Author's Note: Sorry about not updating yesterday; I completely forgot about it since I've been a bit busy recently. Still, a late chapter is better than no chapter, eh? Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing.

Warning: language, violence, death

Who's the Psycho Now?

Being an ex-circus performer did have its quirks. Trowa nimbly dodged as the spiked Astaroth slashed at him for the thousandth time with a long, cruelly shaped spike, the spike cutting into the earth with ease and pulled out of it effortlessly. Astaroth wasn't tiring, not at all, but Trowa wasn't either so it looked like he could keep this up indefinitely if he wanted to. But that wasn't what he wanted; no it was far from that.

He was waiting for a pause in Astaroth's relentless assault so that he could put his trump card to use. You see, it had been a while ago that he had grown a specific flower and had hidden it up his sleeve, waiting for the right moment to use its unique ability. He only had one shot at doing this right and he needed to make it count since he doubt he would be able to get away with it twice.

"Why won't you stand still?" Astaroth snarled, giving Trowa the pause that he had been looking for.

"Because I don't feel like getting cut?" Trowa replied, raising an eyebrow.

"You'll be lucky that's all you get when I'm through with you," Astaroth growled, lunging at Trowa who remained standing where he was. "Decided to take it like a man, huh?" Astaroth smirked as he closed the distance between them.

"If it makes you sleep better," Trowa shrugged in nonchalance.

Not bothering to reply, Astaroth slashed at him, Trowa leaning backwards to avoid it but not taking a step back to get out of the way. Wrapping an arm around the offending appendage, he pulled a surprised Astaroth up close to him and whispered, "Sweet dreams," in his ear. With that, he sprang loose the flower he had kept up his sleeve, squeezing it and releasing the sleeping gas deeply imbedded into it right into Astaroth's face, the scaly boy getting a deep breath of it.

Trowa pushed back and leapt away as Astaroth slashed at him, coughing from his unexpected inhalation. Like Solo before him, Astaroth fell victim to the gas' effects and fell at Trowa's feet, sleeping like a little baby, that is if a baby had scales and spikes sticking out of his body like a porcupine.

Hearing someone clap, he looked up towards the expressionless Metatron. "Ingenious," the boy acknowledged. "I didn't think you were capable of such ingenuity."

"You never know what tricks I have up my sleeve," Trowa replied, stepping over Astaroth's body, sure that he could take care of the other later, especially since he had the feeling that Metatron wouldn't allow him to kill the sleeping boy just yet.

"Very true," Metatron said before shooting another blast from his mouth, knocking the uinbanged young man back a ways.

Getting his bearings, Trowa looked up at the other boy and said wryly, "I guess it would be too much to hope for something easy, neh?"

"You guess correctly," Metatron confirmed and opened his mouth wide open again to launch another blast.

---

Seraphiel slowly picked his head up just in time to see Solo brutally shove Michael's head into the ground and the other boy wasn't moving, not one bit. Wobbly, he got back onto his feet, the experience of feeling invincible leaving him at a fast rate.

Oh no. Looks like he needed a recharge…

He snuck up behind the other blond just as the other got back up to his feet and nodded, still looking down at Michael's prone body. With a careful hand, Seraphiel reached out and laid a hand on Solo's neck…

…and felt the surge of power flood his entire being. He felt powerful again, no, invincible! It was a more than heady feeling and it just made him love his own power even more.

The power to leech off of and copy other's abilities was greatest thing in the world.

Even Solo's fist in his face couldn't bring him back down from this high…oh wait, maybe it could, what with the bouncing on the ground as he came into contact with it. A human body just wasn't made for this kind of thing! Couldn't Solo get that into his tiny brain already?

Getting back up, he smirked at the infuriated blond. "Is that all you got, Solo?" he taunted.

"I'm gonna tear you apart," Solo growled menacingly.

"If you coulda, you woulda," he taunted back as he slammed his hands into the earth and pulled up a chunk of the landscape. He smirked at Solo's bulging eyes and threw his piece of the earth, laughing as the massive projectile flew through the air only to stop his laughter as Solo shattered it apart with a single punch.

"This world ain't big enough for two of us," Solo uttered. "I wonder if your head can pop off. Maybe we can see?"

