CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Fight or Die

A long slit across the arm.

A solid strike to the head.

A knee in the chest.

A jab to the face.

No mercy for either opponent.

Lanzo stumbled back against the wall, recovering from the kick he had just endured to his abdomen. He made space between himself and his brother, who took this opportunity to catch his breath. The two of them were officially bloodied, bruised, and worn down. By the end of this Lanzo knew he'd have another scar to add the collection, maybe a few stitches too, while Kasper knew he'd be suffering from a concussion. No mercy, that had been their motto. The words of motivation for this entire fight. Show him no mercy. He deserves this after what he did to you.

Beat him down, watch the blood pour from his open wounds.

Don't stop until he can't fight back anymore.

That had brought them this far, but neither had reached their breaking point.

Not yet at least.

Lanzo stumbled forward, pushing off the wall, and bringing his fists up yet again. He noted the cut skin on his right hand, and the blood covering his left; Kasper's blood. His own was splattered elsewhere, on his brother's knife and staining his shirt. His own jacket would also be a victim of this encounter, and he'd likely have to wash it time and time again thereafter before the blood would bleed from its material.

His eyes tracked Kasper's movement as he slowly regained his composure. He spat at the floor, blood becoming evident in his saliva. Then he raised his head and met Lanzo's glare. Their eyes locked and the hatred sparked just as quickly as it had faded, and they were back at each other's throats yet again. Lanzo bolted forward, raising his robotic arm in a fast punch. Kasper ducked under it, slipping away and taking the opening as a chance to wound his enemy. He stabbed with his knife, Lanzo quickly bringing his free arm down as a block. The blade cut the flesh but avoided doing any major damage to his torso. He quickly countered, grabbing for his brother's wrist, which pulled away just as fast. They made brief space, circling, before coming in again for a similar attack. Lanzo swung, Kasper stabbed, Lanzo blocked, Kasper back tracked. The Prussian paid little attention to the streams flowing down his arm, as Kasper ignored the many bruises forming on his cheeks. Though it was nonetheless obvious that the both of them were growing more and more tired with every second this went on. Yet even then they still fought.

They spat insults at one another, taunts lining their words. Tainting their minds, breaking their morales. Even the mightiest of walls has a breaking point. They were left to hope that their's simply wouldn't. Hoping that luck was on their side. That maybe, just maybe, the other would break and crumble before they did. It was hope, maybe dim lighted in some minds, but still hope.

Hope that was falling short.

Lanzo was starting to get desperate, very desperate. The words weren't getting to him, no it was the blood. He hadn't felt it, he didn't feel any of them. The stabs, he thought they weren't landing. He had underestimated his brother's skills with a knife. A strike to his thigh left him startled. Blood soaked his pant leg and left smears on the floor. He didn't feel it... not at all. The pain was absent. The horror was ever so real. He needed to do something now. Get that knife out of his brother's hand before it killed him.

Before it took him down.

This couldn't be his end, his undoing. It didn't work during the Second World War and it wasn't about to work now.

Lanzo took a different approach this time. Kasper wasn't expecting it. He was looking for a swing. What he got was a charge. Lanzo bolted at him, catching the German off guard. He got low and ran, slammed right into his opponent. His energy was depleted, and he was no where near strong enough to keep him at bay. The same could not be said for Kasper. Pinned to the wall, dropping his knife on the way, he resorted to pure brute force. Bringing down two hammer fists on the back of his brother's head, in response receiving strikes to his midsection. Brutal punches were landing on his torso, a steel hand leaving deadly imprints.

Quickly realizing how vulnerable he was, Kasper threw a wild punch. It landed to the side of his brother's face. That threw his head around, and with the Prussian dazed Kasper kicked him away. Lanzo stumbled back and fell to the ground, his hand hitting first. He heard a snap, and instantly cursed. That was followed by a cringe and a groan as he gripped his wrist. Kasper struggled to walk, moving in the background. He held his stomach, legs giving out every so often. Some steps just wouldn't land right.

"Damn it!" he spat, tripping yet again as he fell to his knees, mere feet away from his destined target; his knife. Lanzo slowly started to roll to his side, trying to get back onto his feet as Kasper crawled over to his weapon.

The German coughed as he moved, feeling the threat of vomiting, but persisting nonetheless. He eventually managed to grab a hold of the knife, with Lanzo now back on his feet. He shuffled over to his brother's location, but hesitated upon seeing the blade in his grip. He watched as Kasper slowly rose to his feet, weapon in hold as he turned to face the albino. He instantly lunged forward, swinging the knife down in an attack that was guaranteed to do major damage. Lanzo reacted, raising his steel hand. He caught the wrist and instantly began to push back against it, his other hand pressed tightly against his chest. The knife was held at bay, but that was not enough. Kasper added his second hand to the grip, pushing harding and forcing the knife to steadily near Lanzo's face.

