These characters are under copyright by Atsushi Ōkubo, Squar Enix, Yen Press, Shōnen,
Akatsuki Yamatoya. Madman Entertainment, Manga Entertainment, Funimation, and/or others. This is a work of fanfiction, for no monetary gain.

A/N:
CAUTION: Vulgar language below, and both gay relations and Christianity discussed and reflected below in a way that might be upsetting or objectionable to some readers.

This chapter details what happened to Justin Law when he followed the abductors' instructions in an to attempt to retrieve Death the Kid.

Chapter 15 – Autonomous Weapons Battle: Duel to the Death?

Justin Law studied St. Mathew's Cathedral dispassionately. It was a beautiful building, made to superficially resemble one of the great European cathedrals he was used to seeing, but the weight of history was completely missing from its walls: there were no bullet or blast scars or burn marks, no record of centuries of wars fought around this stone edifice. He'd specifically chosen an ecclesiastical track for his iPod for his approach, in an attempt to superimpose greater depth of character than the building actually possessed onto the sadly modern structure.

He briefly wondered what Dr. Franken Stein and Reaper Death Scythe Spirit Albarn thought of the building and of him, as they viewed them from their distant vantage point. They likely shared his sentiment, that the building was too young for the import given it, but he was certain they likely thought that about him as well. At 17, surely he must be too young to head the European Division, too young to stage a one man rescue of Lord Death's son? Although it was just as likely that they weren't thinking of him at all, that their thoughts were solely focused upon retrieving Death the Kid.

Justin wished he'd had the chance to view the macabre display Giriko had so artfully laid out at the church. Maka Albarn and Soul Eater Evans had described it to him, of course; he'd insisted that they provide him with as much contextual detail as possible. The key to entering the head of any foe was understanding their thought processes, their actions and reactions to stimuli.

Their words had painted a vivid picture, of lead-framed stained glass, waxed and polished wooden pews, a gleaming altar, and an ornate silver chalice and matching silver plate, containing not the blood and body of Christ, wine and bread transformed through elaborate prayer, but Death the Kid's blood and a butchered hank of hair, a knotted snarl of his Lines of Sanzu, the white stripes Death's son so despised. And beneath the hair, a note: "Unless you want me to send you the rest of the brat a piece at a time, send Justin Law to St. Mathew's Cathedral, alone, at 6 PM tonight, to negotiate the ransom terms for his release."

That had been just under an hour ago. In a few short minutes, it would be 6 PM, time for him to meet with Giriko. Of course, there would be no talk of ransom, only spinning blades, violence and arrogant taunts. Justin was certain of that much. If Death the Kid was still alive, they'd have to find him through some other means. No, he was here tonight for one reason alone: to meet Giriko in battle yet again. As Soul Eater Evans had so eloquently warned him, "Watch yourself. That freak really gets off on fighting you. He's got a hard on for you, man. Just don't kill him until you find out where Kid is."

Ah, the naïve hopefulness of that most dangerous of combinations, youth and inexperience.

The organ music finally ended, to Justin's relief. It was time to listen to some Death Metal, time to get this party started.

He cranked up the volume and glanced at his watch. Two minutes to six. He'd timed it so he would reach the stairs at a minute to the hour and the top of the stone flight the following minute, so he could fling the heavy wooden doors open precisely at six, just as the clock in the bell tower began to chime.

His heart rate accelerated as he approached the stairs, increasing as he climbed them, reaching a crescendo along with the music, as he flung open the doors, ready to be attacked instantly, without warning, or to spar verbally with his oh so exhilarating foe. He lived for this, for the music, the battle. One without the other was incomplete, unsatisfying. The need for violence, for destruction, had always been an innate part of his soul.

For a moment he pictured his father's scowling visage, saw his lips moving as he cursed him, but then he turned up the volume just a hair more and the image shimmered like a mirage in the heat of the desert sun – it wavered and vanished.

Justin narrowly dodged the kick aimed at his head, the spinning blades sheering through boots and jeans specially designed with their owner in mind. "Pay attention when I'm talking to you, Priest!" Giriko demanded, as Justin effortlessly read his lips.

Ah. Apparently Giriko had shouted a challenge or some form of banal greeting which he'd missed, due to his preoccupation and the volume of his music.

