America, and possibly the entire Earth.

As the door was shut behind him, and Nirvana took a good, long look at the room before him, he saw two very different things all at once: One, a pile of bloody carcasses, rotting in the center like some kind of crude, filthy sacrificial heap. Dark figures slunk around the edges of the bloody room, spattering themselves with the fluids of the bodies as they feasted. Two, he saw a regular room, devoid of any blood, bodies, entrails, or anything that appeared to be any kind of stain at all; the room was very clean, the furniture immaculate as well. There was a sizable table in the center (rather than a corpse mountain), with identical chairs spaced evenly all the way around it. It seemed as if it could be utilized as some sort of handy multi-purpose room.

Nirvana blinked, and his mind's eye closed; the bloody room vanished from his vision, leaving only the multi-purpose room behind, juxtaposed with nothing. He chanced a ghost of an amused smile. No matter how hard he tried, sometimes he just couldn't get his brain to quit playing tricks on him.

Nevertheless, the false vision of a bloody sacri-fest had sent sweet adrenaline flowing through his veins. He supposed it was a secret longing of his since he'd left his "home"; blood and gore always seemed to put him in a good mood, especially in a situation such as this, in which he was required to...

...Meet and cooperate with others...

Scowling ever-so-slightly as he remembered his purpose for being in that place, he took hold of the nearest chair with his free hand and dragged it towards a corner in a fashion that seemed to (and he partially hoped would) upset the light, casual aura of the room. He turned and rearranged the chair while still using only one hand, as his trusty sickle was gripped tightly in the other.

Nirvana allowed himself to sit down once the chair had been placed in a more appropriate spot. Upon getting himself situated, he sighed in relative satisfaction. This was much better. He enjoyed sitting in the corner, and was instinctively uncomfortable sitting anywhere else. The corner gave him view of the entire room. No one could sneak up on him, and that helped ease his mind a bit.

The thought of being sneaked up on caused the demon's half-lidded gaze to snake itself over to the one and only door in the room. Weren't there supposed to be other people? YES, you DOLT, he reassured himself. A human, an elf... He bit his tongue faintly to keep himself from licking his lips. If there ever were a time to practice decorum, it was then. There was one more supposed to be in attendance, too. Ah, yes. The filthy Slayer. Instead of growling in disgust as he was given to doing, Nirvana simply took a deep breath, then released it. Fucking Slayers.

Rather than go off on a mental tangent, as was his tendency, Nirvana opted to wonder whether or not he was early. He frowned, eyes narrowed in thought. That couldn't be right. He'd journeyed, quite literally, from the depths of hell to get to this damned house in the middle of nowhere. It was so near to impossible that he would be early, he didn't even bother to calculate. There had been members of some of the Agencies stationed outside the place, and they'd let him inside, hadn't they? They would have told him if he were early, right?

There you go AGAIN, worrying about the most menial of things, he said to himself, running a thumb over the flat edge of his sickle. He was nervous, alright. This was the first time he would be encountering a member or any other species and, in theory, not end their lives.

As entertaining as that would be, and as much as he enjoyed the prospect, Nirvana pushed the thought aside using all of his mental will, slouched forward in his chair, and continued to wait for the arrival of the others, so they could get rid of this Nix character and he could get back to his life.

[color=black]Shae paused outside the house in the middle of nowhere to compose herself. A scowl of disgust was distorting the normally flawless skin of her face, and she silently cajoled herself for this show of weakness. Yes, there would be creatures there that she would not agree with. Hell, there would be creatures there that she would crave to destroy, but she had a purpose. And as much as she hated it, she must cooperate, no, work with, these...creatures.

As she stood outside the house, the stench of demon reached her nostrils, and her lip curled in distaste. Raising a delicate hand to her mouth, the elf attempted to ignore the scent that now burned her nose. She had something to prove, so she had to learn to live with it. Well, maybe not 'live'. She just hoped that this Nix character would be easily rid of.

Shae found herself pausing just one more time before entering. She had no doubt that whatever was within had already sensed her presence, and took a moment to check herself. Calm. Remain calm, she told herself, and it slowly evolved into a mantra that she repeated to herself. Weapons? She had her whip and her sword to hand. She had checked them both that very morning. Both were fit for use.

It took a few moments for Shae's blue hues to adjust to the dark interior, but her other senses more than compensated for the darkness. She could hear the soft breathing of a humanoid creature nearby, and the stench of Demon had increased so that she almost gagged. Calm. Remain Calm. The air was warm and oppressive, and other than the Demon, she sensed no others around her. Early? Or was it a trap? Baring her slightly sharpened teeth as she saw the demon in the corner, she tightened her grip on her weapons.

Shae stepped to the table in the centre of the room and looked the Demon in its eyes, with a glare that was almost a challenge, and part dare. Calm. Remain calm. The tension built in the room, and she stared across the space at the Demon. Exhaling, and taking

Exhaling, and taking a breath, she forced herself to communicate with the creature. "So. Is it just us? Where are the others?" She asked the creature, her tone sharp and demanding. She abruptly turned and swung a window open. Light flooded the room, and the corner where the Demon sat. She took a deep, rewarding, breath of air, and turned to look at it. Calm. Remain calm. Was this some sort of ambush? Surely not...She stood by the window and regarded the Demon, and then spoke again, "Nirvana, I take it?" She demanded his name. Calm. Remain calm.

Shae took another breath of the fresh clean air, and took solace in her view of the sun. It wasn't that she was nervous, of even fearful. It was just the feeling that she now stood upon a precipice, and there would be no turning back. Shae just hoped this Nix creature could be rid of quickly.

Silence. Stillness. Slow, small, controlled breaths. Watchful eyes. Fear will be the key, but what is most important now is patience. Behind his mask, Gabe slowly closed his eyes, pondering his options. First and foremost, he would have to be patient.

Someone annoying had arrived.

A tall brisk figure, silhouetted against the bright light of the sun, sauntered unabashedly down the wide dirt road—full of purpose. The figure was garbed in a featureless dark blue BLOOD overcoat, hood pulled over the eyes, facial region shrouded in shadow. With every step, the figure drew closer and closer to a sturdy looking brick and mortar complex. The so-called designated meeting place. Neutral territory in the middle of nowhere as agreed upon by the four agencies... or, rather, three of the four agencies and Alera Elma—

The figure came to an abrupt halt about the distance of a city block away from the building's entrance. There was someone standing at the door. A female Elf, by all accounts. The figure quickly took position behind a nearby truck cabin that had flipped off the side of the road, so as to not be seen; however, this precaution was for naught. The woman at the door did not seem to notice the figure's presence.

After a moment's hesitation, she entered the building.

The figure came from around the overturned cabin shortly after, sporting a wolfish smirk so wide and untamed that it could only be described as vicious.

The steady march toward the building ahead—and those within it—resumed.

OOC: Feel free to sense this person's presence.

When the enticing scent of elf came to his attention through his normal mental maelstrom, Nirvana went very, very still. He bit his tongue a little harder, an explicit reminder: No. There was no way he was going to botch this because part of him was a rotten savage sans a modicum of self-control or restraint. And although he himself was not in any way honor-bound (by sheer principle), he didn't want to end up disadvantaged later on because he couldn't control himself around the first whiff of elf flesh. In fact, he'd eaten before he'd left just to avoid a situation like that.

Shut UP. he told himself harshly. YOU aren't even HUNGRY you GLUTTONOUS HEATHEN. He was getting all sorts of jumbled clips of thoughts on this particular topic. Some told him he was hungry, some said he was fine, and all the while his stomach remained infuriatingly unresponsive. It was all slightly disorienting. Slightly. He was used to his mental whirlwinds by then.

Although he'd been, in a way, mentally preparing for the elf to appear, when it- SHE, you IMBECILE- entered the room, it took him a few moments to settle his thoughts to the best of his ability. The elf stalked to the table, and as she did so, his mind's eye opened, showing him a delightful vision of him launching himself at the elf, and eventually tearing her to pieces. Naturally, she would put up a fight, being the Champion of the elves and all, but in the end...