Seraphiel had never felt so much fear in his body. He didn't want to find out the answer to the question that Solo was asking as much as the other blond did. For the first time, he began to consider that maybe he should have teamed up with Metatron instead of Michael…

He dodged an expected but surprisingly swift punch and avoided the hands that maneuvered to try to get a hold of his head. He had no intention of seeing if his head could be "popped off" as Solo desperately wanted to find out as he made another attempt, almost succeeding in getting the other blond into a headlock that he managed to squirm out of.

"You're crazy!" he cried out as he stumbled away from the other blond.

"Never said I was sane," Solo shrugged.

Without further ado, he charged at Seraphiel, grinning like some kind of maniac. Seraphiel, his confidence level severely damaged, reacted quickly, not wanting to become another casualty of all this. He still had Solo abilities to use at his beck and call and he put them to use as he slammed his hands onto Solo's shoulders and let himself fall backwards, allowing him to throw Solo above him and away.

Quickly, he rolled to his feet and ran towards the laid out blond, jumping up into the air, his body twisting and turning in a similar fashion of a certain unibanged young man, and landed roughly onto Solo's chest. He may not have had the natural ability to control the massive physical strength that Solo possessed but he did have a natural speed that Solo didn't. He landed punch after punch onto Solo, not missing a single spot and pouring as much strength as he could into the blows. It was his life that was at stake here and he didn't want to lose it so soon.

However, he hadn't counted on Solo recovering quickly, at least quickly under the current circumstances, and caught his fist, gripping it tightly as he rotated his hand, trying to snap Seraphiel's wrist. Luckily, he still had Solo's invulnerability protecting him so his bones didn't break but his discomfort was palpable. Gritting his teeth, he slammed down a foot into Solo's groin but the blond didn't even flinch.

What kind of monster was this guy?

A large hand grabbed his shoulder roughly and he was forced forward as Solo's thick skull headbutted him. He may have blacked out at that point, he wasn't sure but the next thing he knew, Solo's was on top of him and his fist was incoming. He managed to jerk his head out of the way in time so that Solo's fist broke into the ground and not his head. Grabbing the front of Solo's shirt and shoved Solo back and pulled him to a side, rolling them over so that he was the one that was on top.

A bit provocative, don't ya think?

There was no innuendo to Seraphiel's fists, though, as they dealt blow after blow to Solo's unbruising face. It was frustrating, really, how many times he hit Solo only to have nothing to show for it, not even a scratch or a split hair! He felt all the air rush out of him all of a sudden and soon became of aware of both of Solo's fists in his sides. Like a pincer, Solo increased the pressure he was causing on Seraphiel's torso, his fists digging in deeper and deeper.

And then Seraphiel began to feel the effects of his copied powers wearing off. Oh no, crap! He had to get out of there, quickly! Grabbing one of Solo's hands, he zapped the other and broke loose. He hadn't meant to get anymore of Solo's powers and he didn't care at this point. The guy was just too homicidal and whenever he copied his power, it made him more terrified for some reason.

And he wasn't going to stick around to find out what Solo was truly capable of.

---

Somebody was going to die.

It wasn't a statement that was arrogant or a cheap attempt at frightening others.

It was undeniable fact and when one possessed the abilities that Abaddon did, it was something that had to be taken at face value.

He could see death everywhere, in every person, animal, even things that had no recognizable life force that moving, breathing creatures did. It was what he took into account every time he made a decision and when he had looked at Solo and his ragtag group, he had seen how his taking part in the upcoming fight would matter. Some would say it was looking into the future but Abaddon would deny such a claim. Everyone had a destiny, whether it was to die here or die somewhere else. He already knew that one of his own was going to die, it was unavoidable but he had also seen how one of Solo's group was going to die as well.

He knew how, he knew when, and he knew that he wasn't going to be dealing any fatal blows so why bother with wasting his time and talents in a grudge fight like this?

His eyes scanned over the battlefield, lazily eyeing an unconscious Michael and a sleeping Astaroth. He spotted a fleeing Seraphiel running away from Solo himself and then turned his attention back to where Metatron was, his compatriot wielding the advantage in this fight as the strange plant wielder did his best to conquer him. Abaddon only shook his head, already knowing the outcome of this fight.