"Eloquent as always," Justin prodded, loving the sneer of annoyance that immediately darkened Giriko's face. He was so easy to taunt; he responded so dramatically to the simplest insults. This was going to fun. But first, he must fulfill his duty, and make at least a pretense of enquiry regarding Lord Death's son.

"Where is Death the Kid? What ransom do you want in order to release him to us unharmed," Justin dutifully stated.

Giriko laughed wildly. "Unharmed? Seriously? Are you blind as well as stupid? Or didn't they tell you about the masterpieces I left in the alley, in the church? Just whose blood did you think that was, Priest?"

"I meant without further harming him," Justin clarified, even as he frowned mentally for misspeaking in Giriko's presence. He refused to let his opponent see he had scored a verbal hit, when his physical one had missed.

"I've got no further interest in that brat, that pathetic weakling. You should have heard him screaming and begging. And he calls himself a Reaper! He pissed me off. He wasn't any challenge at all," Giriko complained, sounding genuinely annoyed.

"If he's no longer amusing to you, you should give him back. I mean, you want us to see what you did to him, right? All the cuts you made? Art is nothing if no one gets to see it, to appreciate it," Justin encouraged. If Dr. Franken Stein and Reaper Death Scythe Spirit Albarn had been close enough to hear, they would likely have been furious, but would have thought he'd said so merely to encourage the Autonomous Weapon he faced into providing even a hint as to Death the Kid's location. They would never have suspected he was sincere.

He doubted even Lord Death knew him well enough to know that. No one ever got close enough to him to know his thoughts. Because in the end, they were all potential enemies: they might all turn against him, with or without warning, and try to kill him, the way his father had, the way his village had. But Lord Death had saved him, and given him his life, a home, a meaning, a purpose, so he would follow him until he was betrayed by him and the DWMA and he would rescue Lord Death's son, or more likely, recover whatever was left of his body.

"That's what I like about you, Priest. The only thing I like about you, actually. You get it. You cut and they bleed. You're the attacker and they're the victim. We're the ones with the power, you and me. If you only weren't so fucking annoying with all that sanctimonious crap you spout all the time, you'd actually be OK to hang out with sometime," Giriko claimed, even as he tried to chop his head off.

"But you came here to see the brat, right? Well, I've got a little show for you. It's more effective if you can hear, so you might want to crank the music down a bit, but it's not like you'll need subtitles for this," Giriko gloated, as he surprisingly pulled away, as he reached into his pocket.

Unexpectedly, the lights went out.

Justin quickly lowered the volume of his music, so his headphones wouldn't give away his position, so he could hear Giriko's approach, but then there was light, reflected off a white screen at the front of the church, where the altar should have been; he hadn't even had time to notice it before.

He gasped in spite of himself, as an image of Death the Kid appeared. Lord Death's son was such a mess he wouldn't even have recognized him, were it not for the distinctive Lines of Sanzu, though his face wasn't cut. It was the only part of him that wasn't. There was blood everywhere, and his clothes were sliced to ribbons, along with his skin and flesh, his chest and stomach covered in vomit as well.

Death the Kid tensed, his expression of fear and desperation changing to one of terror, hopelessness and despair, as Giriko strode into the frame.

"Well, look who's awake!" Giriko said.

Justin read his lips effortlessly, even as he heard the words above his music.

Death the Kid cringed and cowered, and predictably, his fear made Giriko laugh.

"You're almost as entertaining as Justin Law, but sadly, a little too young for my tastes. And you don't have that ever so infuriating and appealing air of calm and complete lack of interest that drives me wild. One day soon, I'm going to make that man scream and beg, just like you did, but I'll get to play a much better game with him. I may be many things, but I'm no pedophile.

"In a few years though, I just might be visiting you again, once I've tired of Justin. He's my prize for doing all this, you know. I'm going to finally get to fuck that superior smirk right off that saintly Priest's face," Giriko claimed crassly, rubbing himself through his pants.

Justin fought a gasp, as his heart suddenly began to race and he felt that odd tingle in his scrotum that only battle with Giriko had ever produced. That was why he'd been so eager to fight him again, to experience that again, to understand why Giriko of all his many foes actually made him feel something other than the self-loathing he masked daily with indifference, with superiority, with arrogance.

But strangely, this time, there was anger as well, or something akin to it, and Justin was surprised to realize it was directed not only at Giriko, but at Death the Kid as well. He'd been excited, then angry, then excited again. Why?