Nirvana, with great effort, dismissed the vision with a very slight sigh of what very well could have been disappointment. If they had met under any other circumstances, he assured himself, that probably would have happened. But as things stood now, he would do no such thing. He was a demonic prodigy, not an imp fresh into adolescence, and he sure as hell going to carry himself that way. As best he could, of course.

By the time the elf had turned slightly to look him straight in the eye, Nirvana had composed himself. He met her burning, almost-yet-not-quite provoking glare with a gaze that was dark, half-lidded, impassive. Tension flowed off of her in thick waves. He blinked and pursed his thin lips, continuing to brush his thumb over the flat of his sickle as he had before the elf's arrival.

When she spoke, he raised his eyebrows a bit in interest. This, he hadn't expected. Her tone was sharp and her words were clipped, which set his mind at ease. At least she wasn't insulting his intelligence by speaking slowly, as if he were some sort of invalid. That, or she was disgusted with his presence. Either way... it was an inquiry he could respond to, although he deigned to do so without speaking. As the elf made her way to the window, he merely shook his head, indicating he had no idea where anyone else was. At least he wasn't the only early bird, if "early" were at all applicable.

She opened the window, allowing light to flow into the room. As the light touched him, he raised his lips in a phantom of a smirk. His shadow grew sharper and more defined behind him. Nirvana turned his head around to look at his most loyal of allies. It mirrored his actions, and, satisfied with how it looked in contrast to the walls, he looked back at the elf, squinting a bit against the light.

When he heard his birth name coated in that despising tone of hers, Nirvana looked down at his sickle. That was when he decided to speak, against his better judgement; bad things tended to happen when he spoke. "YES-" he started, cutting off the edge of his words to regain control over his inflection. Nirvana cleared his throat before going on in a quieter tone. "-and you, you are that EL-" Again, he paused to wrangle his volume down. "-elf, the one called-" Another pause, this one for a brief memory search, which came back successful. Paying attention was a good thing most of the time, he had learned over the years. "-the one called Shhhaaaee, are you NOT?" He dragged out her name in a serpentine manner, for no reason other than for his own amusement. He mentally chuckled. It was the little joys he brought himself that kept him in that comfortable balance between sane and insane-

Sensing the filthy Slayer caused Nirvana to righted his grip on his sickle, and narrow his eyes further, marring his face with a scowl. Fucking. Slayers. He took deep breaths, assuring himself that there would be no bloodshed just yet. At least, assuming that the despicable creature had an ion of sense. Nirvana clenched his teeth and fixed his eyes on his shadow, as if it could provide some sort of comfort. CALM the FUCK DOWN, you rotten TWIG. And then there were the voices. He straightened out his features, expression returning to a blank slate. They were comforting too.

A sharp string of curses rang through the air as the needle continued to weave in and out of her torn skin, paler than usual but also stained red with blood. The wind clawed at her long, dark hair, whipping it this way and that like paint splattering on a wall. Or, if you’re a darker type, like the blackened blood of a demon spraying as a slayer devours it. Of course, she wasn’t sure if demon blood was, indeed, black in color. She had never killed one herself. Did they even have blood? Where they even alive? This, she did not know. Of course they’re alive. They can die, can’t they? They appear somewhat humanoid in structure, as well, indicating they possess some substance comparable to blood. Such a stupid inquiry, to believe them dead. Honestly—

The curse words continued to pierce the surrounding atmosphere, jolting her from her tangent, and now being conscious she gritted her teeth as another stitch formed. Xavier continued to curse with each new stitch he stitched. She glanced down tiredly at his handiwork, eyeing the pitifully uneven stitches with some weak amusement. He was a terrible medic, despite his training. A doctor who can’t sew. How pathetic is that? She wondered why they even hired him.

“Can they drive any faster? I’m sure I’m late,” she said, voice strained but overall even. She was trained to tolerate and conceal pain, but it took concentration and she had her limits. “I’d rather them not drive any faster, at least not with us in the back,” he muttered, stitching the last stitch. He did have a point, actually. Their entire schedule had been decimated today, and she found herself unable to drive independently to the target area. They had to pick her up using the only spare company vehicle: a polished black truck with merely two front seats and a bed. She needed medical attention, and refused to go to the medical wing, so she and Xavier were stuck in the back, getting torn up by dusty projectiles and dry wind.

My, she hated the idea of being late. It would be a terrible representation of her agency. But, she did have a good excuse. You know, being caught in an explosion and all. One always prepares for the unexpected, for the mission that goes terribly wrong, but it always screws you over in the end. Always. Luckily, she only had one large laceration on her thigh, about 5 or 6 inches long, small cuts and bruises scattered throughout, a few minor burns, and a small gash on her forehead. The thing on her thigh was the only wound that needed stitches. He finished up, knotting the string tightly, and reminded her to keep the rag pressed firmly against her head. She only nodded in response. God, this all hurt like hell.

Making a mental note to sneak some pain meds later, even though it isn’t smiled upon, she heavily stood to look up the seemingly endless road. Her head felt light and the world seemed to spin at a greater speed than reality condoned, but she did not show it. She wouldn’t show it until she was alone. Hopefully her new acquaintances wouldn’t take long to greet so she could get the fuck out and not look weak. Her boss had told her she couldn’t show any weakness. Humans had to prove their strength to these creatures, and she was going to be the one to do it. Like hell she would. They’d probably kill her as soon as Nix was downed, if not before. God.

Squinting, she saw a small building somewhat on the horizon. As the vehicle moved closer and closer, the building grew, and she noticed a slight discoloration. They came closer. It wasn’t a discoloration, there was movement. Unless she was hallucinating or something. Sighing irritably, she shoved a hand in the back pocket of her jeans, pulling out her glasses. The left lense was substantially shattered, missing a few pieces, and the right donned a thin crack. They more or less worked, though. With their aid, she saw the discoloration was actually an overturned truck. Ducking behind it, there was a tall presumably male figure. That, or a very manish female. God, she hoped it was a guy. Emerging from behind the obstacle, he continued his blunt strides to the building. It wasn’t long before the truck slowed, and they came up close behind him. A file passed through her mind.

Connecting physical appearance to file data, she pegged him as DeKnight. The slayer. Oh, leave it to her to run across that one first. Not that it really mattered; all of them were against her kind. Her balance was interrupted as the truck came to an abrupt stop, well before the building. “What the hell?” she muttered unwittingly. The driver called back to her, saying something about letting her walk with her new playmate so she could better adjust and make friends. Skylar was obviously annoyed, more by the tone than anything, as the driver treated her like a kid being dropped off at kindergarten.

Glaring at the foolish agent with vengeance, she jumped over the side and landed with a generous thud on the dusted ground. Pain shot up violently at the impact, but the cringe lasted only a moment before her face was more or less blank. She took a large, green canvas bag with many pockets out of the passenger seat. It was fairly large, able to conceal a small child, and was obviously her ammunition bag. Slinging it over her shoulder, she shoved her hands in her pockets and trudged on towards Gabriel and the building. She showed no discomfort in the slayer’s presence, no outward fear of his supposed superiority. Honestly, she didn’t care after the day she had.

Looking at her, she was a complete mess. Her jeans, already casual for an agent, were completely shredded to almost shorts on her right side, fully exposing her terribly stitched laceration. The left leg fared better, but was still torn and stuck to a minor burn on her calve. Her black tank top was also quite torn, though it wasn’t as visible under a fresh military jacket she had taken from Xavier. She walked with the slightest limp, trying to keep it unnoticeable, but it was there. Her hair was windblown and streaked with blood, though not matted in its deshelved bun. Dirt and blood both dry and oozing covered her in scattered areas, mingling with debris and the smell of fire. The truck backed away as she moved forward, turning and taking off swiftly back to base. She listened to the tires roll over the dirt road as she approached the slayer, appearing to have the goal of walking past him without a glance. Her vision wasn’t helpful in this moment anyway, as her dull grey eyes would suggest.

