Just thinking about them makes Killer's blood boil: no mere metaphor as the air around him shimmers with heat. He doesn't notice it, too busy thinking about how he'll kill every one of those punks.
They want to destroy Lady's wish. They can all go to hell, and Killer plans to help them along the way.
His eyes focus on the pillar rising from the salt lake. Knowing his luck, the altar that snickering dwarf described is probably at the top. If those people got here before him, he'll have a lot of catching up to do, and he lengthens his stride, anxious to destroy the threat to Lady's happiness.
As soon as he enters the tower, though, he's blocked by two men who coo like some goddamned rats-with-wings pigeons, nudging each other and whispering about how "he'd clean up nicely, don't you think, darling?" They quickly move out of the way when Killer throws a knife at the one with glasses, who exclaims "now, really!" Usually Killer would slice them both up for being so annoying, but there's no time to waste now.
In the next chamber, a spiraling hallway, there are multiple footprints traced in the salt. Most appear to be made from mens' feet, but two sets are high heels and one can only be described as a freakishly large paw print. It's them, all right, and Killer breaks into a run. Time is running out.
The tower is full of glittering crystals, all different colors, but he ignores them, focused on the path. For some reason the path frequently breaks off, with large gaps between the pillar he's on and the closest one. He wonders for an instant how those brats got across, but soon hits on a solution of his own. He turns back down the path. Stops. Faces the next pillar. Runs. When the packed salt ends, he jumps. The first time the landing's hard and knocks the air out of his gut, but he soon gets up. No matter what, he has to keep moving.
The trip up the tower couldn't have taken more than twenty minutes. To Killer, it takes forever, and when he opens yet another goddamned door and sees the whole bunch of them in front of a small stand, their backs turned to him, he's startled that he finally caught up to them. But as the blond boy lifts up a glowing ring, Killer snaps out of his stupor and throws one of his knives. The ring falls to the ground, splattered with blood, and the boy cries out as he clutches his hand. When his head turns back, Killer takes note of the odd gleam in the boy's green eyes. They've already fought once, and the boy isn't as much of a threat as the Indian woman, but the fact that he uses Malice is weird. Why would the kid want to get rid of the Malice when it gives him power? Stupid brat.
"Pretty good," Killer says. He needs to buy a little time so he can get his breath back. Needs to keep them distracted from the altar. So he talks, as much as he wants to start fighting now. "If you'd been just a hair closer..."
"Come to bother us again?" the mariachi snarls.
Killer's mouth tightens. The only thing keeping him from pulling another knife is the thought of how the mariachi's blood will look: vivid red against the pale walls of Uyuni's tower. Even that doesn't stop the serial killer from walking forward. He wants to show them all what idiots they are for screwing with Lady. "I think you're stealing my line," he says. "All I really want to do is grant Lady's wish. But you guys," and his hand clenches into a fist, "you keep following us around, and messing with our business!"
"Tell me this, Killer," the Indian woman says, and Killer's a little surprised at how calm she sounds. She's angry, but not the raging bitch he's seen before. Maybe she reserves the psychotic act specially for Lady. "What if her wish is to destroy the world?"
Now that's something he hasn't heard before. Is that imp still hiding secrets from him? "She wants to destroy the world?" he murmurs. But Lady's no fool. She isn't planning to die, and if he stays with her, he won't die either. A laugh bursts from Killer's lips as he realizes that the Indian's trying to shake him up, but all she's done is given him more reason to help Lady reach her goal. Destroy the world and all the idiots in it? Sounds nice. "Well. Big deal. As long as Lady wants it, fine with me." Then it would be just the two of them--all he has to do is get rid of Gilbert. It sounds like paradise.
He snaps out of his idyllic thoughts to look at the altar. There's two indentations in it, one already filled by a ring that looks just like the blood-stained one on the ground. "So those rings are what make these ruins work? Hand them over right now. And while you're at it," he says, grabbing a handful of his throwing knives, "hand over your life."
The boy whips out his dagger. The weapon is clean, with no nicks, and shines brightly as though it's never even been used--but that innocuous appearance disappears when it is enveloped by a blade of Malice. He doesn't need to cut with steel to kill his enemies. "No, to both!" he says.
It's the boy that Killer attacks first, and often. Killer can see why the others are fighting, they don't want to die, but this little blond punk grates his nerves. The boy obviously received a gift from Lady, and yet he defies her, the ingrate. But the others command Killer's attention as they rush at him two at a time, the narrow path restricting their movement. The Indian woman transforms into a floating redhead that whips out balls of water hard enough to bruise, while a red clad man who must have gone senile early swings around a sword--still encased in a pedestal.
The path works to Killer's advantage: they can't mob him, and when he lights the whole path on fire they're all burned, forcing them back to heal themselves. But there's seven of them and only one of him. When he burns them, it only takes a few seconds before they're back on their feet, some healing as the others surge forward once more. They're like cockroaches, won't die no matter what he does.
The fight ends when the pedestal swings and catches him on the side of the head. Killer reels from the blow, struggling to stay on his feet, but between the bells in his head and the cuts on his body, he's done. It's over. "How did you..." But before he can finish the thought, his knees buckle and gravity takes over.
He lays there, not really sure if he's still conscious or not. They've beaten him. They are going to crush Lady's dream, and Malice, thick and hot, stirs in his gut. Move. Stop them.
He stands slowly and opens his eyes. No one is watching him, too focused on that damn altar. How careless. Once again the ring is in the boy's hand. Killer smirks, and then does what he probably should've done in the first place: he charges forward, his body blazing with heat from a fire within. No one stops him, not when the air around him is shimmering, hissing. The boy turns around. Too late. Skin tears and muscle rips before the knife pierces the heart. Killer lets go, chuckling. "Jerk! Should've killed me when you still had the chance." He's already moving back, in case they try to kill him now. But it doesn't look like he's got much to worry about; all of them are focused on the fallen boy's wound. No thera plant or cure spell's gonna fix that.
The Indian woman is kneeling, murmuring the boy's name and reaching out for him when she suddenly recoils. Killer stops in his tracks. The boy is unleashing Malice even now, but it's more than ever before, an entire cloud that lifts the still body into the air and envelops it...changes it. It's a man, not a boy, who lands on the salt floor, and the boy's innocent eyes have sharpened. Killer can't help but move back as the man approaches him. It's that blank expression; it speaks of the disdain a god has for a mere insect--a cockroach--it's about to crush.
Killer's seen this expression before.
"Lady...?" But if the boy is the same as Lady, why is he doing this? "No!" Killer growls, reaching for a knife, even as the man's knee whips up and catches him in the stomach. He flies and hits the wall, hard. He should probably be grateful he didn't fall off the path, but all he can feel right now is the hot anger and the blood welling up in the back of his throat. "Damn you," he chokes out, before escaping through the open door.
They could catch him if they wanted to. He stumbles down the path, coughing hard and spattering the light blue walls with flecks of blood. But they don't follow him, probably too busy with the godforsaken altar. He gets to the first gap in the path and sits down, breathing hard. No way he's jumping it in this condition.
Killer's trying to find another way, but his mind keeps focusing on that boy. The brat is just like Lady, with one noticeable difference: he can be human, and Lady can only hope to be. Killer's fists clench in his lap. That selfish little prick. It doesn't matter if that boy is stronger than him...he'll shred that boy to pieces, if it's the last thing he does.