Giriko laughed again, as he approached his chained and helpless prisoner. "Now, now, don't look so terrified. I told you, I'm not into kids. But there is a little something I need from you to stoke the fire. Sure, I decorated the alley with your blood, and left your skull pin there so those idiots from the DWMA would instantly know the blood was yours, even with the remnant of Esmeralda's Soul Protect we left in the alley to conceal the battle. The shadow's set now to lift the when someone with a powerful Soul Wavelength uses any kind of light. But the blood and skull aren't enough. We need to put the pressure on. If you're holding someone for ransom, you need the folks back at home terrified enough that they pay up quickly, right? So I need a little something to up the ante a bit," he claimed, as he activated the chainsaw in his left hand with a malicious grin.

Kid strained and struggled against his chains as the viciously spinning blade approached his face.

"Not my face, my eyes! Please not my face!" Death the Kid begged.

Giriko laughed again. "Relax, kid. I'm not going to destroy that pretty face of yours. Though it would be interesting to see if that Reaper healing power could restore your sight if I blinded you."

Terror overwhelmed Kid, and he started thrashing wildly against his chains.

"Jesus kid! Calm down! Don't piss me off. You nearly made me cut my own arm off, there. Just hold still, you little prick. Hey now. That's an idea."

Kid froze as a knee pressed between his legs near his groin, the latest whirring blade not quite touching him.

Justin felt it again, that strange flash of anger. It made no sense. Giriko wasn't harming Death the Kid, merely pinning him, and again, the anger wasn't solely directed at Giriko, but at Death the Kid as well. In fact, if anything, he was angrier at Death the Kid, which made no sense.

"Ha, I knew that would make you stop struggling. Now, unless you want to be singing soprano, you'll let me get what I came for," Giriko urged.

Kid was shaking wildly, but otherwise not moving, as Giriko grabbed a fistful of his hair and sawed it off.

"Huh. What a mess. Guess I should have used scissors, but you can still see those distinctive stripes, which is what I needed. You're lucky. At least the hair will grow back. Next time, I might take an ear or a finger or something worse," Giriko taunted as he backed away.

Kid stared, trembling, but then he spoke, though stutteringly. "My f…father is going to k…kill you, and S…Spirit is going to g…gorge himself on your s…soul, you s…sick b…bastard."

Giriko laughed again, long and wildly. "Hurry up and grow up, kid. I can't wait to teach that mouth of yours some manners. Someone's got to teach you to suck, not bark and bite, right?" And then he was lunging forward, and Kid was cowering away.

The anger Justin had felt before flared into fullblown rage, but with it was pain, the familiar, terrifying pain he'd only felt twice before, but would never forget: the pain of betrayal.

There was more wild, gleeful laughter, and Giriko left the frame.

Kid sagged in the chains and began to shake with obvious sobs.

Justin felt himself sag as well, with relief. That film had been driving him insane with bloodlust, and he had no idea why. He had no reason to hate Death the Kid, and he'd never actually hated Giriko: he'd fought him at first because it was his duty to do so, and thereafter because he enjoyed their battles so much. More than once he'd held back from dealing what could easily have been a fatal blow, instead tempering it, so he drew blood but didn't kill. He could have easily killed Giriko a number of times during their final battle in the war against the Kishin Asura, but he hadn't.

The screen went dark and Giriko entered his field of view. "What do you think of your supposedly mighty Reaper pals now, Priest? It was pathetically easy to make that one break, and seeing this little film of mine, Death is going to piss himself. Just wait until Esmeralda starts shipping the brat to him a piece at a time. She will even if she gets what she wants, Mifune and Angela and the grimoire. She owes that little fucker for the humiliation she caused him. It would have been easier if you killed that sword prick and that Witch brat for us, but regardless, Esmeralda will, and Death will lose. Have you finally realized you're on the wrong side?"

Justin hid his surprise with the ease of long practice concealing his emotions. Mifune and the Witch Angela and a grimoire? Abducting Death's son was to goad us into attacking Mifune and the Witch he protects, so the Witch Esmeralda could obtain a grimoire? At least now there is motive to this madness. But how did Death the Kid humiliate the Witch Esmeralda?

Giriko attacked, and Justin momentarily lost the luxury of time to think. It was amazing, the heights Giriko could kick to, the brutal and deadly arcs of his whirring blades. They were a music all their own. Justin was glad the volume of his own music was still low enough for him bask in the sound.