---

By now, Trowa had learned just how menacing a person who could use their voice as a weapon was. He couldn't even see the attacks, even though the air around each attack wavered. They were just so quick for something so large.

Not only that, Metatron had taken up whistling only just recently. Sounds odd, right? Not so much when each whistle was a small, sharp projectile that sped through the air at incredible speeds and had cut him up pretty good by now. He knew that the other boy wasn't the sadistic type; it was only his impressive flexibility and skills that were saving him from being killed.

And that damn boy was still standing in the same spot!

He wasn't much of a talker either, a bit ironic perhaps since his weapon was his voice, so that made distracting nearly impossible. What could he do to win this? The only alternative was to die and he wasn't quite ready for that kind of experience yet.

He grimaced as another whistle cut through his shoulder and he grabbed the affected area tightly, the wound throbbing. "Think you can let up some?" he called out to the other boy.

In response, he got hit with one of Metatron's more normal blasts that sent him flying back and landing on the ground harshly. This was only made worse because of all the cuts on his body. If he didn't do something soon, he feared he would lose consciousness due to blood loss.

But that was just it; he had nothing else up his sleeve that he could throw at Metatron without the other countering.

And then like a godsend, Metatron's attention was diverted as a rock caught him in the side of his face, causing his head to tilt to a side. His cheek bruising from the hit, Metatron slowly turned his head, the rest of his body not moving with said appendage, to face Solo, the blond standing nearby.

"For a silent guy, ya sure can't hear good," Solo smirked.

Metatron simply blinked and then released a whistle. The right side of Solo's body jolted back but there was no harm done. A wrinkle appeared on Metatron's brow, the closest Trowa had ever since to a frown on the boy, before he opened his mouth wide and blasted the blond. Solo braced himself for impact and dug his feet into the ground so that when the blast hit him, he did not go flying back. Instead, he was pushed back, his feet digging shallow trenches into the ground, the blond stopping a few yards away none the worse for wear.

"That it?" Solo laughed. "I barely felt that one!"

Trowa narrowed his eyes and could see that the blond was bluffing from the way his legs were trembling. That last attack had taken more out of Solo than the blond cared to admit. Then again, he was probably trying to knock Metatron off his high horse. It was a nice idea except for the fact that Metatron seemed to not be affected by even the most obscene things, be they visual or audible.

"I hardly doubt that," Metatron said, calling Solo on his bluff. Trowa winced in sympathy for the blond, knowing that his plan had backfired. Still, he had bought him some time…

Slamming his hand onto the ground, Trowa caught the other's attention with a shout, "How about this?"

Sharp tipped roots erupted from the ground just in front of the boy and impaled him. Metatron was held suspended in the air, a look of wonder on his face as he tried to comprehend what had just happened to him. His head lolled to a side, his eyes darkening as all life fled from them.

Sighing, Trowa said, "And that's all she wrote," before collapsing into a heap.

---

From his hiding spot in a small outcropping of rocks, Seraphiel saw his comrade die and he jerked back into his cover. No way, that hadn't just happened! Crap, they had really underestimated these guys.

Even though he knew he was pulling a Jason and letting his partners take the raw end of this deal, namely losing their lives, he would learn from this and grow stronger from it. He was Seraphiel, after all, the master of adaptation, the leech…er…he'd come up with something later when he wasn't scared out of his mind for the moment.

"Those idiots have no idea what they're getting themselves into," he muttered menacingly to himself, thinking of all the tortures he would inflict on him.

"They sure don't," a hearty voice said quietly beside him.

Seraphiel found himself nodded in agreement before he stopped, realizing that he wasn't as alone as he thought. Slowly turning his head around, he saw the person who was to become his killer; the same person who grabbed him by his throat and caused the blackness that swallowed him up as his lifeforce was stolen from him and he became dust.

---

Abaddon had been unmoved by Metatron's demise. He had known that the human robot would not have survived this encounter and he had foreseen the roots stabbing into him. It was no skin off his bones; Metatron had a strong power, there was no doubt about it, but he was too confident in his ability, never thinking that anyone would be able to get in close with him to actually hit him.