The Prussian pushed back desperately, watching the blade like a hawk, as if it were the Grim Reaper coming to steal his soul. It might as well have been. But for a mere second Lanzo fixed his eyes on those of his brother, watching as those cold, dangerous eyes of a traitor flashed from red to an object behind him, one of more interests. Lanzo was confused, but it only took a second longer until he discovered what was so interesting.

The faint shadow of a figure was growing quickly, and he instantly knew he was in more trouble than he bargained for.

He didn't have a chance to prepare himself or retaliate, his brother ruined that. A solid kick to the gut had Lanzo bending over as he lost his composure, and threatened to lose his lunch. Kasper grabbed for him, trying to hold him in place so his companion could land the finishing blow. Lanzo couldn't let that happen, he couldn't let this be his undoing. Not now, not today. Not while they were still in danger. He quickly struck his brother, taking the last ounce of strength he had to switch their positions. The attacker was already swinging, they couldn't stop now. So when Kasper was pulled into the line of fire there was no putting it gently. The blunt end of the shovel came down, slamming into his cranium.

Blood splattered, bones were crushed, and by the time Viktor realized what had happened, Kasper was dead.

. . .

"Is that rifle of yours loaded?" Gilbert whispered, crouching low as he glanced around the corner, eying the residence just beyond. Ross quickly checked the chamber, showing off the stored bullet before patting his pocket which contained the rest.

"Full as ever, ready?" There was a brief pause before Gilbert shook his head. "Ja, let's do this." He got up and checked the corner one more time before motioning for the Scotsman to follow him. He darted, moving around the side of the house with Ross on his tail. They did their best to stay quiet, crouching low as they used the shadows to their advantage. They passed the porch and came to a table that was covered in blood. He didn't make a comment on it, just trying to refrain from thinking of what had gone down there. The marks that were left engraved into the wood only made him assume the worst.

"There's a way in." Ross muttered, motioning towards a window opened by a crack. They were hesitant at first, but maneuvered over to it soon after. Briefly peaking inside, Gilbert dug his fingers under the sill and wrapped them around the underside of the window. He then slowly lifted it up, noting that no one was in the living room. He pulled it up as far as he could, then slowly crawled in, one leg at a time. Gilbert landed as quietly as he could and waited as Ross followed, making sure he didn't hit the rifle against anything as he entered.

"Coast is clear." the albino whispered, quickly turning to help his companion inside. Ross handed Gilbert the rifle before he fully entered, doing his best to be steathly. Gilbert stood guard, being sure to stay as low as possible while he listened for any commotion. They managed to catch something in another part of the building, assuming the worst.

"There's a war going on somewhere, ready to join it?" Ross commented jokingly. Before Gilbert could reply he turned to the window with intentions of closing it, but was stopped.

"We might need a quick getaway," Gilbert started in a whisper. "Keep it open." Ross nodded, letting go of the window and instead having the rifle returned to his hands.

"Where to?" he questioned.

"Not sure, maybe we should look into all that noise." the Prussian responded, motioning to the hallway. His companion nodded.

"Yeah, what could possibly go wrong?" he retorted in some form of a sarcastic tone. Gilbert rolled his eyes. "We have to find Lanzo one way or another, that's why we came here in the first place. Where else would we start?" The Scotsman had no argument to that and simply went with it.

He followed Gilbert as they began to make their way towards the hallway. They were cautious and unsure of what to do or expect. They snuck through the room, transitioning from cover to cover. They were hoping to avoid any confrontations. At least until later, when it was absolutely necessary. They weren't so lucky. Strolling around the corner came trouble. Two swords gleamed in the light, startled expression reflecting in the glow of the blades. Looking up, a pistol was aimed for their heads. Ross reacted instantly, raising the rifle to challenge the Italian's revolver, Gilbert being left unarmed. Jian's weapons were far more intimidating.

"Well well well, what do we have here?" Leonardo remarked mischievously. "Did the mice come out to play~?"

. . .

Heavy footsteps boomed throughout the hallway, echoing through the room and stirring the unexpected Italian.

"W-Wha?!" he stuttered, jumping to his feet as the sounds grew louder, the figure growing closer. An additional bang rang against the walls, hit after hit, in sync with every step. Feliciano froze as he waited for them to barge in, though he was unsure of what to expect thereafter. Who they were, if they'd be hostile, he couldn't know anything for sure. Chaos had unfolded without his knowledge and now it seemed like the destruction was rolling his way. The footsteps stopped as the banging increased in speed, just beyond the door.

Feliciano didn't dare step closer, though he wished there was more room for him to hide in. He was a sitting duck for whoever was waiting outside.

The noises ceased abruptly and silence feel. Suddenly the surroundings were eerie, tension obvious, fear growing, the door slowly opened. It creaked as the entrance widened inch by inch, revealing the man just beyond.

Then, without warning, it was violently shoved open, slamming against the wall and erupting with a loud thud.

Feliciano jumped, stumbling back and instantly tripping over his legs. He landed on his back but made no motion to move away, he couldn't.