The figure stopped moving, turning its head slightly. Something was approaching from a distance.

An enemy perhaps? No, not here. Not so close to the neutral territory. The figure resumed its unhurried pace. It doesn't matter anyway, let them come. I'm one of the top three Slayers of the Divine Nine! The "Divine Nine" are BLOOD's nine most powerful living Slayers. The current Divine Nine constitute the most powerful group of Slayers BLOOD has ever employed in its history.

The figure clenched its fists. And I'm undeniably the champion of Slayers!

The figure's smirk widened into an outright sneer as the sound of tires on gravel grew in intensity. It had heard the truck approaching from miles out, so this development did not come as a surprise. Of the Divine Nine, it was this person who had the most developed senses—by far. Still, like a robot, proper pace was kept. Short even footfalls. A relaxed stride, like taking a stroll through the park.

The figure remained completely composed, even as the truck came screeching to a halt a few feet behind. The soft thud of boots on the ground came as a genuine surprise, however, and the figure almost missed a beat.

Almost.

Whoever had just landed seemed to match the figure's pace, which seemed odd, even audacious.

The figure turned up its nose, sniffing at the breeze, and was greeted with a familiar scent. Human's blood.

Disgusting.

As the two came close and closer to the building, it became obvious that the human was trying to beat the figure to the door. The figure had forgotten that the human was there, but this brought the fact of its human existence back into the figure's mind.

Perhaps, to the human, this would represent some sort of symbolic "emotional" victory. The figure frowned. A victory this human would not be allowed to enjoy.

During the final few meters, the human pulled ahead of the figure, reaching the door handle first. Now that she had finally taken the lead, the figure had a chance to give this stalker—a human female—a quick once over.

Not impressed. Then again, there were very few humans that could impress this person.

As the woman turned the handle, the figure rushed forward with savage animal-like ferocity, a subhuman growl bubbling up from its throat. The woman made a startled yap, hopping out of the line of fire at the last second.

The metal door exploded off its hinges, flying through the room and embedding itself horizontally into the opposing wall. The sound of ricocheting metal fragments echoed about as pieces of the door and doorjamb were strewn across the area.

Only silence followed the clicks and clangs of bouncing metal. Those occupying the room tensed.

There, in the doorway, stood a hooded figure, the bright sun at its back, clothed in blue. Its foot was raised out in front of its body—it had kicked the door in. Like a Zen master, the figure placed its foot back on the ground with perfect balance. Ignoring the dismayed glare of human woman, the figure then took several quick steps inside, moving its head from left to right as it did, giving the room a once over.

If the figure noticed the Elf and the Demon, it didn't react in the slightest. Its gaze completely passed them by, as if they were but drab furnishings. About half way through this process the figure suddenly stopped its head movements, as if it had found what it was looking for.

Thanks to the missing door, unfiltered sunlight was now pouring into the otherwise gloomy room, banishing a majority of the atramentous shadows. Despite this, most of the edges of the room remained shrouded in blackness.

It was then that the figure decided to acknowledge the existences of the other two occupants, turning to face them.

There was something off about this person. Something... eccentric. Something threatening. An ever present promise of violence lingered in the air. Fortunately, the sunlight illuminated the figure completely. Whoever it was, it was obviously a Slayer. BLOOD's insignia had been carefully embedded on both the front and back of the figure's deep blue overcoat, which was long enough to almost touch the ground and thick enough to hide the Slayer's true physique. Under its hood rested a petite face of delicate peach-ivory complexion, skin as smooth as a baby's rear, and suave as a movie star's. The upper half of the Slayer's face remained cowled.

You could almost mistake the Slayer's face as gentle, cute even; however, the leering smirk served to betray the true nature of this being. It was the inhuman sneer of a murderer—of a predator that had spotted easy prey.

It was the Elf that the Slayer had directed its attentions to at first. The Slayer gave her a once over. While obviously stressed, the Elf did not seem intimidated.

The Slayer found that interesting.

And then, almost offhandedly, it noticed the demon.

The Slayer's contemptuous smile melted away like snow in Spring, replaced with a expression stuck somewhere between "fucking disgusting" and "fucking delicious". The Slayer's lips had curled back from its teeth, exposing sharp pointed canines. It was then that the Slayer spoke.

"You have got to be kidding." The Slayer's voice was of a higher pitch than expected—like a woman's—but was so full of conceit that it didn't matter. It was the voice of an existence that not only believed itself superior to every other, but would gladly prove it. "Elma expects us to work alongside"—the Slayer looked towards the Elf and the human—"trash"—before looking back at the demon—"and food?!" The Slayer laughed then, a grating animalistic bark emanating from deep within the throat. It was not a pleasant sound. "Seriously?"

Before the others could respond, the Slayer turned swiftly on its heel. It was a juvenile attempt to rattle the others with an abrupt and unexpected motion. To see if one would attack.

Nobody took the bait. In fact, they still seemed... stunned?, as if the Slayer had not turned out to be what they had expected. Or perhaps they were scared.

How much information did they have on BLOOD, anyway? On the Divine Nine? Do they even know the Divine Nine exists? Or of Alera Elma pulling their strings?

Eh. Who cares.

The room remained silent, save for the footfalls of the Slayer as it unhurriedly made its way around the table. It even showed its back to the demon, with all the dramatic flair a long cloak could afford, before eventually taking a seat—careful to duck under the dented remains of door that jutted out of the wall—in a spot perpendicular to the Elf.

Everyone stared at each other, unmoving.

The Slayer took the opportunity to put one of its feet up on the table. A cascade of spider web-like cracks appeared along its surface in response. The other foot remained on the ground however—from the looks of it, to support the Slayer's weight. The poor chair looked a hair's breadth away from being smashed under the burden of the Slayer.

Once comfortable, the Slayer went back to ignoring the others, electing instead to stare at a blank point on the wall. Its signature sneer had returned as well.

Crazy. A crazy guy smiling at a wall.

If one stared hard enough, they'd notice the glint of exposed metal just slightly below the nose, where, due to the angle at which the Slayer had elected to sit, the tongues of shadow cast by the cowl could no longer reach. Probably some sort of mask that covered half of the face, vertically. That wasn't all, though. Something else jutted out from under the cowl as well, though small in quantity and illuminated only by circumstance.

Several frayed strands of red hair stood in stark composition against the light of the sun.

The Slayer shifted its head slightly, changing angles and returning the contents of its hood to impenetrable shadow.

At first, it seemed there wouldn’t be much to this. Hell—Skylar was even feeling a bit confident. She was thinking, as the human, she might be able to fade back while the others partook in their anticipated hatred of each other. A human was no threat, supposedly. It might be possible for her to make it through this suicide mission. Oh, the look on everyone’s face when she won the bet. They had all betted against her, saying she wouldn’t make it back.

Of course, she had to bet in her own favor, if only to preserve her mental health. Did she honestly think there would be a positive outcome? No. Optimism wasn’t her thing. But she couldn’t admit that when everyone was joking about her death and sending her away with some morbid pre-funeral party. No, she had to act like she’d prove them all wrong. Maybe she would.

Her hand closed around the cool knob, tensing when she moved to turn it. She heard the air shift before the growl, a growl that seemed almost synthetic…it put her in mind of the seemingly inhuman screams in her broken memory. She let out a gasp as the pictures clouded her vision. Oh, fantastic. Now, on top of everything else, she had to deal with the fucking flashbacks. Not that she had time. Having some resemblance of intelligence and functional common sense, she knew he was coming for either her or the door. Boy, did she get the hell out of that trajectory. Though she barely made it with her wounds and mental problems.

The sound of metal snapping hurt her head. It was already pulsing from the explosion and possible concussion. What exactly was a concussion? She knew they weren’t fun, and involved some kind of head injury, but what were the details? It hurt her head even more to think about it. God. She wanted to shoot the slayer a contemptuous and irritated glare, but she managed to change it into a diluted look of disappointment. She honestly wasn’t surprised, this was a brute animal—okay, he was humanoid, not an animal, but still—of course he would do something like this.

