Firstly, before the fight could even begin, the swordsman was explicit on the fact that it be totally within the proper rules of swordsmanship. They stood a few yards away from each other, the demon on one end, while Virginia, Jet and Gallows occupied the other end. Diablo lay dead near them and was like a monument to the duel, still sparking and steaming a little. Catherine, Kaitlyn and Dario were the spectators to the event, their backs pressed up against the wall and unable to interfere. The swordsman had threatened them with death if they did. None of them wanted to see if he was bluffing.
He held up his weapon and allowed the very weak light to illuminate it's edges, drawing the attention of the three humans towards it. "I can't use Gungnir anymore, but I think this will suffice. Please meet my blade, everybody. Her name is Kuronegaiken, and in the human tongue, it means the 'Dark Desire Blade'. Her edge will kiss your flesh, and you shall die." He planted the tip of the sword in the ground in front of him and leant on it like a post, lacing his fingers together and setting it upon the butt of the weapon. "Now, my dear, dear friends, here is my proposition. You may attack me one at a time, or you can all team up and try your luck. The ferocity of my attacks will differ depending on the choice you will have made. This will be a most interesting hunt, humans, my perfect prey."
Jet and Gallows turned to their leader. They both seemed incredulous over their next battle. Were they really going to fight Clive? It was just too crazy to believe. Virginia hung her head and was unable to say anything, overwhelmed by the intense changes in her friend over such a short period of time. Gallows felt the confusion in her aura, and knew that he had to set it straight again. His blood was boiling to sort out this mess and go home to where things made better sense. If he had to bruise Clive up a little to do so, well, the demon had it coming to him, after they way he had acted. "Fight me!" The Baskar declared loudly, clenching one fist. "I'll go first! I'll wipe that smug grin off your face, Clivy-boy, you'll thank me for it later, okay?"
Sliding his eyes closed, the swordsman repeated an old piece of demon literature, one he had not heard being spoken aloud for thousands of years. He felt it needed saying now, and nodded, agreeing to Gallows's proposal. "Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law." He intoned, pulling his weapon out of the ground. "I am not going to go easy on you, Gallows. I just need to tell you that." The priest snorted and moved away from his companions, where Virginia shot him a look of worry. He waved her aside, muttering something about being 'well prepared', and that he had a 'plan'. The amazing this was, he actually did.
"…A technique used to offer a moment of vulnerability over the lycan, in order to quell it's ferocious wrath. A deadening of the nerves can be created by applying pressure onto the creature's tail, according to Baskar pressure point principles."
He thanked the Guardians many times over in his head for the gift of a little brother who had helped him to find that gem of knowledge in a dirt mine of boring agricultural reports. He knew that without Shane, he would have wound up nowhere fast. Gallows wasn't sure if the trick would work now that the demon was back inside a nearly human silhouette, but he still had a tail, so it should still work, right? It was worth a shot, at least. He cracked his knuckles and stretched the tension out of his arms, curling his hands into fists. The swordsman's tail was swishing back and forth a little in anticipation of the fight, and if he could just stand on it or something, things might work out. "I'm ready," He said, "Gimme your best shot."
When the demon attacked, Gallows was actually prepared and the first sword strike was caught mid-way in a distortion arcana, the solidity of the air in front of him hindering a proper attack. Growling, the swordsman yanked the weapon out and tried for an overhead sweep, intending to take Gallows's head clean off his shoulders. Ducking behind the distortion, the priest waited for the attack to be executed and then rammed his shoulder straight into the demon's chest, throwing all his weight into the charge and hoping to disarm him from his weapon. Failing in this, Gallows took advantage of the demon being bent over and gasping for air, holding his hands together and using a hammerblow upon his enemies back, trying to knock the green-haired man onto the ground. Then, he raised his foot and tried to bring it down upon the demon's tail, wanting to hear him cry out and give up, defeated.
