Gunshots sounded against the brick walls of the alley, sharp pops followed by splintering cracks as the masonry was shattered, the sound disguising the origin of the bullet. Dolcetto cursed to himself at that, but at least there was a plus, the enemy was wasting their ammunition aiming at nothing. He sniffed, and despite the clogging smell of trash and mildew he could pick up smoke and hot metal, human sweat. They weren't so very far away. He found himself gripping the handle of his sword tighter.

This was what you got when a deal went awry- a deal with a very sensitive businessman, a mid-tier mobster with inclinations towards paranoia. One little thing goes wrong, someone looks at you funny, and then suddenly everyone's leaping for their guns (or swords) and the nearest cover. Oh, well- perhaps the dog blood in him was too confident, or maybe he had too strong a belief in his team, but he wasn't really afraid. In fact, he could almost feel himself smiling- a little bit of action wasn't that bad sometimes. A man has to keep in shape.

Dolcetto sniffed the air again, this time expanding his senses to focus on a greater area- ah, Martel was somewhere overhead, on the rooftop maybe? He could pick out that mixed smell, a woman and a snake, fairly well. And Roa was even easier, the heavy musk of an ox, he had activated his blood for the battle. He was a little further away, that made sense, a man of his stature made an easy target for stray fire. Bido hadn't come, he was back guarding the Nest, no need to search for him in the haze of the air.

The other two though, of their location Dolcetto wasn't sure- Greed and Envy both had a smell that was similar to that of a grave, or the basement of an unused warehouse, or a grate covering a hole leading to the inside of the earth- a kind of dark, inhuman night scent, the scent of things left for too long where the sun didn't shine. It made them difficult to pick out, especially in some of the backstreets of Dublith like this one, where such a smell drifted up from the cracks in the asphalt at his feet.

Suddenly the bullets striking against the walls around him stopped, and with his enhanced hearing Dolcetto made out a series of faint click, click, clicks and a muffled swear. He felt himself smile- poor fools.

Before the men had a chance to reload he was on them, moving with the combined athletic grace of both his species, and the carefully sharpened blade he so loved slipped easily through the soft flesh of their throats and guts. He prided himself in his swordsmanship- it was too easy to use a gun, too cold and disconnected from the battle, and even then (as was proven here) it was easy to fail with such devices. It did no one any good to rely on them.

With two of the lackeys down, Dolcetto found himself revolving, using more his ears and nose than his eyes in search of the next target. Someone shouted from around a corner, and he flicked some blood from his blade and darted forward, angling himself to the ground to avoid gunfire. He rounded the corner with his posture low, and the scene expanded before his eyes.

Greed was caught between two men, arms extended to slash at their throats, missing one and glancing off the other's collarbone. The flesh and cloth there parted as easily as though he held a knife; his fingers were contorted into claws instead of fists, unlike the way most men fought. And there was that strange thing too, the thing Dolcetto had only seen a few times- the darkness that covered his body. From the tips of his fingers (which were no longer fingers so much as they were talons) to the hollow where his neck met his jaw, Greed's skin was covered in a gleaming black substance, moulded perfectly to the shape of his body. The light danced there as it would on metal, and despite the clear flexibility there was something hard about it, it didn't look like skin at all. The man who had dodged the first strike raised his gun and fired at Greed's chest, but instead of sinking in with the dull and fatal thud of a bullet wound the air sang with a sound similar to that of two blades colliding; on the black expanse of Greed's skin sparks flashed, and the wall to his left splintered as the shot found its target, having ricocheted against the expanse of his body.

Pretty marvellous abilities, this guy had. Despite the close quarters and obvious danger, Greed was grinning from ear to ear, and there was no fear in him at all as he made another swipe, this time knocking the gun from his opponent's hand, a stripe of blood painting the air for an instant. Dolcetto wondered if there was anything he could do- the man seemed to have this situation under control, and another body might only confuse things, but his canine instincts were still raring to go, still eager for the action, a need to protect his pack burning in his gut.

"Hey, Fido," Greed yelled, and though Dolcetto cringed internally at the nickname his ears perked up. "Go give Roa a hand! Big guy might've bitten off more than he can chew."

At the mention of the other chimera, Dolcetto noticed it too- further into the maze of tight alleys where they fought he could hear more combat, and the heavy crack of Roa's hammer on stone. Without feeling a need to reply he darted away, following his ears and nose, licking his teeth as he did so. Greed could handle himself, clearly, and from the smell of things there were even more of the mobster's allies up this way...

Roa stood in the center of it all, his hammer raised high and his muscles tight with effort as he swung in heavy, broad strokes at the men around him, who seemed in comparison like rats or other tiny animals to his stature. Dolcetto could tell he had been injured, there was a smell of ox's blood in the air, but it didn't seem to be stopping him. Ah, and there was the man who had started it all- the cowardly mobster crouched behind his lackeys, fiddling with own gun, face clearly slick with sweat and mouth gaping. Now, Greed hadn't said what to do with him, but Dolcetto doubted it would make waves in the underworld market if he died. He wasn't exactly popular. And for the trouble of it all, they would certainly be entitled to his stocks- both to add to their treasury, and their reputation. Start to show people what the Devil's Nest gang was all about.