But then a familiar, terrifying figure wavered in his peripheral vision, and he turned his music up again, erasing the ghostly shape from his past before it could fully form.

He frowned, and realizing he'd actually let the expression touch his face, the frown deepened. He was getting distracted. It had been a while since that had last happened. The last time he had fought Giriko, in fact, while the DWMA was battling the Witch Arachne and the Kishin Asura. It had been particularly hard to concentrate upon his battle then, with the Kishin's Madness Wavelength propagating everywhere. He'd actually had to turn the volume on his iPod to maximum, and he'd still seen ghostly images of his father, actually even heard his voice, for the first time in four years.

The memory had him reaching for the volume control again. He cranked it up to maximum, drowning out even the memory of that heart-stopping voice.

He winced as a bloody furrow was cut in his cassock, striping his side and staining the cloth deep crimson. Fortunately, the gash wasn't deep, more an annoyance than a danger, though the bite of pain was a welcome wake up call. Giriko might not be the most elegant of fighters, but he certainly had the potential to be deadly. He needed to pay better attention.

"Where is Death the Kid?" Justin demanded, as he launched a flurry of attacks of his own, the bulk of which Giriko blocked with his blades, instead of dodging.

"Beyond your reach, Priest," Giriko taunted.

That gave Justin a moment's pause. "I hope you don't mean you killed him. Lord Death won't be pleased with me if you've killed his son."

"Huh. And here I thought you didn't care. I mean, after all, you were told to come alone, and you brought both a Meister and a Weapon, and not just any pair, but the strongest Meister to ever graduate from the Academy and Lord Death's own personal Death Scythe. Of course, they've got problems of their own to deal with. Esmeralda's got more than a few tricks and treats for the two of them," Giriko goaded.

Damn them. They'd sworn they would be undetectable. "So punish them for that, or me, not Death's son."

"For a music lover, you sound like a broken record. What's Death the Kid ever done for you that you're so eager to save him?" Giriko asked, his voice flaring with annoyance, as he slashed with his right foot and then his left, and then flipped, nearly catching him in the right shoulder with one of his blades.

Justin was impressed in spite of himself as he dodged the blow. Giriko was one of the most flexible, limber fighters he'd ever faced.

He winced as Giriko's attack hit the pew in front of him instead, and tore a huge chunk out of the artificially aged wood. The Cathedral would likely be destroyed before their battle was done. It was new, but beautiful, an artifice dedicated to God. The wrong God, of course, to the Christian God he despised, the one his father had followed ever so faithfully. He wore his cassock and inverted cross in mockery of that God, and the man who had been such an ardent, devoted follower that he'd attempted to offer his own only son up as a human sacrifice to Him.

"I bet you don't even realize the significance of us choosing this location for the meeting, do you, Priest?" Giriko taunted, as he tried to cut him in half at with his left leg, not horizontally, at the waist, but vertically, from head to toe, giving him a front row view of those long, limber legs and the tightly contained bulge in between.

Justin's heart pounded as he realized Soul Eater Evans' vulgar claim was literally correct: Giriko really did have a hard on for him. Or at least for fighting him. For battle, cutting, blood.

A look of rapacious glee lit Giriko's face. "Well, well. Aren't you breaking the rules, Priest. You're not supposed to covet anything, right? Especially not my dick."

Justin froze for a split second at his words, at being caught looking, and paid for it, as he didn't quite back away from Giriko's latest attack in time, and his current kick sent him flying across the aisle and crashing into the pews on the opposite side, towards the front of the cathedral, near the altar. He barely scrambled away in time as Giriko splintering the pews on either side of him.

Death the Kid would appreciate the symmetry of his attack.

The errant thought startled Justin long enough for Giriko to score his left leg with the blades protruding from his right boot, as he dived towards the open space in front of the altar.

"He's here, isn't he? You're actually holding him here. Or were. You've moved him, of course," Justin deduced, knowing he was right, reluctantly forming the guillotine blades on his arms. He had waited to produce his own weapon, trying to draw out the combat long enough for Dr. Franken Stein and Reaper Death Scythe Spirit Albarn to intervene, to aid him in capturing Giriko, or to find Death the Kid, but if he didn't go on the offensive soon he might actually lose this battle.

Giriko laughed in his face. "Seriously? Wrong answer, Priest. No, this is where Esmeralda chose her victims, those four dozen people she slaughtered, the most pious and righteous assholes she could find. Not the rich bastards who think they can buy their way to salvation, but the stupid fuckers who actually believe in all this crap," Giriko said disdainfully, as he lashed out again, not at him, but at the cloth draped altar behind the screen, obliterating it with a single kick.