Thinking fast, the swordsman grabbed a handful of dirt and threw it in Gallows's face, blinding the priest momentarily as he cried out and brushed the irritation from his eyes, staggering backwards and cursing a blue streak. The demon jumped to his feet and reclaimed the sword that he had dropped beforehand, conjuring up a plan of his own within his honed and tactical mind. Gallows watched through blurry vision as the swordsman coiled his legs and leapt inhumanly high into the air, gripping his sword with both hands and pointing it downwards towards him, grinning with manic glee and a frightening kind of resolve. Wisps of icy fog began to hiss off the sides of the blade, which formed ghostly hands with long gnarled fingers, grasping, reaching out, and greedily possessing. They cried out to reach Gallows's soul, to fill it with it's cold and unfeeling influence, to eat away at the priest's last source of life.
"Zero Count Execution!" Cried the demon as he descended upon the priest, slamming the end of his weapon into the ground, just an inch away from Gallows's two feet. In the way he landed, the swordsman was now kneeling in front of the Baskar, his eyes closed, channeling the true danger of this attack. Gallows tried to move away but found himself rooted to the spot, his legs as rigid as a post, held there without any external indication. He moaned as the ghostly hands crept out of the blade and touched his warm, living flesh, like a woman's gentle caress, but with a cold and lacking aura. All at once, the hands clenched and forced themselves into Gallows's body, grabbing the healthy aura within his body and wringing out his soul.
Something valuable and precious within his body screamed and choked under the vicious pressure, garroted, strangled, squeezed to death. The demon whispered something ancient and arcane under his breath and Gallows finally went limp, his eyes rolling up into the back of his head, letting out one last sigh. The swordsman stood and tore the end of his blade out of the ground, at last revealing that it had been piercing Gallows's shadow, the mirror into his soul. As soon as Kuronegaiken was retracted, the hold on Gallows's body disappeared and his legs wobbled like jelly for a few choice seconds, before his body keeled over and hit the ground in an unconscious heap. The demon set his boot upon Gallows's side and rolled him over, onto his back. The priest was still breathing, but definitely out of it.
"That was mildly amusing…" He announced to the others warmly and casually, holding up his sword and drawing attention to the blade. "And look, I did not squeeze a drop of blood out of him. I may have to make up for that in the next round, shouldn't I? Who wishes to have a try next? Cecilia? Or Rudy? I am waiting." He smiled when the other two showed confusion over the names he had called them, but it made him feel better to think that with a rematch like this, it would redeem himself of the losses he had endured so many years ago. One down, and two more to go.
Jet glowered and pushed Virginia out of the way, stepping up to the plate. The drifter leader was a little surprised at first, but took this chance to rush to Gallows's aid, pausing to glance appraisingly at the swordsman's face, standing over the priest's hurt body. He smiled in a friendly way that was reminiscent of the old Clive Winslett, and obligingly moved away from the both of them, giving the girl the space that she needed. It was eerie how the demon seemed to be so much like his old self, but at the same time, extremely different. The rest of the Maxwell gang could have sworn that he was doing this act of violence and sadism of his own free will, with a smile, and the soul of their sniper friend. They could sense within their mediums and their hearts that he wanted to do this, and was having plenty of fun along the way.
"I don't know why the hell you really wanna do this…" He began bluntly and darkly, holding his Airget-lamh carefully with his free hand, his lavender eyes filled with hostility and resentment. "Or what you're hopin' to achieve by slaughtering your friends. But lemme get this straight with you, Clive, if you're not with us then you're against us, and I beat the shit outta my enemies without lookin' back. I'm gonna make you pay for this, you bastard!" He finished with a snarl, brandishing his weapon. "I ain't gonna let you get through me, you ain't gonna get to Virginia!"
"Then it seems that I am against you." He reasoned calmly, his sword arm stiff and being held slightly by his side. He was ready to strike. "And as a favor to me, I ask that you destroy your enemy as brutally as you possibly can. I wish for a fair fight, I thirst for blood and conflict. I exist for the termination of others. That is my job, and I am happy to perform it. I am the Executioner. Don't worry, Jet. This will all be over soon, I promise you. Have at thee!"
Surprisingly, Jet struck first with the butt of his ARM and actually managed to land a hit on him, smashing the back of his forearm as he rose it for a block, hearing the sickening sound as the metal and flesh connected with each other, empathetically feeling the swordsman's pain. It must have really hurt. But, his expression did not change in the slightest and he lashed out with his blade, tearing a long gash in Jet's black shirt, but missing the skin underneath. The boy was fortunate, next time he might not be so lucky. Growling, Jet moved back and sought a blank peace within his mind, focussing his aura within his center, which violently exploded in his body and threw his reflexes into overdrive, activating his accelerator technique.