As the slayer strode into the wounded building, observing the others and whatever else, she remained outside. Her head was killing her. God, why couldn’t she be a damned McDonalds employee? It’s considered a very lowly job, one some would never dream of accepting, but she longed for such an employment. To ask someone if they wanted fries with that—oh how much an improvement it would be over this whole situation. Sure, she had better health insurance as a CIA agent, but did that help her now? No.

She was only half there as she leaned against the outside wall for support, eyes closed, fully aware she may pass out. Please, oh please, let her stay conscious. This was like a date rape situation, except it was her life that would get raped. It was a little surprising when she heard a voice coming from the slayer’s direction, for she wasn’t ready to accept it was his, sounding almost feminine. The most powerful dude here, and his voice sounds like that? She knew never to underestimate anyone, but… let’s just say, it amused her into disregarding his artistic talent. You know, with the door sculpture he made.

Silver irises became visible as her lids opened half way. He called her trash, apparently. It wasn’t really the time, and she didn’t much feel like it with her wounds, but she smirked slightly. A small chuckle escaped her lips. Trash, eh? My, my… someone needs to think of more caustic insults. She felt the air shift once again, hearing the sound of his boot against the floor. It was a sudden movement, but she was trained not to react to such things. That, and she didn’t really care too much if her death was now or later. Death was kind of an unrealistic concept. She ignored the finality of it, and it didn’t seem too bad.

Her eyes closed once again, and she breathed an interesting sigh. It was the kind of sigh you’d envision a mother heaving, right after her children enacted some troublesome plan. Willing the spinning to stop, though it only intensified, she finally walked completely into the building and set a course for the table. She opened her eyes in time to catch a slight blur of red under the slayer’s hood, and the impression of a smirk. He was staring at a wall, smiling. What a fucking weirdo.

Tossing her bag on the floor, she pulled a vacant chair against the wall. She had the same sentiments as the other guy, Nirvana if memory functions, and always stationed herself with her back covered. Now, she didn’t have to see the entire room like he did, she felt it, but nonetheless she always wanted her back covered. No one’s going to stab her from behind. Lowering herself heavily into the chair, she rested her head back against the wall.

She did not take the time to scrutinize her colleagues. Even years after the surgery, she did not have the mind of a seeing person. All her life she was either blind or only capable of seeing vague blurs, besides a brief stretch when she had clear vision. To her, it wasn’t really seeing unless she touched it. Using her eyes to see a person’s face wasn’t seeing, touching it was. Now, she sure as hell wasn’t going to run around touching everyone, so her world didn’t involve much sight. It was pointless, anyway.

Still feeling like hell, an empty ghost of a smile found its way on her lips. She was still debating whether to speak like the leader she normally was, or avoid attention like the Black Death. In essence, it is kind of the Black Death. Still, a few words managed to slip out. “That was pretty stupid, you know,” she mumbled candidly, referring to the door. “Impressive, but stupid. Think of the splinters—metal embedded under your skin. I do believe that would hurt like hell, and that’s saying something, coming from me in my condition.” Her tone was an odd mix of untainted honesty, light joking sarcasm, amusement, and slight strain.

As the Slayer filth had grown gradually but steadily closer and closer, Nirvana became more and more certain, due to the relatively faint scent of human (blood, to be more precise) that was intermingling with Slayer stench, that said creature had either just killed someone, or the human had arrived as well, and was... bleeding, for some reason. He supposed that they might have gotten into a small altercation. Either that, or the human had shown up that way, which was a little perplexing as far as the "why" of it.

The two were nearing (or the one, depending) and Nirvana found himself curious, and more so with each passing heartbeat. What would this Slayer be like? Surely, it would appear to be the bane of all demons (as, naturally, it was). Perhaps tall, even taller that Nirvana himself maybe. Muscle-bound or lean? He supposed either would be appropriate. In his mind's eye, he saw what he'd always thought of Slayers being: tall, dark, intimidating, and an immediate threat to all those around it. The Champion Slayer would most certainly be one who, despicable alignment aside, would probably be, dare he think, an honor to engage in combat with. Someone he couldn't wait to see. Nirvana leaned forward in his seat, eyes glued to the door, curiosity begging to be sated.

With all of his wondering and assumptions, one can most definitely surmise Nirvana's reaction when he saw the figure who had kicked the door right off of his hinges.

He tilted his head to one side, eyes narrowed and one sleek brow raised quizzically. How... How... How...

...disappointing.

Nirvana relaxed himself and let his brow drop, sighing softly. The Champion of Slayers was little more than a whelp that had just wriggled from the confines of its mother. If this was the best that BLOOD could do, a damn near child, then the rest of the Slayers were obviously nothing more than weaklings themselves. And here, all his life he'd thought Slayers were to be avoided, that they were a threat. This creature hardly looked old enough to tie its own shoelaces. Pathetic. He'd seen humans more dangerous than this. Hell, he'd killed some of them. BLOOD was either a daycare center in disguise, or they were purposefully insulting the strength of everyone else present. Either would not have surprised him anymore.

Furthermore, took all of his self-control and then some to keep from striding over to that let-down of a Slayer and backhanding him right across the damn face. At SPARK, outside of the arena or any battles, you did not enter a room in such a cocky manner when your betters were present without facing severe... discipline. As it appeared, not only was BLOOD a daycare, it was a rotten one at that. Their filthy charges didn't even know basic manners. Several parts of his mind told Nirvana that it was just a cultural difference, while others egged on his irritation. In the end, one of the only things that stopped him was the fact that it was common knowledge that making any sort of physical contact with a Slayer was more unsanitary that wallowing in the blood and entrails of a thousand slaughtered pigs for a day, and Nirvana didn't have a handkerchief on him at the moment to clean his hand off afterwards. Damn. He should've brought one. Little known fact: outside of a fight, and the occasional hunt that got a bit too messy, demons were some of the most hygienic beings ever created.

When the disgusting creature began speaking, Nirvana payed less attention to the words as he did the voice itself. Subsequently, he was forced to hide his face by slouching forward and harshly biting his tongue in an attempt to hide how hard he was trying not to laugh. If he had started laughing, it would have looked rather childish of him. But how was he not supposed to find this funny? It sounded like a female! He'd been under the impression that there would only be two girls present, and there he was having ended being the only man to show! Not only was the "Champion" of the Slayers a young imp, it obviously couldn't even decide whether it was a boy or girl. Nirvana couldn't figure it out either, the creature was so confusing.

Rather than retort verbally and sink to the juvenile's level, he satiated the very slight offense he'd taken to the boy's (or hermaphroditical.... creature's) attempt at condescension with a mental comment of his own, swimming amongst his sea of other thoughts. And I, CHAMPION of Demons, am supposed to COOPERATE with prey, MORE prey, and a pretentious CHILD? And here I THOUGHT you, CREATURE, were to be a THREAT. With that he sat up straight again, a light smirk upon his face. If this boy (thing) was going to be an issue, he decided, he would deal with the Slayer worm later. Nirvana found it difficult to shake his disappointment, though. He supposed that he deserved it for not paying more attention to the information SPARK had provided him with earlier. He promised himself to actually look at the Slayer file next time, assuming there was to be a next time (which, of course, he knew there was not).

It was then that he remembered there was a human nearby. When he caught sight of her entering, Nirvana pursed his lips this time to kill off a snicker before it had even lived. She looked like she had gotten herself caught in some kind of really bad train accident, or maybe an explosion, even. He allowed himself to scoff instead. And here was the best the humans had to offer. It wasn't so much disappointing as it was a pain to look at. He'd never expected much from the poor humans to begin with, but this was almost to the point of ridiculousness. She didn't even look that appetizing, body-wise or soul-wise. She looked too scrawny to be anything meal- or even snack-worthy.

