliness around him for now. He looked back up from his drink only to find the beast looking right at him.
Vega could not suffer this any longer. Now him... he might not even enjoy killing. It was more of a sense of duty to end this wretch. Vega wondered why he hadn't already found this target before... He must be slacking off. He approached the animal with caution, no mirth in the smile he put on when he neared him and a few of the other guests. He had caught the creature in the midst of him explaining that he got to where he was through befriending the right people - and some of the wrong people. A trial and error that struggled with his well-being, or such nonsense. The pig lamented the difficulty of his life, quite unprompted. For a man so desperate to improve his station, he lacked any sort of tact needed to gain him any allies that weren't similarly pathetic.
Vega himself did not need friends. Instead, people of importance came to him based on his own merit. Lesser men felt the need to take social advantage just out of self-preservation.
When the guests noticed their hosts, they cordially brought their attention to him ... except for the pig, who continued to speak, before trailing off with "or just ignore me." Por Dios, even swine sent to the slaughterhouse squealed less than this bloated manatee!
But, Vega needed this out of the way.
"How do you enjoy the party?" Vega questioned. It was taxing to remain pleasant.
Other guests elected to speak up before the pig did.
"Food, wine, entertainment... you always knew how to throw a proper party." A man with a boorishly plain suit and bow spoke.
"Indeed. You never fail to impress, Mr. La Cerda." A woman who looked much more impressive in her gown and feathered mask added eagerly. "Speaking of entertainment..."
"In due time, my dear." Vega responded with a smirk. "I have something special planned. I would not disappoint my guests."
The 'plan' was... improvised.
The pig stood there discouraged from speaking a single world in response. How pathetic. Vega caught the pig looking at the woman who last spoke, then to the floor. A sullen look of... was it jealousy? Inferiority?
I cannot bear to be in your presence, you ugly creature. You will garner no sympathy from me, Vega thought.
"What about you, sir? Is there something lacking?" Vega pressed him, who towered over himself. It did not intimidate Vega in the slightest. He's taken down large beasts before.
"No, no, it's fine. How are you doing, man?" The pig replied. His casual words were meant to mask his anxiety. Vega wanted to sneer. An act of desperation from his prey... The nobles around him could sense such vulnerability as well, almost circling him. The pig simply did not belong here, try as he may.
"Regretfully, I'm not convinced." Vega replied. The pig looked at him with confusion.
"What do you mean? I said the party is fine." The creature elevated his voice slightly, as if he tried to keep a handle on staying calm but couldn't fathom being disagreed with.
Vega continued in an even tone. "No doubt there's something you'd like to change. Perhaps you'd like center stage in our little party? You've caught the attention of these around you. I'm more than curious to see how you'll entertain us all."
The pig looked down at him with a squinted gaze. Vega knew he hit a sensitive spot. This creature was not bold by the slightest, but he could not turn down the opportunity to pretend he was.
"I don't know how I'll do that." He laughed uneasily. "I know I'm a big loud guy, but-"
"I will pay you, sir. 800,000 Euro to fight me."
"...Huh?"
Vega had to stifle a disappointed sigh. The nobleman had pride in the way he spoke. Eloquent. Concise. With the right enunciations. So, for the pig to imply he did not catch Vega's words were insult upon insult. Especially since the pig seemed to enjoy the sound of his own squeals.
"You did not hear me wrong. 800,000 Euro, for us to spar on that very stage." Vega gestured to a platform at the center of the party that was but a white, elevated circle. That was his canvas, and it would become true art later.
Even ugly pigs bled a brilliant crimson.
His guests halted in their little chats and turned attention to their host. Surely this was the special entertainment Vega mentioned. Some of them knew of his cagefighting matches in the Mesón De Las Flores, where they dealt in illegal business as they watched The Scarlet Terror punish the fighters fool enough to face him. As such, they knew the outcome of this little show. Vega chose his prey, and he'll give him a magnificent send-off into the afterlife.
"Well, for that much..." The man's eyes gleamed. Evidently he was tight on money, and could not refuse the offer. "But are you sure? I am bigger than you."
"So you've said. And so I see." Vega drawled, no longer with any airs. Unlike the pig's bloated body, his fat concealing whatever muscle he could have had, Vega was lithe, which was not to say he wasn't muscular. While he wasn't bulky, he was incredibly toned. His shoulders and chest were broad, leading to a quite slim waist and down to built thighs. It was fitting for a body sculpted by the gods to tear apart this eyesore.
Vega did not ask, but the pig went into detail about his own size and strength.
"...I threw a guy meters away just with my hand. And I'd be hard to knock over." He was insisting on having everyone hear this. But this was a crowd of people much more interested in results than they were interested in words. Vega sighed and raised his hands slightly above his shoulder to clap them.
As if on cue, the crowd parted to allow passage to a blonde woman with a square but slender jaw, plump pink lips, and brown almond eyes behind in a pink half-mask. She presented the steel talons to her employer in a mahogany box.
"Your claw, sir." Alma Meshram was one of his assistants with a specialty for being bystander to Shadaloo business. That meant she beheld bloodshed with a blank smile. That meant she has no qualms upon bringing in this pig's cause of death.
"Thank you, dear." Vega slid the bracer over his left wrist, smiling calmly at his opponent. He knew the pig couldn't back away. All eyes were on them - and the pig was so baselessly banking on his height and weight advantage alone against the slim nobleman. A mistake many have made. "Shall we begin?"