Far upon the opposing wall, in extreme silence and shade, a wayward shadow detached itself from it's source and grew into a familiar silhouette, it's existence just a lack of light born of dark malice. It leapt into the air and glided across the room on hidden invisible wings, sliding across the wall and melting into the shadows of Catherine and Kaitlyn, where it bided it's time and waited. Catherine felt a cold wind rush by her and shivered, wondering where it had come from. Kaitlyn was watching her father fight with a mesmerized awe, her little heart confused to why he was attacking Virginia and the others, but amazed at the way he was fighting, just like the ancient swordsmen that littered her huge collection of books.
The swipe of the blade near his face ruffled his hair for a moment and a few silver strands sailed to the ground, demonstrating the precision of the swordsman's moves. He struck again and Jet just narrowly dodged the edge of the blade and felt blood being drawn and dribbling down his cheek, a small gash appearing and beginning to sting. The swordsman bared a nearly insane grin at the drawing of blood and thrust out with a deep stab, which he missed, but really only seemed to be made for the thrill of the moment and not as a proper attack. Jet's accelerated reflexes were the only thing that appeared to be keeping him alive in the duel, but each time the swordsman he managed to successfully evade an attack, the swordsman grew just a little bit faster in order to keep up. The demon looked like he was moving against the laws of motion as the movements of Kuronegaiken's blade began to blur, yet all the time they barely grazed Jet's skin, and hardly even hurt him at all. The way the blade cut him offered up no pain, though he could feel the opening of his wounds and the life-fluid that flowed forth.
The android felt himself begin to tire out and made a decision that he couldn't just remain on the defensive forever, he had to stand up and attack. Healed by the artificially enhanced heal arcana that Gallows had cast, Jet tore his previously dislocated arm out of it's sling and strained his body to perform another accelerator move, feeling time seem to slow around him and the screaming protest of his body to function outside the proper framework of endurance. It sped up his metabolic rate and every individual sensation hit him at once, like a downpour of external impulses. The blood pouring out of his wounds, the slight rustle of an echoing breeze within the cave, and the breathing of himself, his enemy, and all the others watching them with a horrible kind of fascination.
The blade of the sword was bearing down upon him in a kind of slow motion, though it visibly tore the air as it moved. Jet's hands came up and caught the blade between his two palms, his hands stinging as the frozen temperatures entered his body and slowly crept up his arms, gnawing away at Jet's body heat and aural energy. The swordsman looked surprised for about half a second and then chuckled, taking his strength out of the sword and then letting his arms go a little limp. "You are fast, Jet." He said in an amused manner. "I keep forgetting that you are not a regular human being. No matter. It does not matter…" He wrenched the sword away from Jet and ran his hand along the flat side of his blade, momentarily closing his eyes. "The blade is not the only part of a sword that can injure, my friend."
From his experience of fighting beside Jet countless times in their travels, the demon judged the length of the boy's accelerator and waited for it to power down and leave Jet at a mediocre speed. The moment his sentence came to an end, so too did the technique and the swordsman moved like lightning, with a speed that the person once known as Clive would have never even dreamed of having. He was suddenly standing behind Jet with his sword raised high, not held in an imminent slicing motion, but in a different manner, like a thug about to club an unsuspecting dupe in the street. Remembering the exact spot on the back of the head where Gallows had struck him a few days ago on Westwood station, he mimicked the move and brought the butt of his sword down over the boy's head, clubbing him savagely.
Jet's pale violet eyes went wide and then glazed over vacantly, the impact hitting the base of his skull and running down every nerve in his body, telling it to shut itself down. He fell to his knees and the flopped onto his stomach, coughing up a bit of blood before falling unconscious. The demon set a foot on the silver-haired boy's back and pressed him into the ground, to make sure that he was unable to get up again. Jet was, along with Gallows, totally out of the action. Now the swordsman turned to the last fighter standing, kicking Jet away. "Virginia," He said quietly, "Will you succeed where these two have failed? Can you prove to me that the human race deserves to survive? Will you show me your courage and hope?"