"Oh sorry, did I startle you?" the man asked, stepping into the room. His bat rested on his shoulder, spikes as threatening as ever. A smile plastered on his face showed devious intentions. "Let me make it up to you..."

. . .

Alfred ducked under yet another hook as he quickly made the motion to counter, swinging wildly at his opponent. He brought his fist down on the square of Andrew's back, but that wasn't enough to take him down, the Canadian only retaliating by swinging behind him and landing a strike to the side of Al's head. He stumbled back, quickly regaining his composure before charging again. He tried to tackle Andrew to the ground, but it didn't work. A knee shot up and knocked his glasses off, hitting him square in the face.

"Shit!" Alfred hissed, moving back with a dazed expression on his face. Andrew stepped back, taking the time to catch his breath. He was winning, there was no doubt about that.

Alfred was being too violent and obvious. He needed to calm down and breathe. Catch his breath, think about this. Think about what he was doing, not just run in and hope to land a punch. Sit down and focus. He wasn't doing that and it wasn't working for him. Unless of course his intention was to lose, then he was doing rather well.

"Don't think I'm going to go easy on you." Alfred threatened upon noticing Andrew's relaxed state. He swiped up his glasses and put them back on, adjusting them as need be. One of the lens were cracked, disorientating some of his vision. He would manage nonetheless, nothing was going to stop him from winning this fight.

"Oh, I was just going easy on you." the Canadian retorted, much to Alfred's disgust. "Well don't!" he spat, raising his fists again.

"Well then don't suck." Andrew added, getting back into a defensive stance. They circled again, as was standard routine, before nearing. They both had their own plan, their own set of steps that, if followed properly, would lead them to victory. Andrew's main goal was to bait Alfred. Test him and try to see if he'll pass with flying colors, or be defeated altogether. Baiting was the easiest way to do so. Would he fall for weak punches and halfhearted throws, only to receive a sucker punch to the jaw? Or was he going to sit and wait and retaliate when the real threat arrived? Andrew wasn't sure at this point. Though he knew Alfred was capable, he didn't seem to have a proper mindset at the moment.

That was even more obvious once the American decided on his plan.

Destroy your opponent. Do not let them survive, do not let them get away easy. Destroy them, obliterate them. Make it so they won't be able to walk again. That's all he wanted to do. Though... this situation was undoubtedly an exception. He couldn't kill Andrew without killing his brother, and he had no intention to do so. Yes maybe beat him into submission, but murder was out of the question. He couldn't allow himself to do something like that. He wouldn't be able to forgive himself, and that list was long enough already.

But he couldn't ponder that now...

Andrew's first test was starting.

The Canadian positioned himself as so. Alfred was the closer of the two to the wall. Which meant that if Andrew forced him back he would be temporarily cornered. Which could be open to many more attacks that could end this fight within mere seconds. He stepped forward, sending a few jabs in Alfred's general direction. As expected he moved back, dodging the strikes. He was heading towards the wall, and Andrew was watching him intently. He wanted to get him stuck in one spot then swing with his opposing arm, more or less knocking him out. When he saw an opportunity he took it. Jabbing with one fist, he quickly swung the other in a hook punch.

What came next was the surprising part.

Alfred saw it coming and ducked under it, Andrew gasping as he realized his mistake. Then with that he swung. An upper cut. A strong, solid upper cut. It flashed before the Canadian's eyes before he felt it connect. His head snapped back, jaw facing the brunt of the impact. He stumbled back instantly, nearly tripping over his own feet. He was startled and dazed, quickly moving to catch his composure. He rubbed his jaw, eying the opponent who had completely and uttering caught him off guard. This game wasn't going to be as easy as expected...

"Don't underestimate me." Alfred warned, threateningly. "I won't lose so easily this time, I promise you that much."

. . .

"You know, if they find out we followed them they'll be pretty angry." Roderich commented, following Elizabeta as she made her way down the sidewalk.

"It's for their own good, if those two get themselves killed I won't be able to forgive myself."

"It's not going to be your fault, those idiots went down this path on their own free will." Roderich remarked, though he was ignored.

"Let's just get in there, find those two, and get out, okay?" Elizabeta muttered, her companion reluctantly agreeing.

"Fine, but let's hurry before the others realize we're gone." The Hungarian nodded absent mindedly.

"They probably already have, they're not that oblivious." she murmured, noting the missing objects. A rifle and ammunition. You couldn't just walk out with those and have no one notice.

"Let's hope not, they have enough to worry about already..."

A/N: HOLY SHIT IT'S NOT OVER I'M NOT DEAD YES. I felt a bit guilty for not updating this story... so here it is. The long awaited and long overdue update. There is officially three more chapters left of Taken before the finale. I'll do my best to actually write this stuff, though with the whole school starting again and an assortment of projects I've made for myself I'll have to find a way to fit it in somewhere. Anyway, people are dying, one of them's already dead, and now you can only expect more to occur as we begin to hit the climax of the story. I expect people to be betting on who dies next.