Kiriska: HA, you thought I wasn't gonna put in another update until past New Year's didn't you?! Well, here's everyone's Christmas present this year. Another chapter filled with the moment you've all been waiting for! But wait! That's not all! I also have for you The Homicidal Maniac "movie" poster, on which I've been working on and off for three months. Mwee. It can be viewed here: http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/4362245/

Hope you enjoy, and happy holiday folks. ^_^

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The Homicidal Maniac

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Chapter Forty-Seven: Final Destination

Aymichi

I moved aside, catlike, and grabbed his arm; it was good, I guess, that through the years I had learned to fight. Fight the stupid gangs for their drugs. Fight the stupid hobos for their food, blankets and space to sleep. Fight the fat police-guy so I'd have a chance to run. I grabbed his arm as it shot past me; fight the stupid Ishida for forgotten revenge and for the bloody hell of it. Holding it roughly, I twisted the arm around his back, trying to wretch the knife from his fingers. They held fast, however, and the edge of the blade found its way to my skin. A thin cut appeared at the base of my thumb. Tightening my grip, I struggled to keep a hold on his knife-hand as he tried to kick me. I could hear him talking to himself under his breath and cursing; it was very funny actually. He was cussing himself out instead of me. But I wasn't in the mood for funny anymore.

Suddenly, he pushed back on me, threw all his weight on me and knocked me over. He drew his arm away from me quickly, succeeding in cutting me again, a line of red across my forearm. I wasn't going to be the one to die here tonight. I couldn't be. I was so frikkin' damned close. There had never been such a determination to live before; a thousand times I had welcomed death before, but not tonight, not here, and definitely not by the hands of this filthy blonde Ishida. I couldn't lose. I had gone too far; gone through too many levels of hell to stop now. There were points before where I wouldn't have cared, where I could have just given in, crumpled in a corner and died,...but not tonight, not now, not when I was this close,...

So close. So disturbingly close that I could already see my victory. My side was throbbing slightly, but the adrenaline pulsing through my blood was enough to drown away the protests of my neglected body. Ishida came at me again, without any sort of tactical plan, thrusting his knife forward like a blind guy. I sidestepped again and watched him stumble past me in burning hatred; it was freaky really. It was as if I could feel heat radiating from his body and dissipating into the air - or maybe that was just his disgusting sweat beading on his skin. Either way, it sure was fucking smelly. Hatred was a smelly thing.

He spun around and glared at me, breathing hard and glaring at me. In the darkness of the warehouse, the person standing in the shadows in front of me looked like my reflection. His hair was dirty, his eyes were blue, his face was scratched and bruised. He's not as ugly as you though, 'Michi, a voice said. Another one scoffed and laughed; I growled, not really sure if it was at my target or my voices. I needed to get my knife back,...why, Michi? Don't you already have,...yes, yes I do! But I want him to *suffer*! He needs to writhe in *pain*. He needs to *bleed* and *burn* like everyone else did. Uh-huh,...well, you know, the bad guys always lose when they take too long,...Shut up! I'm not a goddamn comic super villain,...that's true,...you're just a complete psycho is all,...how's that any different? They all lose in the end y'know,...they all lose in the end,...

No, not me,...I bolted forward suddenly, so suddenly that even I was surprised. I was just as blind and uncoordinated as Ishida was, fucking great. He prepared to evade my incoming attack, but I did not attack; instead, I ducked around him and jumped into the pile of cardboard boxes I had pushed him in a few moments before. Where the fuck was my goddamn knife? Kneeling, I kept my eyes on the enemy as my hands felt around for the blade. "Can't fight me without your knife, Ishida?" I scowled at him, wondering if he'd be stupid enough to want to fight fair. He scoffed, taking a few steps in my direction, "Do you really think I care about fighting fair at this point,...?" he replied darkly. Apparently not.

Oh well. I found the knife anyway. Leaping up from my position, I landed directly in front of him and thrusted my knife-hand upward aiming to stab into his gut and upwards more towards his heart. But he moved. He moved sidestepped, and the knife, instead, embedded itself into the joint of his left shoulder with a grotesque, half-silent sound. His shriek of pain was music to my ears, but the sweet melody did not linger in my head for long. Because at the same time, he had launched his own weapon forward - into my reopened wound. There are so many words in the English language that are absolutely and completely useless. Words for standardized tests that no one ever uses outside of mindless exams, words that were created on a whim by some dead and forgotten scholar, words that mean things like the nose hairs of political leaders and the process in which flowers scientifically explode, but there weren't enough words in all the languages in the word to describe the *excruciating agony* of my *laceration*. Yes, I am such an educated street-rat, and it is in this way I relay my horrible suffering to you.

