Author's Note: Once again, I've had ShadowMajin take a look at this. I'm still a bit dissatisfied with it but it'll have to do. So give the guy a hand and enjoy.

On one last note, I would have updated Tuesday but something came up with Fanfiction, as you all no doubt found out about and was unable to do so. Decided to wait until I was sure this problem had been overcome by the site.

Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing.

Warning: language, violence

The Language of Violence

Trowa swiped at the bored-looking Metatron who was only doing the minimal amount of moving to avoid each and every strike Trowa threw at him. The guy had barely left the spot he had first been standing it and for some reason that was pissing him off. He blinked and hesitated; he was pissed off? Now? That hadn't happened before, except at the circus. Shaking his head quickly, he changed a would-be slash into a thrust, aiming straight for Metatron's chest but instead of evading like always, Metatron opened his lips slightly.

A low, high-pitch noise cut through the air and tore Trowa's root sword into shreds, leaving him with only the handle to stare dumbly at. Tossing it away, he summoned another but was stopped by Metatron's deadened voice before he could attack.

"How are you able to do that?" the boy asked, frowning slightly. "There are no records of there ever being a plant wielder so is it a natural ability?"

"Looks like your boss really didn't like me," Trowa smirked.

"How do you mean?" Metatron asked, tilting his head.

"I mean Xavien must have deleted all information about me," Trowa replied. "He doesn't take to being stood up well."

"You might want to watch it," Metatron only said, puzzling the uinbanged youth for a minute before he twisted to a side to narrowly dodge the bladed spike that slashed at him, courtesy of Astaroth who was close enough that he could see the reptilian features of the boy.

"All this talking is boring," the boy said, feral eyes eying Trowa like he was a piece of meat. "Bleed for me."

Trowa raised his bladed root up in time to block a thrust of a spike but it was then cut in half by a slicing blade. Dropping his useless weapon, Trowa jumped back, refraining from using acrobatics this time around and summoned two sharp tipped branches from the ground which he pulled and threw like spears at the other boy. Much to his surprise, the spearing projectiles bounced harmlessly off Astaroth.

Astaroth just chuckled and raised his arms up so that the limbs were folded and his elbows were pointing straight at Trowa. He didn't have much time to dodge as two sharp spikes shot from Astaroth's elbows as if they had come from two cannons.

Trying a different tactic, Trowa grew a vine and used it like a whip, snapping it over to one of the shooting spikes where the vine grabbed hold of it and pulled taunt. Trowa twisted his waist and pulled on the vine, whipping it forth, along with the spike, towards Astaroth who got a slash on his cheek for all his troubles.

"You son of a bitch!" Astaroth roared angrily as he clutched at his bleeding cheek. "How did you do that?!"

Trowa breathed a sigh of relief at that. For a moment, he was worried he was fighting somebody like the indestructible Solo but now he knew he could be harmed. It looked as if only weapons or projectiles that Astaroth made had an effect on him and Trowa wasn't about to not look a gift horse in the mouth.

However, his attention was soon adverted as Metatron intervened, a sonic boom of erupting out of his mouth and straight at the plant wielder. Knowing he wouldn't be able to dodge, he flicked his wrist and sent his pilfered spike straight at the monotoned boy. Even though his vine was torn to shreds, the spike wasn't as it cut though the attack, closing the distance rapidly. Metatron remained standing where he was, tilting his body to the right and evaded the spiked projectile easily. That was all Trowa was able to see as Metatron's attack caught him and sent him flying back, much like how Solo had been earlier.

Sitting up, he saw Astaroth charging at him, the top part of his uniform absent, revealing a scaled, muscled torso that had all sorts of spikes sticking out at all angles.

Oh joy.

---

Leaving the Noventa estate, Quatre looked down at the vanilla folder that he had left in his car as his driver exited from the estate gates. It was a small data form, one that could be typically found at a doctor's office and there was an immense amount of information on it.

Now while he couldn't understand all of what it said, he was able to get the gist of it and even though he was repulsed by some of the things, he could push it aside for now.

Calmly, he took out his cell phone and dialed the number, pleased when his call was answered immediately after the first ring.

"It's good to hear you again, Trieze," he said.