"Why? Why kill them and go to all the trouble of blaming Mifune for it, and then make it obvious it was you by the way you cut Death the Kid's hair, by what you did to him in the alleyway?" Justin asked, honestly curious.

Giriko grinned, a manic look of delight. "You liked that, huh? Did you get to see it yourself, my artwork? I painted that for you, Priest. You should have heard that kid scream as I cut and cut and cut."

A Kishin Egg. He's finally gone fully Kishin, Justin thought with surety, but when he tried to use Soul Detect, he saw nothing. Magic. That Witch's magic is here. Is Death the Kid still here? Inside the Cathedral? Under it? Is he still alive? Even Lord Death can't detect his soul.

He froze as a hand clamped around his bicep, certain he was about to lose his arm, cursing himself for becoming distracted by thoughts of their hostage, but the blades he expected never emerged. Instead, Giriko merely yanked him around to face him.

"I said fight me or go home, you pussy! Look at me when I'm talking to you, you fucker! I know you can't hear me with that damned music, but you'd better at least read my lips. I'm not going to repeat myself again!" Giriko fumed.

"My, my, such language. Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" Justin scolded as he pulled free and slashed with his right blade, scoring a razor thin slice across Giriko's chest, slicing apart his shirt.

Giriko laughed in his face. "That bitch has been dead eight centuries, Priest. Or did you forget and think you were talking to my current host's body? That asshole might have been a sick fucker, but I love this body! These legs of his just won't quit, and just look at our ass! This body of his was just made for fucking."

To his shame, Justin had looked, had thought that more than once. For a moment he saw his father again, in spite of the music being at full volume, reminding him that the shame was his father's, and his father's Christian God's, not his. Thanks to Lord Death, he'd accepted who and what he was. It was this place, this damned cathedral reeking of his father's God. The only God Justin believed in was Lord Death. He was Lord Death's instrument, his Weapon, no other God's. He wore these clothes in mockery of his father's piety, not in honor of it.

"Careful, Priest. Aren't you in danger of tarnishing that oh so shiny soul of yours?" Giriko goaded.

0 0 0

"My soul isn't the one in danger," Justin replied to his latest taunt, with a smug confidence that made Giriko want to cut and cut and cut and watch him bleed.

"Serious? You think I give a shit what happens to my soul?" Giriko scoffed.

"You should. I'm not talking about something ludicrous, like threatening you with hellfire and damnation. I'm talking about the fact that you're losing your identity, your personality," Justin calmly rebutted.

"What the hell are you getting at, Priest?" Giriko challenged, confused by the abrupt change. For a moment it had looked like the Priest had been totally losing it, there had been a flash of panic in his eyes that didn't belong on that serene face, but then it was gone as if it had never been. It hadn't been the first time the Priest was distracted during their battle, but he'd make damned good and sure it would be the last.

"It's obvious. With each soul you've tried to subsume, to control, they've influenced you as well. That's why you're not a Kishin yet. Their purity has kept you from falling," Justin asserted.

"Bullshit! They haven't influenced me in the slightest!" Giriko yelled, the thought infuriating. As if his weak descendants were any match for him! He'd taken each one of their bodies over, hadn't he? "Stop talking out of your ass!"

"Alright. What's your favorite color?" Justin challenged.

The bizarre question almost made Giriko laugh, but sure, he'd play. At least the Priest was focusing on him now. "It's r…rainbow," Giriko stuttered, horrified by his own hesitation. His first thought had been "red", it was always red, the color of blood, but dozens of other voices, voices from long dead host bodies, had yelled in his head "green", "yellow" "blue", "orange", "purple", and not one of them had wanted him to say red, or even black or white, his second favorite colors. Black and white were the colors of death, and blood and death were all he knew, all he'd ever known.

"You see? And they haven't only influenced you in small ways like color, but in bigger ways, like the capacity for mercy," the Priest insisted ridiculously.

This time Giriko laughed in his face. "Mercy? I'm sorry, are you blind? I showed you the film. Did you fail to see what I did to Death's son?"

A dark shadow flickered in the infuriatingly placid, tranquil depths of those vivid blue eyes. "No. But so did he," he said confusingly.