I wasn't even aware that I had screamed, it was instinct. It was an animalistic sound that came from the depths of primitive human consciousness. In short, it fucking hurt like hell. I retracted my knife from his shoulder, letting loose a gallon of blood that trickled over my fingers, sticky and warm, and causing Ishida to hiss in further pain. Feel what I feel, bastard, I stabbed again, aiming for the chest again, missed again, hit somewhere between shoulder and neck. He kicked me in the stomach, forcing his blade out of my flesh and sending uncontrolled pulses of throbbing all over my body - I stumbled backwards and onto my ass, coughing violently. Barf-blood flowed into my mouth and I could feel my esophagus burn with acid and bile. Red spilled over my lips, still burning with substances that were never meant to leave my stomach.

I hated to lay there, bleeding and exposed, but I *couldn't* move. Fucking hell, it hurt so bad, the air stinging the flesh that was no longer protected by skin and the eruption of all sorts of gross bodily fluids in my gut. My knife was still embedded in Ishida, I needed to get it back. Fuck, I can't lose here,...I can't lose now,...so goddamn close,...I lurched forward, trying to get to my, inducing more pain upon myself as I moved. The little blonde rat was still on his feet somehow, trying to remove my blade from his body, though his eyes were on me. Didn't matter. I jumped to my feet, feeling dizzy and suddenly very disoriented. Tripping over myself, I careened into him, knocking us both to the ground.

Unfortunately, the fucking bastard's knife landed point up and pierced through my hand as I landed. Unholy fuck, I could feel the metal as it slid through my bones, as it destroyed skin and muscle to get to the other side; I could feel the coldness of the blade under all of my blood; I could feel it send my nerves on a psychotic rampage of horrible PAIN. The aching in my hand temporarily overtook the pain in my side and I pushed myself upwards quickly, trying to disentangle my hand from the knife. Yamato snarled viciously and removed my knife from his shoulder then slashed at me again, screaming a stream of words I couldn't understand through his agony and my own. Just KILL HIM, and make the pain end, just KILL him,...

I was beginning to feel something like a pincushion as my own weapon intruded on my flesh again, stabbing into the base of my ribcage. Blood was forced out of my mouth again, an explosion of warm life-giving elixir coming out like a waterfall, staining the clothes and face of me and my enemy. God, I'm going to die,...'Michi, you're going to die. Fuck no! I can't die,...not yet,...not yet,...I was so close,...I had given up so much to kill these people,...to pay them back for what they've done,...not yet, not yet,...I grabbed the handle of my knife and pulled it out, removing the only blockage between my bloody wound and the open air. Kill him, just fucking kill him! You won't live long enough to fuck yourself over with pain and anguish if you don't kill him *now*!

I threw myself at Ishida, knife stained a thousand shades of red. I slammed into him and backed him up against a wall, knife at his pale throat - but I could feel the point of his knife at my stomach as well. Blood seeped through his clenched teeth and I could feel him squirm with silent pain where my hand pressed against his fucked shoulder. "You can't win, Ishida,...you fucking can't win,..." I hissed at him, pressing the bleeding edge of my knife against his skin. "You can't either,...we'll both fucking die here,..." I felt his knife press against already wounded flesh, stinging it. I didn't reply, instead moving back quickly and without warning, slapping his knife out of his hand. The overused blade went skidding into the darkness. The hand I had used to knock it away tingled, needlessly reminding me that there was a fucking hole through it.

"Will we?" I threw my own knife to the ground and reached into my trench coat pocket, sticky fingers wrapping around a cold steel handle. I pulled out the gun and fired at him twice - the sound of the shots were deafeningly loud in the grave silence of the night. I hadn't aimed properly, I hadn't thought about it, hadn't really planned it,...there was no place for thought anymore,...just kill him! the chorus of impatient voices screamed, and I fired a third time. Red quickly seeped through worn and tattered clothes, pooling out in the places the bullets landed. Two in his stomach and one directly under his left shoulder, which had already been cut open. Fuck it Aymichi, you're a horrible shot, *aim for his HEART*. KILL HIM NOW.