He frowned slightly as he berated himself for going down that road again, almost right after he'd told himself he wasn't going to eat anyone. He still fully intended not to satisfy his lying palate, or at least, the palate he assumed was lying to him. Nirvana was most certainly not hungry, and that was what he held himself to.

When he heard the human lass speak to the Slayer regarding its stunt with the door, Nirvana couldn't hold him his small snicker this time. "Impressive?" he managed to keep his voice at a tiny murmur by some miracle, and mostly to himself. "Not even." Over the top, maybe. Unnecessary, yes. Impressive? Well, to the human female, perhaps. But who couldn't kick down a damn door? He almost sighed as he felt a pang of pity for the human girl. It probably wasn't her fault she was impressed by the juvenile spectacle; she probably just didn't know any better. Humans were notoriously naïve. Nirvana supposed it was duly appropriate, though. After all, they obviously didn't have any concept themselves of what was proper and what was not. That was supported by their Champion's appearance. Where Nirvana came from, there was no way in hell (literally) that any self-respecting Champion would present themselves at a professional occasion in such a beyond-disheveled state. He was learning more and more with every passing moment, Nirvana decided. He'd already gained more evidence than he needed to prove that humans were little more than a glorified pity case.

The Slayer continued to stare at the empty spaces in the room, slowly turning its hooded head. It had resolved to completely ignore the others. They were of minor consequence—yes, the true objective of this Slayer lay elsewhere...

The Slayer's gaze passed over the Elf... then the human... and then the demon. Again, if the Slayer noticed them, it didn't register.

After a moment, the Slayer began tapping its bare foot on the table, growing restless. Or annoyed. Or both.

It hadn't entered the room wearing any sort of footwear.

No one seemed to find that interesting. Or if they did, they certainly didn't point it out to the Slayer.

One thing was for sure, though: this Slayer was riling itself up. Short chalky growls emanated from the back of its throat every now and then, focused on no one in particular, as the pace of its rhythmic foot tapping increased. The table began to creak in protest.

The Slayer simply scanned the walls of the room again and again. Whatever the object of its annoyance, it didn't seem to be all that patient about it.

Shae inwardly groaned. So these were the fine 'Champions' of the four agencies. A pathetic whelp of a Slayer. A Demon who, appeared at least, to be on the way to complete insanity. And a Human who reeked of her own spilt blood, dressed in rags. It was pitiful. The elf smirked, and chose to remain silent. She had nothing to say, and she could say nothing. Her lip curled into a grimace of disgust. These were the famed 'Champions'?

The elf felt a little disappointed. Was this all just some farce? The tension in the room couldn't be denied, but Shae found the entire situation bizarrely comical. Content to stand by the open window she had watched as the door was opened in a rather expressive way, and then how the frail human had been so bewildered by the situation. Really. It was very pathetic. Was she, Shae, the Champion of her Agency, the most mentally sound, and physically able here? Obviously. So...well, that implied that she would be the strongest, and most likely to win if it came to trial by combat between the four. So, logically, that would also imply that the Elves were the stronger race. The thought pleased her, and she smiled.

But the Slayer was growling quietly to itself now, and she came back to the moment realising that a few words had been exchanged. The restlessness of the Slayer creature marred her now pleasant mood, and she didn't even hide the scowl that she directed towards the creature. Straightening, she bared her own teeth defensively. She would not allow any violence here. Not until the mission was over. And then...maybe. But not now. The stench of the other beings was beginning to grow, despite the fresh air from the window. The sickly sweet scent of sweat and blood, of decay, and of Hell itself. It was sickening. Holding her weapons tighter, Shae waited to see how things would escalate.

Suddenly hearing a snicker, Skylar opened her eyes to glance in its direction. Targeting the source, Nirvana, her face expressed a certain befuddlement. She was not aware that her words were amusing. After he spoke, she came to realize his misunderstanding, and understand his resulting snicker. Shaking her head slightly, her smirk reappearing, she set the record straight. “Don’t misunderstand. Anyone could knock a door off its hinges—hit the structural weak point and you’re golden. I was actually referring to his aerodynamics,” her smirk faded as she grew tired of so much socialization. People were not really her thing. They either disappointed you, or were simply annoying. There were few exceptions.

She took in the tense room and all the people in it. After a moment, she came to a conclusion. I take it I’m the only one here who actually researched and memorized files on you all, then? It was more a rhetorical question to herself, for she was certain neither the demon nor the slayer did any such thing. The elf, she had no idea. Shae had kept mostly to herself, it seemed, remaining the biggest mystery of the group. However, it was obvious that the elf certainly did not hold the others in high regard. Really, no one here did. Was she the only one with sense around here? The only one not blinded by ego? It was as though her agency had coerced her into joining a team of children. They did not possess the wisdom she had acquired.

Mentally, she slapped herself. That most recent train of thought was the definition of egotism, which in turn led her to be the model of hypocrisy. It was fully possible they regarded their new teammates with ample caution and respect; they simply chose not to show it. Bah. Yeah, right. She knew better than to believe anything optimistic. “We are all deemed the best of our kind for a reason. Don’t be so quick to write the others in this room off, as I can see you have, for the ones believed to be no threat can screw you over more than anyone,” she advised, keeping her voice gentle and quiet. So as to lessen the risk of a anyone taking offense at her statement.

Resting once again against the wall, she listened to the soft taps coming from the slayer. He produced low growls and irritation as his rhythm increased. God, what was his problem? She didn’t know, but it seemed as though something would happen. Something. If only she knew the details. An inner battle soon took place in her mind. Should she leave now to fix herself up, thus escaping whatever may ensue, or stay and observe. That was the question…

OOC: Be sure to check the OOC thread

*buzz**buzz*

Everyone looked at the Slayer.

*buzz**buzz*

Silence.

*buzz**buzz*

The Slayer sighed, reaching inside of its overcoat and pulling out a phone. It handled the device with such delicacy and care that you might mistake it for a newborn.

*buzz**buzz*

Slowly. Carefully. The Slayer tapped the phone's screen a few times before putting the device inside of its hood, presumably up to its ear. The Slayer continued tapping its foot to some unknown melody.

The room returned to deathly silence for a moment, until the Slayer spoke.

"Yes, director." The Slayer sounded bored.

...

"Yes."

For a few moments, the Slayer said nothing, only listening to the voice on the other side of the line. Moment after moment of complete silence save for the rhythmic foot tapping.

The Slayer paused mid-tap.

"WHAT?!" The Slayer's shout echoed throughout the room, a beastly grimace upon its face. It took its leg off of the table and stood, moving to the far side of the room. "Are you sure? All of them were taken out?"

The Slayer dropped its hand to its side, pressing the face of the phone against its hip. It was turning its head side to side, as if carefully scanning the walls for... something, all the while growing increasingly agitated.

The phone buzzed in its hand again. The Slayer returned the device to its ear, turning towards the other occupants in the room. They each gave the cloaked figure a different look, but, again, it was as if they didn't even exist to the Slayer.

"I'm not sure, director. Probably." The Slayer's sneer returned with a vengeance. "What are my orders?"

The response was curt and, with a soft tap, the call was ended. The Slayer dipped its hand inside its overcoat, returning the device from whence it came.

The tension in the room was so palpable that you could butter your bread with it.

The Slayer slowly reached a hand out towards the others...

...

and then up, to its hood, pushing it back and off entirely.

There stood the Slayer, bathing in the bright sunlight coming in from the door, facing the other three. The overturned hood had exposed a delicate face of peach-ivory complexion and soft pleasant curves. Long lustrous hair fell from behind the displaced cowl in a furry of red, reaching down past her shoulders. Her lips were curled into a contemptuous smirk.

Her eyes were hidden behind a sparkling silver and black Slayer's mask that partially covered the upper half of her face.

"Seems I don't need to keep up this pitiful charade any longer," she spat. "You are all fucking idiots anyway."

Her head tilted slightly as she locked on to the demon sitting directly across from where she stood.