"What the hell do you mean? Stop speaking in riddles, they piss me off," Giriko snapped.

"I mean that Death the Kid isn't blind. You didn't blind him. You threatened to, you taunted him, asked him whether he could heal from you ripping out his eyes with your chainsaw, but you didn't do it. You didn't even mark up his face at all, or cut off any limbs. You could have chopped him into pieces, right?" the Priest challenged.

"Don't think that was mercy, Priest. Esmeralda gave me strict guidelines for how much damage I could do. We wanted to piss Death off enough that he'd kill Mifune and Angela, and send you, his chosen warrior, to me as my reward, but not enough so that he'd figure out it was us and launch an entire Crusade against us, send every Meister and Weapon across the globe after us," Giriko explained.

Fury gripped Giriko. "Why the hell am I justifying myself to you? I'm the bad guy. I'm supposedto be evil, right? You pious bastards are the ones who are supposed to explain your actions, every time your piss misses and hits the floor," Giriko snapped crassly.

"My, my. Such a vulgar, dirty mouth. You need someone to wash that mouth out," Justin rebutted.

"You think you're up to the task, Priest? You'd like that, wouldn't you? To stick your dick in my mouth, to wash it out with your cum?" Giriko taunted.

And there it was again, a flash of something in the Priest's eyes, like a rock tossed into a still lake, triggering ripples that spread outwards in concentric rings but then splashed back upon themselves as they hit the shore, causing a chaotic, choppy mess where once there had been placidity.

That's it, Priest. That's what I want to see: emotion, of any kind, even anger, but especially that. Carnal lust. Desire. All the things you've suppressed, hidden even from yourself.

"You're disgusting," Justin said, a split second too late, after a noticeable hesitation.

Giriko laughed, once again firmly in control, as he lashed out at the Weapon Meister with his left hand, narrowly missing his side, as Justin neatly evaded. "I don't think so. I think you're the one who's disgusting, spouting all that pious crap, and hiding your secret desires. I know why you are always so eager to fight me. Why you draw the battles out, why you hold back your strongest attacks, why you haven't truly tried to kill me yet," Giriko teased.

Justin froze, a look of panic flashing across his face, as he faltered in his attack.

Bullseye! I was right. He really has been holding back.

"It's because you can still be saved," the Priest justified, as he aborted his current attack and drew back to a safer distance yet again.

Giriko lunged forwards and laughed in his face again. "Really? Is that what you truly believe, Priest?" he chuckled, as he caressed the perfect skin of Justin's chest under his cassock with the blade on his right forearm, leaving a beautiful, claiming red slash across his torso.

Justin gasped in shock and pain and stumbled back.

"You fight me because you enjoy touching me, as much as I enjoy touching you. You desire me, as much as I desire you," Giriko purred.

Justin's eyes lit with alarm and horror as he read his lips, and his hand fumbled frantically for his iPod. "No! That's not it at all!"

Giriko frowned until he heard the result. The music was so loud now that he could hear it clearly, and it wasn't the ecclesiastical or orchestral crap he'd been expecting, but Death Metal, playing so loudly now it was a wonder the Priest's ear's weren't bleeding from his eardrums shattering.

So that's it! He uses the music to keep all those hidden desires at bay, does he? Well then. Now he's made this too easy.

With a triumphant, malicious grin Giriko feinted an attack to the Priest's heart, and then ripped his opposite arm across the Priest's iPod, shattering it.

The Priest cried out and staggered at the sudden sensation of sound, as if he'd received a mortal blow, and then his hands began pawing frantically, shaking as they held the broken remains of the iPod, as if he were holding the body of a murdered child.

The mental victory feast turned to ashes in Giriko's mouth, as the Priest fell to his knees, dropping the shards and cupping his hands over his ears, as if trying to shield himself from the sudden absence of sound.

"Hey, what's wrong? Come on, it's only a damn iPod. You can always buy a new one. It's not like the world is ending," Giriko said awkwardly, feeling unaccountably and unaccustomedly guilty. Was it a gift from someone important, someone dead? Irrationally he felt a burst of jealousy flare, and he was suddenly elated for smashing it.

Justin shook his head soundlessly, his eyes wide. He looked terrified.

"Come on. Knock it off! Don't you think you're overreacting?" Giriko snapped uncomfortably.

"You don't understand," Justin whispered, and then his eyes widened in horror and he clapped his hands over his mouth, as if speaking was a cardinal sin.