His body seemed to tremble as he sank to his knees, a new line of fresh blood leaking out of the corners of his mouth, slipping over what had already been lost. I fumbled with the gun, the bloody in my fingers made the damn thing hard to hold, hard to grip, hard to fire. The holes in my side, my stomach, my chest, my hand; they all leaked life, and the pain I had been trying to ignore became overbearing. I'm going to die,...I'm going to die,...even if I did kill Yamato, I would not possibly live through the bitter winter night. I would not be able to kill Tai and Koushirou; I would not be able to complete my mission,...I had suffered through seven years for nothing,...nothing,...it was ALL or NOTHING,...even if I killed him here tonight,...two more would live,...I had failed,...The realization sank in slowly. Bitterly. Fuck it all,...you knew it would happen in the end,...I told you so, a voice whispered.

Too slow, too slow, too much pain, too much agony. I could not react in time when Matt leaned forward to pick my knife off the ground and plunge forward, stabbing me square in the chest. Pain, so much pain,...I fired again, didn't really mean to, wasn't thinking much anymore. The blood was slippery, my fingers couldn't hold the gun. The shot hit him though, of that I was fairly sure. I fell sideways, landing on my wounded side, just my luck. My life would end in horrendous and indescribable pain. I released my hold of the gun and my arms curled around my sides, feeling the disgusting warmth of my own blood as it continued to leak, as it continued to bleed the life out of myself.

And suddenly I became aware of my weak I felt. The loss of blood contributed to loss of adrenaline flowing through my body, the loss of energy and spirit and hope and motivation. My vision started to blur in and out of focus, and everything around me became masses of red and black - shadows in the poorly lit warehouse and the blood pooled everywhere,...everywhere,...The floor was so cold, a drastic contrast from the puddle of blood I was laying in,...the feeling was numbing,...painfully numbing,...and like some pathetically clichéd silent film, I saw my life playback in my head with the commentary from my very own collection of demented voices, like a rerun of MST3K. Gee, 'Michi, you were a loser as a little kid, huh? Gee, 'Michi, you were a traumatized little kid, huh? How did you survive all those years on the streets? By eating rat poo? Ew, I don't even want to know. How many scars do you have 'Michi? And from what? From candle burns and coming just a little too close to that gang's territory? How many drugs have you taken or sold? What other of society's rotten underlings have you been a part of? I can't believe you're finally dying - I've been waiting for this moment for five, or was it seven, long years. I'm so sick of being in your head, man. Yeah, I'm pretty sick of me too.

I could see Ishida leaning against the wall, one hand pressed against the bullet wounds in his stomach, and the other hand pressed against the bleeding mess of a shoulder he had. Maybe he would die too,...maybe I'll see him soon, in Hell,...there's always that hope eh? Surely if he doesn't die from the wounds I've given him, he'll end up committing suicide for killing and hurting his beloved friends. He has nothing left to do after I die, anyway. I can greet him with my horrifying screams of utmost agony in the fiery inferno. Only more pain awaits you, Michi m'friend, you are a doomed doomed soul. What have you accomplished in this little life? Was there regret? Was this regret? No,...not really,...it's just too bad all of them won't be joining me,...the hate slowly faded, as did the pain as the frigid winter numbed everything away. It almost felt as if the blood was freezing all around me,...so cold, so cold,...hell, the thought of Hell was almost welcoming, it was so cold,...

I spared a bloody grin, "I trust you'll be joining me soon, Ishida." The blood bubbled in my throat, making my last words hard to understand. I wrapped my arms tighter around myself, trying to get warmer. So cold, so cold,...so this is the end, huh? There's no more running around the streets of Odaiba, no more stealing and fighting and bargaining for illegal drugs and weapons. No more,...just one final destination, my comfy reserved spot in a nice warm and scorching hot fit in a deep level of Hell, far, far away from this wretched world, far, far away,...I continued to stare at the blonde against the wall, but the color was draining away from the picture; the life was being bleached from the image, and slowly everything became a shade of grey, then even that went to,...the contrast went up and the shadows enveloped it,...far, far away,...I was going somewhere far, far away,...My face was still smiling when I left.

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Kiriska: Yeah,...I bet the lot of you are happy eh? The bad guy's finally dead,...and what of Matt? You can probably guess, but I suspect the next chapter will come sometime in Janurary, if all goes well. Yup. Please review, and comment on my picture thing too! ^^ Merry Christmas!