The shadow behind Kaitlyn rippled and darkened into an inky form, like a layer of black velvet that moved like heavy water. Slowly, carefully, parting from the shadow and pushing through the clinging streams of darkness, a deadly plated claw met the free air and hovered only inches away from touching Kaitlyn's small shoulder. She let out a soft startled gasp when she was suddenly grabbed from behind, her voice muffled by the claw now slapped over her mouth. Her body went limp out of reflex and she was then covered by a solid shadow, one that was not just non-existent, but felt very soft, like feathers. Kaitlyn was yanked back into the darkness and disappeared without a trace, the hidden winged shadow pausing for a moment, seeming to look at Catherine, before slinking away into the shade. Nobody noticed the girl's departure, all were focussed on the battle between the demon and the humans.
The demon stepped over Jet's body to widen the playing field, remembering to also leave Gallows's unconscious body alone. He searched his pockets and pulled out a white handkerchief that was already slightly stained with black demon blood, folding the cloth over a few times so it became thicker and wrapped it around his blade, moving it downwards so that it soaked up all of the blood, slicking the metal and dulling it's shine. Jet was making a small puddle of crimson fluid where he lay and groaned weakly, the bloom of a painful bruise beginning to manifest upon the back of his head. Virginia looked down at him, came to an extremely painful decision and unholstered both of her ARMs, pointing them straight at the demon's heart.
"Why?" She asked in a cracked heartbreaking voice. "Why are you doing this, Clive? We're on the same side. We're your friends. We love you. Why do you have to hurt us so?" The drifter closed her eyes and felt within her heart that she had been in this scene before, when she had pointed her pair of ARMs right at her father's holographic form. For so long after that, after his confirmed secondary death at Mimir's Well, her teammates had been so supporting to her in their own individual way, and Clive had watched over her in the way that a father should. Virginia at once realized something painfully obvious. Clive had taken over Werner's role as a father in her heart.
"I'm touched Virginia, I really am." The swordsman said sincerely and without being sarcastic, honestly looking like he appreciated the words. "But I said before, I have to do this. I may as well enjoy myself too, you see. Please do not be afraid, it will not hurt for very long. I can only hope that you try and kill me before I kill you." He smiled and spread his arms wide. "Shoot me," He said jovially, "Protect the others and shoot me."
"You can't be serious!" Virginia exclaimed, surprised, lowering her ARMs a little. Was he trying to mimic Werner's last moments of life? Was he mocking her? No, this was Clive Winslett she was thinking about , and he would never ever do anything so petty. But still, Virginia squared her jaw and tried to suppress her anger and fear, this was just so similar. …Do I have to kill him? Kill another father, right in front of his family…? I don't want to do it… but I…
He waited for a few moments, then slowly lowered his arms to his sides. "…Fine." He said dully, adjusting his glasses. "If you will not pre-empt me, then I shall have to strike first. I gave you a chance Virginia, but now, taste this!" He sprung at her, swinging his sword in such a way that caused the air to whistle around him, a high-pitched cry matching the blurring motion of the blade. Virginia cried out as she felt herself draw blood and she fired her ARMs on reflex, the crack of the pistols going off and the smoke rising from the barrel alerting her to her actions. A stream of blood leaked from a cut to her face into her eyes, stinging badly. Her eyes began to water, not from the pain, but from the betrayal of her emotions.
The demon staggered and fell to one knee, releasing the grip on his sword to clutch his left shoulder, where a gradually spreading damp patch of flowing blood was appearing on his coat. Twin bullet holes had been torn in the fabric, and a sizzling sound made the swordsman wince and grit his teeth, still vulnerable to the silver even after he had been cured of his curse. The bullets burnt his flesh with unholy rage and he dug his fingers into the injury, biting back a moan of pain. Blood dribbled down his fingers as he tore open the wound and gouged the bullets out, taking with him a small mess of body tissue. For a human, the pain of this act would have been totally unbearable, but the two bullets rolled into the demon's palm, smeared with blood, and he dropped them on the floor, not even giving them a second glance. The silver fizzled and hissed in contact with his blood, and he pressed his hand to his wound again, feeling the shifting of his flesh as it repaired itself with great haste.