There was an audible gasp from the human, who seemed surprised at what she saw before her eyes. Surprised at the female Slayer before her.

The Slayer barked in response, smile widening dangerously. The sound was definitely way too rough to be a chortle. "Am I not what you expected, trash?"

She did not acknowledge the human as she spoke. Her head didn't even move. She stared directly at the demon in front of her. Said demon, seemingly unfazed by the Slayer's grand reveal, returned the look with equal animosity.

"Frankly, you lesser beings disgust me." The Slayer's voice was steadily gaining base, becoming deeper and more orotund as she spoke. "All of you. But you..." She obviously spoke in reference to the demon in front of her. The Slayer leaned forward slightly, placing her weight on her front foot. The sound of splintering ceramic filled the room as the floor beneath her began to fracture, webs of cracks reaching out in every which direction. She seemed to have grown bigger as well—her physique morphing and shifting with her voice. She was arguably several inches taller than she was a few moments ago.

The demon visibly tensed. Everyone did.

The Slayer's eyes went wide, like a rabid animal.

"You should just act like food and die."

What happened next occurred in a single moment.

In one instance, the Slayer was leaning forward. In the next, she had left the ground, sailing through the air toward the demon, her chest in and leg cocked back, mid-swing, arms raised and body twisted for maximum momentum. Her shin was aligned with the demon's face. Her overcoat followed her through the air, fluttering ever so elegantly, like some sort of twisted dance routine.

Contact was explosive. Pieces of wall and plumes of smoke filled the room. It took a few seconds for the cloud of debris to disperse.

Sunlight now bathed the room's occupants. The dirt road leading in to the building could be seen clearly, as if they were standing outside.

The entire eastern wall of the complex was missing. Completely annihilated.

Pieces of brick and mortar could be seen strewn about the road outside. There was the faint ping ping ping of pelted metal as disparate fragments of brick fell back down from the sky, colliding with the overturned truck cabin in the distance.

The Slayer elegantly completed her flying roundhouse, sensually placing her foot down in front of the other and striking a pose.

"That was a nice move, food," the Slayer muttered, almost talking to herself. The demon had deftly avoided her monstrous kick. "Then again, I was holding back. Don't get cocky, worm."

The demon said something in response. Whatever it was that he said, the Slayer, still busy admiring her handiwork, recoiled, as if slapped.

She slowly turned her head toward the demon, who sat in a tight professional crouch several feet away, next to the others.

If possible, the Slayer seemed to be gaining even more muscle. Her face somewhat bulged and her teeth sagged ever so slightly from her mouth, her biceps, triceps, and various other muscles pumping sporadically.

She turned the rest of her body from the missing wall to fully face the others.

For a moment, nobody moved.

And then the Slayer grinned, tilting her head slightly to the side. A faint jangle of metal against metal emanated from her overcoat, which she wore now like a cape, sleeves dangling lifelessly at her sides, hands folded across her chest, exposing strained military fatigues underneath.

She relaxed her arms, bowing her head and slowly letting out a sigh.

"YOU SHOULD SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!" She roared, head shaking viciously, spittle flying from her mouth. She crouched, preparing to attack a second time. "YOU'RE JUST THE FUCKING PREY!!!"

A small buzzing caught Nirvana's attention, rather than the words of the human, and caused him to raise his head. The Slayer boy/girl/thing procured a cell phone and began a conversation with whoever was on the other end. Nirvana narrowed his eyes and raised a brow in unintentional curiosity. It wasn't that he was suddenly particularly interested in the Slayer's activities as he was with its device. Nirvana's inner child, something he'd thought he'd slaughtered years ago, began to come rise from its mental crypt to see. It was just that, he was so fascinated by the tiny electronic device; he almost never came in contact with things such as that, as they were never something SPARK's higher-ups allowed into their facilities and into the hands of their charges. Not even their Champion. The whole thing was beyond unfair. For a fraction of a heartbeat, he was tempted to approach the creature when its conversation had come to an end, and get a closer look at the thing. Maybe even to hold it for a second. The thought vanished almost as quickly as it had come to him, and he unconsciously scowled. What a ridiculous idea. He was not a child anymore. He was not going to associate with a Slayer for any reason, and certainly not to inspect some lavish electronic! Such things were asinine.

When the Slayer began to flip its shit in a most unseemly manner, Nirvana found his attention caught by the creature again. There was something agitating it, apparently, about something the other person said. Probably some kind of bad news. Either way, it began to look very distraught. As he watched the thing carry out the remainder of its exchange, the demon idly shifted his sickle from hand to hand, as he was wont to doing when his attention was elsewhere, particularly somewhere intriguing.

Little did he know, Nirvana was about to behold more "intrigue" than he'd bargained for.

Before he knew it, the call had been brought to closure, and the Slayer being rose from its seat. Nirvana watched with unintentional interest as it did so. He continued to watch as the creature seized the top of its hood, and yanked it right down, exposing what it hid for all to see. And, frankly, Nirvana couldn't say he was surprised.

Lo and behold, the "creature" was, in fact, a woman.

Nirvana couldn't help but smirk. However, his smirk was tainted by a hint of scrutiny and inquisition. Parts of him screamed with victory, I FUCKING KNEW IT, while others caressed the edges of his mind, coating his consciousness with a feeling of unease. They told him something was not right here, and he was inclined to believe them.

Beneath the shield of its half-mask, Nirvana was pretty sure the Slayer wore an expression in its- her -eyes that matched the one alight on its- her -lips: one of unbridled distaste and superiority. Nirvana blinked once, as if to convey what interest he had left through one nonverbal expression. This whole revelation was turning out to be something of a let-down, much like everything else about the Slayer-creature.

She spoke, and Nirvana clenched his razor-sharp teeth and tightened his grip on his weapon at her insult. Boy or girl, the being's words were saturated in venom. Something really was not right about this whole situation. Red flags flew up everywhere in the demon's hectic mind. His shadow began to quiver beside him, as if it had a life of its own and was also feeling unsettled by this development. Though nothing of a surprise to him, it was most certainly a cause for him to be on red alert, so to speak.

When he found her eyes meeting with his, their glares visibly clashed with one another, though both were open channels of the same general emotion. The Slayer spoke again, though Nirvana's ears were deaf to her words for the flurry of thoughts whipping about his mind. As she began to morph in body tone and stature, Nirvana felt himself tense. Again, his thoughts were mixed; some were blank, others merely question marks, and the most urgent ones of all screamed at him to not get too comfortable in that chair, because he was going to be moving pretty damn soon.

And, as it so happened, those thoughts were absolutely correct, because next thing the demon knew, the Slayer was flying through the air towards him.

In less than a heartbeat, he had his feet planted on the chair, and planned to jump right over the Slayer as she attacked. But just after that, he remembered that he was a shadow, and he was going to fucking act like it.

He allowed himself to dissipate, an extremely short process, but if he'd waited just a hair longer, he was sure he would have been demolished along with the wall behind him. The shadowy tendrils snaked all around and above the she-creature, and Nirvana converged in the air just above the table, landing on it in what looked like a casual crouch. He hadn't meant to land that way; it just sort of happened.

The Slayer spoke again, and as she did so, the demon changed to a position where he was down on one knee, sickle at the ready. He had found that, over the years, though not conventional, this was a comfortable ready stance for him. It had grown almost instinctual by then.

As the Slayer turned around, Nirvana found himself almost unconsciously beginning to summon his shadow to form. It seemed to rise right off of the table next to him, and slowly gained a three-dimensional, solid form. In a heartbeat, his most loyal of allies stood beside him, shadow-sickle also at the ready. His mind's eye opened, and Nirvana found himself seeing from two different points of view: his own, and his puppet's. He felt control of a new body take hold in a certain part of his brain, and the demon decided that then was the time to speak to the Slayer.

Despite the fact that he had the intention of speaking to her, the words that came out of his mouth were words he had not banked on speaking. "You're on your BLOODY, AREN'T you, FILTHY lass?" With that, he allowed himself a barely-audible chuckle.