"W-wait. Why do you need a weapon? I thought we would just have a little match?" The pig gasped.
"My friend, are you perhaps suggesting that a mere set of talons will send you running? Do you imply your employer chose poorly?" Vega chuckled.
"This is crazy." The pig hid his gulp.
"Coward!" A voice called out, breaking the silence of the anticipating crowd and causing a sea of murmuring to break out. Vega did not turn to look at the source, but when the pig did, his face scrunched into an expression of offense, rage, and... perhaps a bit of desolation.
"Do you, perhaps, want a weapon?" Vega, ever the gentleman, offered.
The pig shifted to a clumsy stance, the weight on his feet uneven. That was a no, apparently. When the pig lumbered forward, his fist moving in, Vega hardly needed to duck all that quickly to land a kick to the pig's shin, causing him to lose his already regrettable balance and stumble forward.
Vega was quick to take advantage of this. With great strength and agility, Vega flipped backwards in an arc, his heel connecting with the pig's lowered chin and sending him backwards with a heavy thud. Vega landed on his feet, completing his somersault with a reserved bow, directly in contrast to the mad grin he flashed, much to the thrill of his guests.
"Now, now, hold your applause." Vega gently shushed, a finger against his smirking lips. He watched as the man picked himself off the ground, mask hanging halfway and revealing more of his hideous countenance to Vega. He tried to squint through his tiny eyes, nose scrunched and jaw hanging open. The nobleman's smirk immediately dropped. How DARE he look at him like that? Did the pig find his own ugliness to be some kind of inconsequential joke?! Vega did not wait for his opponent to make a move this time, lunging forward with brilliant force behind his claw, slashing into the man's chest. The tips of the steel went through his clothes, the pig's skin tearing around the three talons ripping into his flesh. Vega winded his arm back, his claws drawing blood which stained into the pig's shirt. He looked at Vega in shock. As if he could have never imagined this happening to him. As if he accepted the challenge thinking he could prove something. Tears welled in his eyes.
What that earned him, of course, was Vega slashing his claw against his face. No sympathy, he repeated to himself. Crimson flew beautifully before it fell to the stage floor in wonderous splashes. He sliced more. More. More. But never anywhere that would kill him. Not yet. It was just enough to paint the canvas red. If the pig could not be beautiful, his suffering will be.
The pig threw his arms up to shield himself, but the flesh of his hairy arms snagged against the slight bend of the claw's tips, taking the brief moment the weapon was stuck to him to stumble back onto his feet and attempt to throw his knee forward.
A sickening rip and a pained scream fell through the stage when Vega bent himself backwards in a dodge. The pig's arm was skinned! The force of Vega, and his claw, leaning back towards his heels ended up taking the pig's skin with him. When Vega stood straight again, it was with a laugh, which seldom drowned out the pig's cries... and the crowd's cheers.
Vega circled around the stage as he watched the pig clasp his other hand over his red, wet arm. He admired the work he did on his putrid flesh. Quite better than the original. When Vega was in front of the pig again, he extended a hand down to him. Not to help him up, of course.
"You insisted on preserving your 'pride' when you have nothing to be proud of." Vega began. "Your size means nothing. Your connections mean nothing. Whatever friends and whatever virtues you seem to think you have... it all means nothing.
A few minutes had passed, and the bloodied body of the pig was left crumpling on the stage, crying and squealing, oh, why him, what a bastard he was, how this must have been retribution, what Vega and whoever else wanted him to do for this pain to end. His cries became incoherent from the pain and the blood and tears running down his mangled face. He tried to beg forgiveness to whatever god was out there that deigned for him to suffer in this way.
But God grew tired of listening, and turned away from this wretch. And he wiped his claw with a cloth brought to him, before giving a final bow.
"Magnificent!" A guest cried as they applauded their host.
"Have you seen anything more spectacular?"
Laughter ensured at the pig's wails. Vega stepped down from the stage and passed his talons back to Alma in its box. The pig finished his part in this performance piece. Vega didn't care to see if he'd survive his bleeding any longer. He'll simply track him down and kill him later if he left here alive.
"That was splendid, Mr. Vega. Jackson Pollock couldn't have done any better." An impressed guest, one of the artists, congratulated. The artists and their patrons crowded around the stage as if it truly was a piece in an exhibition. Even the aloof one gazed at the pig and his blood splatter, a phone's camera directed his way. "If I knew you would be making an incredible display here..." How depraved of her, and the rest, to pretend to understand the beauty of what he did... But as long as they had some appreciation, it was welcome.
And, she was so beautiful...
"Thank you, my dear." Vega purred.. "The party may expire soon. But you are welcome to stay, if you desire."
Of course she did.
"I'm honored."
Beauty was lost on most men. But Vega was not like them. And it was no surprise that women wanted his company even when he didn't seek it out.
Why did some women decide to stay with pigs, he did not know. He wouldn't be surprised if his earlier victim had some sort of wife from how standards seemed to be dropping these days. But he would be disgusted.
Walking with the woman out of the ballroom and to his private quarters, he passed a dimly lit hall branching off from the one he traveled down. His eyes gazed off to the darkness for a moment. They caught sight of a portrait. Of himself, of course, but in the shadows, his appearance better resembled a face he knew long ago. One that he tried not to be reminded of when he looked at a mirror, but one he could never face again.
Mother, why did you marry an ugly pig?
(A/N): i reworked this chapter! consider this a proper prelude to a future storyline im going to introduce!