He knew. From the very moment these fateful words came uttered from his delicate lips, he knew exactly what he was openly and quite brazenly offering to his enemy.

An opportunity.

And he saw clearly, even through Mr. Mitchell's strange emotional deficit, that his adversary was guardedly curious over this proposal of a sparring match. Cautiously enticed. And somewhat perplexed. Gambling with the odds in his enemy's favor, the man also knew that this would be an offer difficult for Mr. Mitchell to refuse. Because there was no way that the man could possibly win against his foe in any form of physical altercation. He knew this.

...and so did Mr. Mitchell...

Yet the man watched as his adversary expertly exuded this all powerful aura of emotional indifference. That low emotionally was like an impenetrable wall. An immovable object. But the man found himself a ruthlessly unstoppable force when it came to this enemy of his. With great effort and peril, the man had managed to break the calm of that frigidly stoic demeanor before.

Once.

And oh...how he longed for the thrill of breaking his enemy's calm.

Just once more.

"You can't really be serious." Kris scoffed in a blank faced deadpan.

"I assure you, I'm quite serious." The man responded candidly. "Since you and I seem unable to resolve this little feud of ours as gentlemen, then why not finish it as savages?" And he bared witness to the infinitesimal flicker of thrill behind blue eyes before it was swept away and replaced by a monotonous reply.

"No." This rejection came coolly deadpanned through thin lips, causing the small twitch of a diabolical simper to form along the man's features.

He had anticipated his enemy's dubious refusal of such a blatantly questionable proposal.

"My my, Mr. Mitchell." The man's voice came taunting, laced in a sickeningly sugar sweet smile. "Are you truly that afraid of losing to me?" He purred through the spread of that smile of his, followed by the shake of his adversary's head.

"I don't think you're playing on the level." Kris murmured lowly in response to this challenge of his pride, the bluntness of this statement causing the slight falter of the man's candy smile as the slow tilt of the head followed.

"Are you..?"

That predatory onyx gaze watched as his nemesis considered this fact. And it was...amusing. So very amusing, to watch Mr. Mitchell attempt to discern his underlying intentions. This little guessing game was becoming almost as enjoyable as the one he was attempting to set into motion...if only Mr. Mitchell was willing to play.

"You don't really think you can win, do you?" Kris murmured with a sardonic side smile, that ever watchful, penetrating pale blue gaze persistently searching, looking to uncover the man's clearly nefarious motives.

And the man simply smiled in the face of his enemy's efforts.

"Well, that's debatable." The man murmured this lie through the simper of a smile and a small shrug of the shoulders, knowing full well that he had little chance of physically winning this match. "But you won't know that for sure, Mr. Mitchell..." He gave dramatic pause over the moment before repeating his baiting request. "...unless you let me in the ring with you."

"What exactly are you looking to prove by having me kick your ass?" That ever watchful gaze still searched for an answer that would make any amount of sense, his expression stoic and unmoved by any form of discernible emotion.

"...what are you up to..?"

"Mm-mn." The man purred playfully through the small shake of his head and coy little smile spreading along his delicately pursed lips. "If you want to see the cards that I am holding, Mr. Mitchell." His deep onyx stare fearlessly plunged itself into the frigid depths of that exotic blue gaze. "Then you must play the game, hm?"

A small snort of response dispersed the quiet as Kris finally stood himself from the floor to come eye level to that deep obsidian stare.

"Fine." This came coolly murmured through thin, perfect lips. "It's your funeral." And the man flashed an almost gleeful grin to his enemy's agreement, receiving a disparaging glance in turn. "I have an extra pair of athletic shorts." Kris quipped unamused towards the man's eager expression. "Change out." This demand fell flat from his lips. "I don't want you charging me for a new suit when I make you bleed."

"But of course, Mr. Mitchell." The man purred with a graceful, pithy bow at the waist before turning on the heels of his business shoes to dismiss himself to the changing room, the smile along his lips falling frighteningly flat as he turned away from his enemy.