"Quatre Winner? Well this is an unexpected surprise," the amused voice of one Trieze Khushrenada replied. "What, pray tell, has prompted this call, if I may ask? It's not like you to call me out of the blue just to chat."

Quatre smiled thinly. It was just like Trieze to cut to the heart of the matter early, not that the Winner heir minded. "Well, I'm reading that little folder you sent me and I felt that I needed to speak with you at once. You see, I have just let the Noventas and I came across something there that was very…intriguing."

"Are you going to leave me in suspense or are you going to tell me?"

"Let's just say that I found a match to that little picture you sent with it."

"A match? How certain of that are you?"

"Very. In fact, he looks identical to the picture and falls into many of the categories mentioned by this report. I'd have to say they were one and the same."

"And you say you were just leaving Admiral Noventa's?"

"I know what you're thinking," Quatre said, "and no, I am not going to do that. Instead, I think observation would be better suited for this until he proves a grave threat."

"Are you set on this course of action, Quatre? I'm not sure if you should leave him there with Noventa and Sylvia…"

"They don't know what he is and I'd like to keep it that way," Quatre interrupted. "The less they know, the better. This has nothing to do with them, with any of them."

"Very well then but if something does happen…"

"Don't worry, my men will be there long before yours ever arrive. I'm going to have to hang up now, passing through a no signal area, damn it all."

"I hope you know what you're doing."

"If there's one thing I do know," Quatre replied, "it's that."

The moment he hung up, his phone began to ring immediately. Checking the caller ID he saw it was Rashid trying to contact him and he knew that whatever Rashid needed to tell him, it would be short and to the point.

"What is it Rashid?" he answered.

"I request your presence, Master Quatre," the deep voice of his personal assistant answered. "We have come across something that I feel you need to see."

"I'm on my way, take care till then," he answered, shutting the phone.

Looked like there was going to be a change in plans…

---

Solo snapped open his eyes, wished he didn't for a second, then rolled out of the way right before a booted foot smashed right where his head had been, said foot sinking into the ground slightly. Scrambling to his feet, he glared at Michael as the redhead smirked at him triumphantly.

"Son of a bitch," Solo cursed, "you almost gave me a concussion!"

"That's the point," Michael drawled before lunging at the blond.

"Like hell," Solo muttered under his breath, determined not to back off from this asshole. He ducked under Michael's first punch and landed a devastating blow into the guy's midsection, forcing the air out of his lungs. Solo then proceeded to tackle Michael into the ground, straddling his chest and raining down punch after punch into Michael's face. It was after the sixth punch when Michael caught first one fist then the other, shoving the blond back and off him.

With his ass landing on Michael's legs, Solo kicked his foot forward just in time to hit Michael in the chest just as he was sitting up. This floored him back onto his back, giving Solo the opportunity to push himself up into the air and let gravity take hold of him, allowing him to deliver a piledriver right into Michael's gut. At fist got him on top of his skull and he saw stars for a moment before he was cast away with a great push of strength.

Scrambling once again, Solo was pleased when he heard a groan come from Michael as he got back to his feet. However, he didn't want to chance Michael reclaiming the advantage in this fight, not now anyway, and he charged the redhead, his body bent and shoulder lowered just enough that he slammed it into Michael and carried the asshole several feet before he stopped and let him stumble back. Closing the distance, he clasped both of his hands on Michael's shoulders and headbutted him harshly, pausing for only a second before he gave another one.

This time it was Michael who was stumbling backwards, his hands clutching his aching head, his once blue eyes now a hue of violet-red glaring around his hands at him. Snarling, he rushed the blond, arm cocked and fist balled, swinging away with Solo dodging to his right and then his left as Michael threw another punch.

Solo tried to land another blow on the infuriating redhead but said redhead, amazingly, parried the punch and snaked his hands in to throttle him. Instantly grabbing the redhead's wrists, Solo used all the strength he had in him to pry the large hands off his reddening neck and keep them just inches away from resuming their activity. Taking advantage of a cheap shot, Solo kicked up with his leg right into Michael's crotch.

Instantly, all strength in Michael's body drained out of him and Solo swore that his muscular body shrank as a high pitched squeak escaped the redhead's mouth.