As the creature screamed at him and prepared itself to attack, Nirvana decided to proceed with a bit more caution. When a part of his brain told him that he was in danger, he tended to heed it. He was not stupid. But he was in the mood for some clarity.

"TELL me something, SLAYER," he began, tensing up both him and his doppelgänger at the same time. "I WAS under the IMPRESSION THAT I would NOT be the only MALE present. Now either YOU can change your FILTHY CAVERN into a WORM or you're NOT EXACTLY what I was expecting. So RIDDLE ME THIS, Beautiful: WHERE IS your Champion?"

Huh?!

The Slayer came out of her crouch, nearly tripping over herself at the demon's words. She took a forced step forward, keeping her balance.

"Champion..." She muttered, inflecting her tone as if pondering the question. Several emotions played across her face in quick succession. First consternation. Then incredulity. Then anguish. Then outrage.

She clenched her teeth.

Seething blistering outrage.

"Champion?!"

Her face went eerily calm. She relaxed her fists, sighing slowly, head slightly bowed.

"AHHHHH!!!" She shrieked, tugging at fistfuls of her own hair and stamping her feet. Malice radiated from her in waves. The wrathful Slayer turned to the thing nearest her—fortunately the table and not a person—and like a mad god brought her fists down upon it, smashing the poor mass to smithereens.

Pieces of table joined the other debris that lay scattered around the room, a grim testament to her fury.

That release of anger looked like it did her some good. She stood up straight, calm and dignified, a genuine smile touching her lips. There seemed to be what looked like two demons instead of one standing in front of her. This genuinely confused the Slayer, who decided to ignore the shadowy copy altogether.

"What are you saying, pig food?" She scoffed. "Is my power not enough for you?" Her lips parted slightly. "Or does my beauty simply blind you? I am obviously the Champion. The greatest of all Slayers!" She pointed at her face with both hands, leaning forward at the waist. "Me!" She looked up suddenly, as if something important had come to mind. "Ah. And I'm going to prove it."

The Slayer took several steps backwards so that all three champions were in view. The champion of the Humans. The champion of the Elves. The champion of the Demons.

She reached inside of her overcoat, removing and unfurling the contents of a black envelope. She cleared her throat, proceeding to read from the letter.

"By decree of holy Lithium and MAVD, this heinous union is deemed invalid. Your inferred association with the glorious Slayer organization BLOOD is hereby terminated." She brought her free hand up to the collar of her overcoat as she spoke, grasping a metal handle that protruded from within. "You will each be summarily executed and your ravaged bodies sent back to your res- res-..." She was having trouble pronouncing the word. "Respective organizations..." She paused, squinting at the contents of the letter. "Uh... blah blah blah." She balled it up, shoving it hastily back into her overcoat. She looked up at the others, grinning like a child expecting praise for a job well done. "Almost forgot I was ordered to read that aloud."

At that, she struck a pose, hand on her hip. She looked each champion in turn, meeting their eyes with her own.

"This world of filth and waste is ruled by the might and glory of the Slayers," she proclaimed arrogantly, as if the information were as common as the sky is blue. Concurrently, she pulled at the handle on her collar, slowly drawing it up and outwards. The handle was attached to a string that ran back through the Slayer's overcoat. "Nix threatens this world. Therefore, Nix is a Slayer problem."

Suddenly, the room was filled with a clamorous symphony of shifting and sliding metal. The Slayer's overcoat rippled, as if it were alive.

"It will be handled by Slayers. Alone."

With a final ominous click, the overcoat seemed to stabilize, comfortable in its new form. It looked less like a coat now and more like a tightly woven protective cocoon. The previously free and flowing fabric on her back and shoulders had become rigid, like small steel plates, jutting out in various contiguous directions. From the back, one could mistake her for some sort of metallic monster.

She isn't metallic.

"Get it now, worms?" The Slayer hissed. "We, the gods of this world, refuse to work with the likes of you. And we won't allow you to get in our way." Her smile morphed into a sneer. She really enjoyed sneering at people. "So I've been sent here to kill you."

She pointed to the trio, turning up her hand and making a come hither motion with her outstretched finger.

"Come, champions of dirt and shit. I wonder how you so-called 'best' will fair against a real champion." She released the handle, which zipped back along the string to the Slayer's collar. Her muscles rippled under her skin, resuming their sporadic pumping.

"Here, let's make this more interesting." The Slayer opened her arms, exposing her unarmored torso—normally a heartfelt and welcoming gesture. Here, however, it only served as a crude taunt. "Take your shot." She shook her hips sensually as she teased. It was supposed to be an inviting but ended up looking vulgar. "Or is dodging and gawking all you 'champions' can do?"

A soft buzz caught her attention. Skylar took a moment to glance at the source, the slayer’s phone, before returning to her original position. She disregarded the surrounding room and all within it as the slayer took her call. There was immense tension in the room, growing as the feminine voice became agitated.

Her attention was pulled back once again as a certain word stood out among the others. Charade. Sitting up in her chair, she caught sight of the—female—slayer. A soft gasp left her lips. How could she not have put two and two together? Red hair. She had noticed the detail when she walked in. Gabriel had black hair. It was a classic case of having all the intel, just failing to take a good look at it. Of course, this was understandable—she had almost died today dealing with a fucking bomb. To save non-humans, no less. Considering that fact, and the reality she should’ve already blacked out by now, it was acceptable she didn’t put two and two together. Her face darkened, twisting into a grim expression.

The she-devil spoke to her, but she did not speak back. She wasn’t stupid. It wasn’t worth the wasted breath. The slayer had already moved on. In moments, there was no longer a wall behind her. What was that about insignificant things screwing you over? God… Now standing on the opposite side of the building, feeling even more dizzy and unseeing, she watched the situation play out without uttering a sound. Inwardly, though, she did find Nirvana’s comments vaguely amusing. It wasn’t the time for such a thought to be created, but the mind is an untamable thing. She decided to like the demon, in her black or white way.

The air around her flowed excitedly as the situation continued, Foxy—as Skylar nicknamed her—became very pissed and decimated the table. The girl was powerful, but cumbersome. Too easily angered. Most likely unable to control herself when angry. Overall balance and form is good, but it’s possible she could make mistakes in her passion. Suddenly—

—handled by slayers. Alone.

Skylar continued to play the statue, observing deftly anything and everything. So BLOOD had betrayed her agency, had they? Nothing pissed her off more than betrayal. Nothing. Her anger radiated from her bloody frame quite clearly as she glared fervently at Foxy. The ostentatious bastard…

Quite suddenly, a flood of video clips blinded her vision. Visibly, her muscles relaxed from their tense state.

Walking by a door, she paused as she heard unfamiliar voices. “Isn’t that a bit harsh, though?”
“No. It’s getting a mind of its own, trying to figure out an origin. It needs to be disposed of.”
“Still, isn’t it a waste to just kill it?”
“Better than it going rogue.”
“What’s he going to do?”
“Something vague. Some accident.”
“Why not just refurbish it, like project negative?”
“That project was a disaster from the start. It doesn’t matter how you revise it—there will always be complications. We don’t need more liabilities.”
“Anything stolen is a liability. We’ve got plenty of risks.”
“Too many. Will wants to drop them all.”
“He couldn’t possibly drop them all, after all the trouble we went through.”
“He wants to. Four is too many.”
“There’s three.”
“Four. One already rebelled, apparently. Something we were kept in the dark on… It’s a huge problem.”
“Details?”
“Classified to all but him. You know how he likes to cover his ass.”
“Don’t we all… Surely he had a contingency, though?”
“Of course. It failed.”
“No… It can’t—you’re joking?”