Yes.

There was no way that this sparring match could end in his favor.

But then...that had never been the game he had wanted to play.

The man knew that there was no possibility of breaking his foe's body. And even if he could somehow manage that feat, the man found that he wanted to break something just a little more fragile. Something dangling a little more vicariously in the balance.

From the very moment he had sent that note revealing his treachery, the man had been paving the road to his enemy's ruin. And when he had finally shown himself to his adversary, he could see that this act of humiliation had somehow shaken Mr. Mitchell's precious calm. And though he had come in hopes of merely gloating over this victory, the man suddenly realized as he sauntered to the changing room that what he grasped now was far sweeter.

He had no desire to break Mr. Mitchell's body. Not when it would prove easier and far more gratifying to irrevocably damage his psyche.

Sifting through the contents of his enemy's locker in search of the spare athletic shorts, something hanging from one of the internal hooks bolted to the metallic roof of the private compartment caught his dark onyx gaze. A small gold cross suspended by a delicate, almost graceful looking chain. Slender fingertips stretched forth, tenderly caressing down the length of the chain to finally rap around the gold cross. And...for the briefest, fleeting moment, the man contemplated actually taking the prized necklace of his adversary. As a token trophy to remember this moment.

But...this action reminded him too much of his lover. The boy so loved and valued his precious inanimate objects, collecting them in his dilapidated tin box. Clinging to them with a child's desperation. And it vexed the man, how his lover could be so attached to these things that could never love him back. And he absolutely despised this trait in his lover. Letting the cross slip through his fingers with the pendulum's swing, a small sigh passed through the man's nose as he continued about the task of changing to dress in his battle attire.

He would strip this man of his faith.

Faith in a world of unshakable absolutes, where he believed himself to be king. Faith in the protection of his impenetrable wall of emotional numbness. Faith in the belief that he was truly and utterly untouchable.

Oh yes...he would make Mr. Mitchell feel, then watch him writhe in the agony of his emotions.

Stepping himself from the changing room out into the larger area of the main arena, the man gave a small simper of a smile to his enemy. The man bared witness to Mr. Mitchell's festering impatience at being made to wait, having begun a slowed, predatory pacing in the ring. The man understood. Empathized. He himself had little patience, and detested being kept waiting, both in business and in his personal life. Something, it seemed, that the two of them shared a distaste for.

But today this small shared character flaw only caused the man's smile to twist into something just a bit wicked. He was rather enjoying his enemy's growing irritation. Finally noticing the man's approach to the ring, exotic pale blue eyes flickered with the thrill of this impending match. The only tell of any semblance of emotion behind that perpetually cool, stoic mask.

"Ready for me to take you to church?" Kris murmured ominously, the depths of his words matching his frigid ice blue stare.

"...pardon...?" The man questioned with the furrow of well groomed brows and the slight quirk of his head in genuine confusion to this cultural reference as Kris gave an almost imperceptible sigh of exasperation.

"Just get your ass in here." Kris quipped tersely, somewhat deflated by the ineffective show of intimidation as the man complied, dipping himself below the ropes to enter the ring.

"So do you even know how to fight?" Kris asked monotonously, gauging the skill level of his opponent as he boldly turned his back on the man to step to the corner of the ring, and smoldering onyx eyes were allowed to drink in that delicate script the man had seen once before.

'One in the same'

"I have some skill in self defense." The man offered this up nonchalantly, gaining a small snorted scoff of amusement from his enemy.

Though having uttered the truth, there was far more veiled beneath that simplistic response. So much more. When the man had been younger and far more recklessly ambitious in creating his precious underworld, it was really no surprise to him that the unscrupulous characters flocking to him were quite diabolically wicked. It had pleased him, to see such like minded men willing to align themselves in his various business ventures. And as he began to expand the services his estate offered to incorporate and cater to more...depraved...desires, the man was taken by slight surprise by the response from the community.