"What's wrong, damn it? It's not like you've taken a vow of silence of something right? I mean I've heard you speak before, when we fought. You did just a moment ago," Giriko reasoned.

Justin's eyes widened and he looked up, slowly removing his hands from his mouth. "Your voice…" he whispered.

"What? What's wrong with my voice?" Giriko snapped self consciously.

"It's beautiful," Justin said in wonder.

Giriko felt a moment's confusion, and a warm flush of pride and pleasure, which vanished, as Justin's eyes widened in horror and he shook his head wildly.

"No, I didn't mean that! I'm sorry!" He clutched his hands together in prayer. "Holy Father, forgive me for my sin! I swear I harbor no carnal thoughts for my enemy," he claimed, and then he clamped his hands over his mouth again, a look of self-loathing in his eyes, as if he'd just cursed God, not prayed to him.

"What the fuck? Liking my voice is some kind of sin? Just because… wait. Carnal thoughts?" Giriko's scowl transformed into a pleased grin. "You really have been harboring carnal thoughts about me?" he purred.

Justin's eyes widened at the change in tone, and he began backing away from him as if he was a leper or had the plague. Except a priest would administer to the sick. He was backing away from him because he was afraid of wanting him.

"You know, that whole bit about man not supposed to lie with man is a load of crap, right? That damn book of yours has whores eating with Christ, and don't tell me you think some guy who surrounds himself with twelve other guys who literally worship the ground he walks on isn't doing at least some of those disciples on the side. I know I would have been, if I was JC. But then, I don't claim to be the son of God. Although I have managed to live for over 800 years by possessing the bodies of my descendants, so I'm kind of an immortal, powerful being, you know?"

"That's not the God I believe in!" Justin roared, his voice a bizarre mix of fury and desperation. "But you, you're a sinner who's made the lives of your host bodies a living hell," Justin accused, standing, his body stiffening with new resolution.

"Hey! I behaved myself, restrained myself for 800 fucking years! I didn't kill anyone, I didn't even attack anyone. I pretended to be a good little sheep. They were the ones fucking up my soul, not the other way around. You said it yourself, right? All that color crap from before, remember?" Giriko defended.

"You probably made them suffer all kinds of lustful, unnatural thoughts," Justin argued.

"Unnatural? For you information, jackass, scientists have done study after study and determined that hundreds of species engage in homosexual relations, so don't come spouting to me your religious crap about how my preferences are unnatural," Giriko challenged.

"You're a lot more like me than you want to admit, aren't you? You have the same carnal thoughts for me that I have for you. And those aren't your only urges. We both like cutting things, watching the blood flow," Giriko claimed confidently.

Justin paled and began shaking he head wildly. "No! No, you're wrong! I don't… I don't want to hurt anyone! I don't want to be a Weapon! I don't want to cut! I don't… I never liked it, never! I didn't!" Justin argued frantically.

"Methinks thou dost protest too much, Priest. What's the matter? Does it scare you, that need, that thrill you get, every time you carve someone up? You're letting that freak Stein influence you, aren't you? Now there's a man who knows the joy of cutting, he lives to dissect and vivisect, he's like a wolf, but Lord Death has him collared and heeled at his feet, like a whipped dog. You don't want to be like that. You're better than that. We're both better."

"Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord. I'm only human. I have no right to punish the wicked, if I'm steeped in sin like them. I have to remain chaste, pure, in order to do God's work," Justin insisted, but it sounded like he was reciting something he'd been told over and over, rather than something he believed, and there was a distant look on his face, like he wasn't even standing in front of him anymore, but was trapped somewhere else, deep inside his head.

"Damn, someone's brainwashed the hell out of you, haven't they, Priest? They haven't only collared you, they've all but neutered you too. We can't have that. You're no good to me neutered," Giriko said with a shudder at the thought of someone physically neutering the beautiful man, as well as psychologically doing so.

"Stop it! Stop speaking those poisoned, honeyed words! I can't… I can't…" The Priest fell to his knees and began singing, some fucked up hymn.

"Screw this! At least before you were listening to good music," Giriko said in disgust and renewed guilt. It was no fun trying to fight the man like this, a shaking, shivering mess. He looked around for some source of music, anything, but there was nothing. Which left just one option.

He lunged at the Priest, who didn't have time to even flinch away from the sudden, violent attack, as the edge of his hand came crashing down on the back of his head.