And what retard said cheap shots don't work?

Suddenly, it felt as if he was back on that metal table again, being shocked nearly to death with who knew how many volts of electricity. The sensation lasted less than a second but the blunt stab of pain striking him in his back lasted longer, much longer. Pushing himself off Michael's limp body, he snapped his head around to see Seraphiel sniff at him in distain, flexing his fingers spasmodically.

"Cheap shot," Solo growled at him.

"Speak for yourself," Seraphiel retorted.

"It helps," Solo countered, jumping backwards and jamming his hands finger first into the ground, pulling out a large chunk of rock as he stood back up to his full height. "Eat this!" he shouted as he through the rocky projectile.

Seraphiel's eyes bulged and didn't move as the rock impacted him, burying him into the ground. Solo was just about to claim victory only to have his words turn into ash in his mouth as his rock blew into tiny pieces and Seraphiel stood up from the small crater, not looking any worse for wear.

Hey, what gives?

"Not even a minute and I'm already enjoying this," the suppose-to-be-catatonic-but-not blond said, jerking his head to the side to pop his neck. With a cruel smirk on his lips, he lunged unexpectedly at Solo. Eyes narrowing, Solo fisted a hand and punched at the incoming target only for Seraphiel to duck under it and get in close where he rapidly laid punch after punch into Solo's stomach. Normally, Solo doubted that he would be affected by someone like Seraphiel but man did this guy back some power! Each punch felt like a freight train only smaller and each punch left him paralyzed long enough for the next punch to land.

Stepping back, twirling, Seraphiel performed a roundhouse kick, his foot slamming into Solo's left cheek and toppling the immoveable blond. Solo only had a few seconds of respite before he felt a light weight slam down on him and fast moving fists doing a number on his head, jerking it side to side with the force from each blow. Much to his shame, Solo couldn't find it himself to stop the assault, at least initially.

Mustering the energy, he caught one of Seraphiel's hands and squeezed it with bone crushing might. However, he didn't get the lovely sound of bones breaking but instead got the sight of Seraphiel looking discomforted, his face twisting slightly but no more.

Needless to say, this was really pissing this long-haired blond off.

Due to Seraphiel being on his chest, it took a deal of effort to throw his legs up and nail his knees right into the other blond's shoulder blades. Caught off guard, Seraphiel's eyes bulged as he went toppling forward and ended up with a face full of dirt. Acting quickly, Solo jumped back up to his feet and spun around to lay the other blond into a hurt locker, cracking his knuckles sadistically.

He had to put a temporary hold on his plans though. His ears caught the sound of somebody rushing at him from behind and he twisted his body around in time to catch a bulked-up Michael who had death written in his eyes. Instead of halting Michael's charge, Solo untwisted his body and used the redhead's momentum against him and sent him straight into Seraphiel, whose body was still perpendicular with the ground. Michael tripped over his comrade's body, knocking the blond to the ground, and ended up doing a face-plant into the dirt himself before his body continued moving, flipping him onto his back harshly.

Stepping back up towards Seraphiel's recovering body, which didn't show so much as a bruise, much to Solo's ire, the blond unkindly grabbed his opponent by the front of his uniform and pulled him up, holding him up at arm's length. Without further ado, Solo proceeded to give Seraphiel a similar treatment, launching punch after relentless punch, seeking to at least break his noise or something and when that didn't happen, grabbed him by the head and slammed him face first back into the ground, letting go of his uniform first.

Though seemingly comatose, Solo knew damn well the blond was still alive and he wanted nothing more than to crack his seemingly invulnerable skull open. Looking up, he saw Michael was getting back up to his feet and Solo leapt at him, his hand grabbed the redhead by the back of his head and shoving it forward, back down into the ground.