They loved him. They loved the sexual servicing they could receive in coming to his estate. And word of his budding underworld began to spread.

And with this growth came new business partners and promising alliances.

But the man had been far more reckless than he was now in his business dealings. The caution and wise discretion he expertly wielded in business and his personal life now had come by way of a hard lesson. In the form of a man who had wanted something more than simple business relations.

Though many of his patrons and business partners had expressed an interest in sharing the man's bed in favor of one of his whores, the man had swiftly declined all such offers. Most had been made in jest anyway, and had given him a source of amusement and an ego boost. But...there was one.

One man who had not taken so kindly to the man's rejection.

And...at first...the man had thought this business partner to be like the endless string of other harmless people the man had disappointed. It was only when the man's young lover returned to his bed one evening bearing marks on his slender body that the man suspected had been meant to be laid along his own flesh that the man's senses and intuition towards danger became heightened. It had concerned him enough to begin basic training in defensive Jiu-Jitsu.

The efforts of the man's self defense training had come to his aid not long after when this business partner had cornered and isolated him in one of the many dark halls of his home. The man had been attacked. Deplorable sexual acts had been demanded of him, the business partner having sorely mistaken him for one of the many whores he owned. And the man had been forced to defend himself.

Violently.

The incident had never been made public. The man had never spoken of it. To have done that would have made him appear weak and easily taken advantage of in front of unscrupulous crowds. To speak of it would have made him a victim...and he was no victim. What he had done, was deal with the matter swiftly in a show of overwhelming power in shaming the man by severing all business ties and permanently banning him from the Sohma Estate. News of this business partner's blacklisting from the establishment quickly traveled in hushed whispers and had the desired effect.

Though the offers still came from time to time...none of his business partners or patrons dared act upon them.

The light whisper of cracking and popping drew the man's obsidian gaze towards his opponent once more as he took in the sight of Mr. Mitchell gently stretching his neck, arms, and fingers to loosen up his lean muscular frame before a malicious predatory smile spread along his lips.

"I'm going to fucking enjoy this." Kris spoke through that vindictive smile promising pain as the man gave a sugar sweet grin in turn.

Crouching his slender frame at the knee as he slid his right leg out, the man lowered his center of gravity to stabilize and ground himself. Cocking one arm just behind his head in a fist, the other arm was gracefully extended towards his enemy palm out in a defensive gesture. And then...the man waited. Waited...for his enemy to go on the offensive. To approach, come near and attempt first contact. To be lured by the weakened appearance of this defensive stance.

"Shall we begin, then?" The man lilted this taunt with the slight quirk of his well groomed brow.

"Lets..."

The man had a fair idea of what to expect from his enemy. The display he had witness moments before against the punching bag had revealed that his adversary most likely relied more on speed than physical force. The man suspected that his opponent wielded this impressive speed in order to overwhelm and stun his prey...surprising them before moving in for the kill.

And knowing Mr. Mitchell personally...the man was assured that his enemy would utilize underhanded tactics to deceive him. To take him by surprise. So the man waited...watching as his nemesis circled around him in his crouched stance. Attempting to find an opening.

What the man hadn't expected. What took him aback. Was when Mr. Mitchell made the first move. This, the man had anticipated. But the moves had come so easily detected. Slow. Too easily deflected and lacking in any amount of strength behind the blows as the man lightly pushed back for separation before regaining a defensive stance.

At first, the man had thought that Mr. Mitchell was mocking him somehow. That his enemy still refused to take him and this match seriously and was going easy on him. But then the next attack came just the same. Slow. Methodical. Easily blocked as the man was pushed back before hands extended to push his adversary away again to the safety of an arm's length distance. Always keeping a distance. And it was then that the man began to understand what his opponent was really doing.

This was a test. His enemy was merely testing him. Attempting to discover a weakness in the man's defenses.