Suddenly, his head snapped to a side and his eyes narrowed. Someone else had just died, he could feel it, but it was not one that was suppose to be. It was impossible, unexplainable how it was that Seraphiel had just been terminated. He wasn't even suppose to die here…

Things had changed and it would be best to make a strategic retreat. If Seraphiel could be killed when he shouldn't have been, then the other remaining two could be put out of commission. He was more than sure that the superiors wouldn't disapprove of such a course of action.

Getting up from his seat, he dusted himself and began making tracks towards Michael's body, unhurried in his approach. He paused just as he reached his comrade, turning his head slightly so he could observe Solo's approach. He studied the blond, searching for whether or not his death was approaching and didn't find it. Eh, didn't matter to him but if he was going to try and start something…

---

To tell the truth, Solo had forgotten about the guy with the violet hair who was making his way to where Michael was. Having actually felt some pain in this fight, Solo was not in his prime form, not after fighting Michael, Seraphiel, and Metatron back to back. But he was stubborn and wasn't going to just going to let this guy off the hook. Didn't want to risk another Jason any time soon…

Abaddon heard his approach and watched him close the distance between them, not looking concerned about the threatening blond. In fact, Solo was a bit put off at the intensity the other boy was looking at him, an intensity that vanished as if it hadn't existed and the boy turned his back on him uncaringly.

Now, he didn't know if this was a side effect from Michael but he was pissed off all of a sudden. Who the hell did this guy think he was that he could ignore him, Solo of all people!

He was about to verbalize his thoughts when Abaddon spoke before he could. "Let's call this a day and pick it up some other time. There's nothing that can be accomplished here and it would only be a waste of time if we did fight."

Solo frowned, his anger lessening but not entirely going away either. "How do I know ya won't stab me in the back?" he demanded.

"No point," Abaddon shrugged as he began dragging an unconscious Michael.

"Ya know I can't take that chance," Solo growled. "So either ya can put up your dukes and fight or let me pound your brains out right here, right now."

Abaddon stopped doing what he was doing, frowning intently. Shrugging his shoulders, he said apathetically, "If you won't take me at my word, I guess I'll have to give you some motivation, eh?"

Solo paused as he saw a purple aura surround Abaddon, the aura sinking into the ground around the boy. The blond couldn't lie and say that he wasn't curious but he was losing patience and decided that the boy had chosen the latter of his choices.

A hand suddenly burst from the ground, one that had a decayed look about it and an awful smell to boot. However, that hand was connected to a tattered arm that was attached to a body that definitely looked like it had seen better days. It didn't take long to realize he was seeing a zombie, the undead creature moaning and lunging at the blond, a taste for human flesh consuming its mind.

Solo was quick to act, easily slapping the zombie aside with the smallest amount of effort on his part. But the smirk that was growing on his face disappeared as he saw more and more zombies emerging from the soil of the ground and not all of them were humans…

"Death is everywhere," Abaddon intoned, his eyes the same purple color as the aura that surrounded him. "We are nothing but puppets in the cruel game that is existence. It doesn't matter how much we struggle, the end result is the same. You may be powerful now but the desert hides many corpses; how long do you think you can fight before you fall and become just another statistic?"

Solo was beyond creeped out at this point, busy shattering the lumbering zombies as they swarmed towards him. A punch here decapitated a zombie, another punch there caused one's chest cavity to cave in and shatter. He swung his arms wildly, the slightest touch of his limbs knocking zombies away. Just as he was thinking he was making headway, he noticed a zombie pull itself back together and come back for more. He then saw, much to his horror, that all those he had believed he had K.O. were picking themselves back up and joining up with the massing ranks that were beginning to become a bit overwhelming, even for him.

Perhaps he really should have taken that guy up on his offer…

Solo leapt from the ever-growing throng of zombies and ran away towards his companions, hoping against hope that the zombies wouldn't be following after him. He reached the unconscious Trowa in no time who was being picked up by an unaware Dorothy who looked surprised to see him running in their direction.

"No time!" he interrupted her just as she opened her mouth to speak. He wrapped an arm around her waist tightly and the other around Trowa's and threw them both up onto his shoulders before running for dear life.

Getting a good look behind, Dorothy saw all sorts of dead creatures emerging from the soil behind them and for once decided not to say anything and hang on.