Unlike Sersphiel's body that seemed immune to everything (now why did that sound familiar?), Michael's body twitched spasmodically before falling still, unconsciousness finally claiming his mind. Solo remained where he was, still gripping Michael by the back of his head as if expecting foul play but when nothing occurred, he slowly got back to his feet and stepped off Michael's prone body. Waiting a minute, he nodded to himself, affirming that this asshole was out of the game. Now to take care of the other one…

---

Trowa was quick to react as he summoned a ramrod-straight root out of the ground, this one built specifically for durability more than anything. Grabbing it, he thrusted it right in front of him, catching Astaroth at the last minute. Gripping the pole-like root, he pulled it towards him, keeping an end on the ground and lifting Astaroth up into the air with the other, using the scaly one's own momentum to throw him.

A commotion before him caused him to return his attention back towards Metatron who had released another of his sonic voice blasts, the blast ripping through the earth, creating a trough in its wake. Not wanting to deal with another of this type of attack, Trowa covered himself with small, vein-like roots and burrowed underground, missing the blast just in time and only reemerging in the spot he first burrowed in after the earth informed him that it was safe.

Metatron was blinking owlishly at him, as if unable to comprehend what he had done but telling by his lack of action, Trowa suspected that Astaroth was about to make another attempt at his life.

He was dead-on on his assumption, rolling out of the way as a spike covered fist slammed into the ground that he had been previously sitting on. Astaroth had the look of a feral animal, one could tell by looking into his eyes and by hearing the animalistic snarl that came from his mouth as he pulled his grounded fist back and threw the other at the unibanged young man. Trowa rolled out of the way easily and jumped back onto his feet, summoning another vine whip that he snapped out to wrap around the scaly one's neck.

He had a tight grip him but Astaroth growled and grew spikes out of his neck, retracting them as pieces of shredded vine fell to the ground. Narrowing his eyes, Trowa jumped into the air acrobatically, twisting and flipping as he strengthened his vine whip before shooting it down at Astaroth, hardening the whip as it whipped out and struck his opponent in the middle of his forehead.

The scaly one froze in his place, his eyes crossed as he stared at the point where the hardened vine touched his forehead. Snarling, he slashed the vine and shredded it despite its toughness. Trowa found gravity reasserting itself on him as he fell back down to the ground but he let himself fall, nimbly landing on his feet.

"Out of tricks yet?" Astaroth hissed, approaching him warily.

Well, to tell the truth, he was. He could only be thankful that Metatron wasn't attacking him at the same time; now that would have been the killer. Fortunately, that wasn't the case and all he needed to worry about currently was dealing with Astaroth who was slowly but surely getting the advantage in this fight.

Acting quickly, he grew a sharp tipped root and threw it at Astaroth like a spear, completely unsurprised when the other batted it away with ease. However, he was already acting as he grew two vine whips and cracked them at the scaly boy skillfully. Astaroth blinked in surprised as the whips stopped inches from him and snapped the air, the sound scaring him for a second. Growling, he grabbed at them when they return but instead of using a scaring tactic, the whips wrapped themselves around two spikes grew from his shoulders.

Trowa was surprised by how easily it was to pull said spikes out of Astaroth's body but he was quick to take advantage of it as he whipped them back at the scaly boy, causing some damage as the spikes cut through the hard skin.

Stunned that he fell for the same trick twice, Astaroth grew two new spikes from his wrists and pulled them out with the opposing hands. He slashed at Trowa's pilfered spikes and succeeded in breaking the first one Trowa slashed at him with. But Trowa was a quick learner and he held the other spike back as he fought with the spikeless vine whip, trying to keep Astaroth from coming into close quarters. It was needless to say that Astaroth shredded the spikeless vine with ease; all he had to do was shift his body sharply, the spikes on his body doing all the work.

Gritting his teeth, knowing he had to use his other stolen spike earlier than he wanted to, whipped his unshredded whip at Astaroth. The whip held tightly to the stolen spike still wrapped in its grip, even as the spike itself cut through Astaroth's skin and impaled the bone of his shoulder.

Crying out loud in pain, Astaroth tore the spike out of his shoulder, pulling Trowa's whip out of his hand in the process, and crushed it in his bare hands. Glaring at Trowa, Astaroth hissed, "Out of ideas yet? Good."

Truth be told, Trowa still had a trump card to use but he hadn't wanted to use it now, especially since he still had one other opponent to take care of who definitely wouldn't fall for the same trick twice.

At the moment, it was all he had to use.

Better make it count then.