"Good… that's good…" He said unsteadily, struggling back onto two feet. He looked satisfied by Virginia's actions as he carefully rubbed feeling back into his shoulder, no longer bleeding or wounded in any way. "Protect what you care about. It is the mantra of the human race. Live to protect, die to protect. Don't let anybody try and control you, Virginia. You are much higher than that. Take control of your life, and listen… listen only to your heart. Then, accept the responsibilities you have chosen to take, and regret nothing..." He got back into his battle stance, but his eyes almost conveyed a revulsion to the next fight that would take place. He frowned for a moment, like something inside his body had irritated him, but then went back to his former, self assured visage. "We will regret nothing as this match draws to a close… Hunt me, Virginia, or I will hunt you…"
Virginia sniffed slightly and wiped the blood out of her eyes with the back of her white-gloved hand, smearing the staining fluid all over the pristine surface. She raised her weapons again and two streams of tears trickled down both of her cheeks, dripping onto her dirty blouse. Her long brown plait had come undone during the previous fight with her enemy as a lycan and the chestnut brown hair spilled down her back, flecked with dirt and dust. The drifter's hands were shaking badly, but the grip she had on the weapons was tight and rigid. "You don't want to do this," She whispered, her voice trembling with emotion, "Please, Clive. Stand down. I don't want to hurt you, please… Stop this now…"
The swordsman immediately underwent a change of demeanor and laughed at the girl, shaking his head like he had heard the telling of a very funny and ironic joke. "How mistaken you are, Virginia. I have every desire to finish this little duel, I seriously hope you can offer me a greater challenge than these," He flicked his wrist towards Jet and Gallows's bodies, lying quietly by the wayside, "… Individuals." Touching the metal of the sword in a strangely loving way, he ran his finger along the sharp edge lightly, carefully refraining from drawing any of his own blood. Kuronegaiken shivered in anticipation of her master's intents, and almost seemed to spur him onwards with a silent coaxing voice, one which formed no words.
Stumbling back a few steps, yet refusing to show her back to him, her fingers trembled against the hairline trigger and she sobbed audibly, her mind filled with visions of Gallows and Jet's broken and smashed bodies, being laid out for burial. Because Clive had caused it. Because Clive had wanted them to die. Who was he now? How could he be the dear friend who had chatted with her less than a few days away outside the Secret Garden's forest, who had told her that everything would be okay? No, it could not be, which meant that the real Clive Winslett must have died. This made her sob harder. "Why are you doing this?" She cried through her tears, "We don't want to hurt you, please don't make us hurt you…"
He shook his head again, faintly whispering the word; "No." Grasping his blade, he cut through the air in a show of swordsmanship, reveling in the small breeze it made and the enchanting blue arc that it momentarily left in it's wake. Why in the world did he waste all his time learning to be a sniper, when he could have had something like this? The demon chuckled, realizing that it was as if he had the powers of one of the Guardian Lords directly at his fingertips. He adjusted his glasses one more time to aid his unnaturally honed vision and sighed, letting out all his built in tension. The match was over, and he attacked.
Virginia didn't know if her body was frozen by fear, or if she had chosen not to move at all by herself. She just watched him approach with the inner tumult of her soul cloaked with her own streaming tears, and could feel the demon leaning over her, pressing the blade to her neck, drawing a faint line of blood. She was almost pushed so far back that she lost her balance, but remained standing up on trembling knees, wishing that things could have turned out better. A few drops of blood ran into the hollow of her throat, but the sword slice, born of deadly precision, did not complete it's execution. Feeling weak all over, the girl wondered why she did not die.
One more centimeter, and he could slit her throat. He knew he could, and that the blade screamed out for him to do it, to finish his duel, but the demon ignored the impulse and allowed both himself and his victim to stand there in mid-attack, waiting to see who would fall over first. Virginia's legs grew too weak and she fell backwards, only a foot or two away from Jet. Looking up at the swordsman towering above her, her face asked the question; "Why?"
He smiled.
"Psyche." He said.