Dolcetto was about to throw himself into the fray at his comrade's side, sword flashing, when something very strange happened- instead of one version of the man cowering on the floor, there was suddenly two.

There was a pause where Dolcetto wondered if he had been hit on the head somehow and then the lackeys noticed it too, falling out of step in their dance with Roa, shouts of surprise ringing in the air. The second boss darted in on stubby legs, arms waving, and when he saw himself on the ground he stopped in his tracks and stared, eyes bugging out like a frog. In fact, both men did that, pointing at each other in matching surprise, mouths open in identical shock.

"W-who are you?" said the first, and the second replied, "No, who are you?"

There was something in the scene that was reminiscent of a very weird dream, but in the opportunity of the moment Roa- seemingly unphased- was able to knock down the remainder of his combattants, the strength of his arms and weight of his hammer crushing them as easily as a normal man would an insect.

Then the second boss- the one who had come in halfway through- suddenly laughed, the expression of confusion slipping off his face like a sheet to be replaced by an almost childish glee. While his doppelgänger still sat there in shock, forgetting, it seemed, about his own weapon, the amused man thrust one arm forwards as though he intended to punch- and halfway through the gesture his hand stretched, morphing into a sword, with which he pierced his other self through the heart.

"Idiot," he said, and Dolcetto had a half-second to realize that he recognized that tone of voice before the man himself twisted away into nothing, his squat and rotund form winding in and then up, replaced by white skin and a small body and a fan of long green hair.

Fucking hell, but that was creepy. It was the first time Dolcetto had seen that- in the back of his head, he had assumed that the two homunculi were the same, but it seemed that their skill sets were rather different after all.

Envy was grinning like some kind of psychopath as they pulled their arm from the dead man's chest, returning it to a humanoid shape. Dolcetto was vaguely aware of Roa cringed away from them, in his peripheral vision, but he didn't take note of it.

"All done, by the looks of it," they said cheerfully, flicking some hair from their eyes. "That was fun! Those guys were so easy…"

Dolcetto opened his mouth to agree, for politeness sake- and it was true, hell, he had been sent around from battle to battle twice and no one had needed his help- when Roa let out a deep lowing sound, a groan of pain. He was holding his side with one vast hand, and when he pulled it away his skin was dark with blood. His other arm held him up by putting his weight on the head of his hammer, but his muscles were shaking. Dolcetto rushed over to try and help him, but the guy was just too heavy, he collapsed under his own weight to a sitting position on the dirty ground.

"Shit," he heard himself saying, the smell of the blood was so strong. "That doesn't look good-"

Roa shook his head, as though to brush it off, but he was clearly sweating. The bullet was likely still inside, the severed veins in his torso releasing their wares around it, and it was very possible some internal organ had been damaged, Dolcetto just didn't know. He pressed his hands over the wound, gritting his teeth, wasn't this what you were supposed to do? Goddammit, this wasn't how it was meant to go-

He heard only faintly Martel's body dropping from one of the rooftops, but he could smell her anxiety as she rushed over as easily as he smelled the blood. They were both spun for a loop- before, even in bad times, none of the chimera had dared go to a real doctor or hospital, in case they were discovered, but this was too serious to ignore. How many men had Dolcetto seen die in the war because of wounds like this? In the back of his head only, he heard footsteps approaching, and a high voice that carried over his own galloping heartbeat.

"Oh, hey there. Yeah, I dunno what they're freaking out about, I think the cow got himself shot. Did you- hey, Greed-"

For a half-second Dolcetto felt himself flush with a mixture of annoyance and panic- Envy could be such a bitch- but then Greed was standing over him, his skin a normal colour save where it was splashed with blood, and his expression surprisingly concerned.

"Ah, that's not so good. Hold on, yeah big guy?" He patted Roa's shoulder lazily, and the larger man grunted in reply.

"Martel, go and get the car ready, we'll take him to the hospital, it's not so far."

Martel nodded and darted away, but Dolcetto made a high noise of protest in the back of his throat, and Greed turned to him in surprise.

"We can't do that," he said, eyes wet with his own distress. "Someone might realize what he is. And how are we going to get him to the car? He can't walk, and he's too big to carry…"

Greed just shrugged, still somehow unphased- or was he? There was a little bit of discomfort in the line of his shoulders and the angle of his jaw, some kind of fear. Did he care? A good many men would not, if a simple enforcer fell wounded. But somehow, he seemed to.

"A bit of cash will cover up anything undesirable, I'm sure. We are in Dublith, after all. And as for the lift…"

Greed smiled a little, a sideways kind of grin, and turned around.

"...I'm sure you can handle it, right, sweetheart?"

Dolcetto craned his neck backwards to look, and Envy gave the lot of them a disgusted glare, arms folded across their chest. That's right, they were pretty strong, certainly stronger than they looked- and with that ability to change, the possibilities were numerous. But they also clearly didn't give a shit about Roa, or anyone, not like Greed did- no, Envy was only here for him. For a second Dolcetto thought they were going to refuse on principle, and then under Greed's stare they cracked, rolling their eyes and flicking their hair with one arm.

"Whatever," they said spitefully. "If you really want me to."

"That's the spirit, darling," said Greed.