Another slowed incoming attack was effortlessly avoided with an open palmed deflection. The man gently tugged Mr. Mitchell by the wrist, quickly side-stepping his enemy as Mr. Mitchell followed through with an almost graceful stumble forward before that exotic pale blue gaze viciously flayed the man alive where he stood in yet another defensive stance. Waiting.

"Why whatever is the matter, Mr. Mitchell?" The man smiled tauntingly from his position on the mat. "I thought that you had wanted to teach me a lesson?" This followed the small tilt of the head and that predatory gaze as his voice dropped for dramatic effect. "What's your hesitation?"

"This is suppose to be a contact sport." Kris muttered in veiled irritation, beginning to circle the man once more. "At some point you're going to need to make some fucking contact." He mocked this passive, defensive display as the man gave the diabolical simper of a smile.

"Really?" The man questioned in a playfully cheeky tone before crouching just a bit further into his stance, arm extended palm out tauntingly to his adversary, daring him to attack again as he gave a slight tilt of the head. "Very well, then."

The next attack came far more quickly than the man had expected, and deep onyx eyes dialed to black in response to the very real threat of danger. In a startled, instinctive act of self preservation laced in defensive training, the man's hand lashed out in an upper thrust to his enemy's chin as the other hand swung in a graceful backhand to Mr. Mitchell's face, causing him to quickly rebound and stagger back. The sound of this shamefully undignified assault on his adversary's beautiful features resounded through the quite of the arena before being swallowed up by the breathless pants coming from both men. And the look of expertly veiled shock along his opponent's face towards this unexpected backlash was enough for the man to break out into a satisfied grin.

"I only said that I might be at a slight disadvantage in a fight with you, Mr. Mitchell." The man lightly panted this breathless gloat through the smirk of a smile. "I never said that I was unskilled, hm?"

Though he knew that he had just sparked a physical altercation he had no hopes of winning, the man took a great deal of satisfaction in his enemy's growing rage. The man could tell that his adversary was becoming increasingly agitated because he had underestimated the man's abilities. And that was exactly what would bring about his enemy's ruin and the man's inevitable victory. By rattling the proverbial cage, the man hoped to rouse the monster lingering underneath the surface of his adversary's numb indifference. In breaking that ever present calm by systematically riling up his nemesis, the man was purposely luring Mr. Mitchell into increasingly unsteady territory. Clouding his thoughts and stripping him of his better judgment before waging all out psychological warfare.

And the man knew exactly what pressure points to seek out and exploit. What buttons to push...in order to bring Mr. Mitchell to his very knees and pave his wrenched enemy's downfall. But he had to be methodical in his actions. Slow in his relentless shaming and taunting. To stir his nemesis into a frenzy too soon would almost undoubtedly end in his own demise. Though the man was taking a calculated risk with engaging in this altercation, the end game was worth the expense of his physical safety. Settling himself into another stabilizing defensive stance, goading his opponent to attack, the man gave himself over to a small smile

The best part of this plan...? His enemy didn't suspect a thing.

A/N: Okay, okay. I know what you guys are thinking. I had intended this chapter to be the last, but the expansion of Akito's character was a bit unexpected and unplanned. But I promise that this will be wrapped up in the next chapter, so look I hope you all look forward to the climactic showdown!

Special thanks to my trio of reviewers!

MoonlitAtMidnight

SweetLiars

Fandom Angst

Thank you again, Fandom Angst, for your original concept of this diabolical Akito from "Creatures of the Underworld." I sincerely hope that I am doing him justice.

And taking inspiration from MoonlitAtMidnight, a few songs that inspired this chapter were "Smackdown" by Thousand Foot Krutch and "Come With Me Now" and "Hey, I Don't Know (Why Don't You Tell Me)" both by Kongos and finally, "State Of My Head" by Shinedown.

And thank you all who have read and supported this story and others. You guys are simply the best!