*Beep*
“Yes?”
“Skylar?” The voice sounded strained, breathless.
“What?”
“Thank god. You need to resign and get the fuck out of here. Just go.”
Glass breaking. “We’ve had this conversation befo—”
“—I know! But you need to listen to me this time, for your own go—“
“—No.”
A door slamming. “Yes.”
“Why are you so worried? You’ve been pestering me ever since the accident.”
“It doesn’t matter! You just… you need to go.” Humming…no, purring.
“I have no reason to.” She turned on the TV, listening to the action thriller absently.
“Yes, you do. Look, the truth is…”
“What, Xavier?”
Static. A soft click in the distance… “You’re too weak, okay? You’re… you’re a disgrace to this agency. And with this new mission, you aren’t fit to represent our race.”
She said nothing.
“… You will resign and let someone else take your position. Understand?”
A gunshot. “You’ve spoken out of turn, 50281. Go fuck yourself, because I’m not leaving.”
Complete silence.
“If you’re done here, I’m hanging up.”
“Don’t o—“
Silence. Then, a merciless snap. A soft thud, static. “—ubborn bitch.”
A cat meowed, and she hung up

Back to reality. Foxy stood, wiggling her hips in a vulgar manner, arms spread apart. What the hell did she miss? Was Foxy suddenly a call girl? Unconsciously, she straightened to her full height, looking at Foxy ludicrously. The memory of the phone call bothered her. It happened not too long ago. If she had listened to him, she wouldn’t have gotten caught in the explosion. As the room continued to spin around her, the true toll the explosives had taken on her was definitely starting to show. She was paling considerably, and obviously spacing out. Her fingers shook ever so slightly as blood still flowed damply from her wounds. She was pushing it.

Damn, if she had listened to Xavier, she wouldn’t be here with red-head. If only she wasn’t brutally wounded. She might be able to do something—anything, really… Oh, the slayer. She tensed once again. However, mere moments later, she relaxed. If she was dead… she was dead. Still, this was a crappy way to be disposed of.

Rapidly, she experienced more flashbacks.

Holy fuck.

For a few moments, her face was the definition of shock. It passed, though. How could she have been so easily played? How? She didn’t understand the whole picture, nor would she ever fully understand the importance of that moment, that moment she had dismissed so thoughtlessly. Heaving a sigh, she attempted to focus. Here, now, she was about to die. Perhaps. It was time to take the bullets as they fired. She didn’t much care what the others thought of her. It was every man for himself; no one here would look out for the half-dead human. It was up to her to keep herself alive, and she intended to do it. Fighting in her condition would be difficult, but she was alone. It is what it is.

Honestly, she wasn’t even sure if a bullet would be effective against a slayer, despite her astonishing speed. She had considered the obvious thought of putting a bullet through each eyeball, but the mask. She didn’t know the strength of the metal. It was her last resort contingency plan, though.

Examining the woman’s muscles, she surmised a bullet wouldn’t go in deep enough to make a significant difference. She needed some soft tissue, or something to strike pressure points with a greater force. Two fingers wasn’t going to cut it with this behemoth. Ah, well. First things first was to get her attention and piss her off, to test the theory of Foxy’s anger management flaw. It was time to put her dodging abilities to the test.

Her voice was quiet, soft, and very weak. But, it held surprising authority. The kind of authority one would hear from one of the agency leaders. She beat the others to whatever words they held with a certain fearlessness. She really had nothing important to lose. The smile on her face was a mix of complete confidence and fatigue. “Well, dear. I don’t much feel like playing with you for very long—I have a mission to get underway. I’d rather exchange a quick bet with you. Surely, a TRUE champion such as yourself can handle a wounded human, yes? My challenge to you: 3 minutes. In this span of time, I bet I can dodge your attacks, thus escaping annihilation. I also bet that you, Foxy, couldn’t possibly have the skill to dodge my touch—as I do yours. And, I’ll keep my eyes closed the entire time, to make it even more interesting. What do you think? Is my challenge accepted, or are you too cumbersome to dance with CIA’s top agent?”

She smiled sweetly. “Of course, there would be wages involved. I win—everyone here lives, and you disappear, never to return again. I lose, and I forfeit my life to whatever purpose you deem fit, and I’ll hack the mainframe of CIA’s dictator. You could finally identify him, capture him, and deliver him to Elma. I’m sure that would gain you favor over a certain individual,” funny enough, she wasn’t bluffing here, “Pretty amazing deal. I don’t even know who ‘William’ really is, or what hole he’s hiding in.” It was true, too. The other agencies had been trying to off the bastard for years, but all they got was fakes. “Assuming my colleagues don’t have anything to add… Do you accept?”

Shae heard the buzzing of the phone, and she looked at its owner with unhidden disbelief. Seriously? Now? Was this really the time to take social calls? She sighed and shook her head, looking aside. This was getting them nowhere. Of course, that was only the more cynical part of her talking, but she couldn’t help it. This was all becoming more and more ridiculous. Technology like this was rare among others of her kind. It wasn’t that they had thought they were useless…But it seemed futile to use the toys that the race of Man had created for their own petty uses. Besides, the Elves had their own ways of communicating.

She looked back up at the creature as its tone changed from semi-casual to sharp, and she frowned. Something had evidently gone wrong. Was it something to do with the mission? Shae found herself straightening and following the Slayer’s words carefully.

“Are you sure? All of them?”

All of what? Shae found herself growing tense again. Drawing her whip from its place at her side, she ran the leather comfortingly through her hands and waited for the call to end, deciding that they had better soon start talking about where they’d go…what they’d do. They did have a mission after all. And if the tone of the Slayers voice was right, something would have to be done soon.

Then, abruptly, the call was over, and the phone was put away.

And as the Slayer removed its – her – hood, Shae knew that something wasn’t right. Female. The Slayer was Female, and that was when she knew that something had gone wrong. In that moment of realization, Shae couldn’t hear the words of the creature as she tried to figure out what was going on. Some sort of miscommunication? Had they been lied to? Was this a trick of Nix’s? Damn those fools, someone should have told her. Damn them all.

Shae looked up then, just as the Demon avoided a ferocious kick, and then dissipated. She was familiar with the agility of the Demons, and a wry smile lifted her lips. At least they were good for something. Working on instinct, Shae then turned.
Outside, the sun rode the sky like a shining lighthouse in the midst of a foggy ocean. Shae looked up at it, searching for it as a desperate man searches for food, and then locked onto it with her gaze. It expanded and filled her vision until everything she saw was golden and imbued with the bright haze of the Sun. It was her, filling her, completing her, so that she breathed sunlight, and exhaled the same brightness. It burned in her skin, setting her blood alight, and searing the hair on her head. It made her hair stand on end, it made her shiver with pleasure, and then she turned back to the Champions.

The suns Blessing lingered on her skin, turning her eyes a bright gold as she turned back to the action. Time had passed. She wasn’t sure how much, but now the Slayer had issued her challenge, and the Human Champion had stepped forwards. With the Sun blazing in her eyes, she knew that she would not be able to compete with the Slayer. Instead, the blessing faded just as the Human female spoke her challenge, becoming a sheen on the humans skin that would reflect most magical attacks, subtle enough that the Slayer may not actually notice it.

As the Blessing faded, Shae slowly came back to herself, and her mind caught up with all that had occurred. So it was Human against Slayer, in a one on one fight. This irked her. She craved to walk up and show the Slayer where it really belonged, but the challenge terms had been laid down. Gathering her whip in her hand, Shae bared her teeth, prepared to attack with the Human. She had to admire her bravery, and found herself nodding. That was something that she could appreciate, so maybe they wouldn’t get on so badly…But then the inbred revulsion to humans returned and she frowned at the contrasting thoughts.
Shae realized what she would do. The Slayer and the Human would fight, but the Human would not be allowed to lose. If the Human, no, her name was Skylar, lost, so too was the mission, and so was Elfkind, and Nix would win. She waited to watch this dodging match, a small smirk forming on her lips at the idea, as she prepared herself to intervene. In the last few minutes, Shae had barely moved, except to and from the window. She now stood, still, and relaxed, not at all attracting any attention.

Nirvana tilted his head to the side in a bit of confused curiosity as the she-creature began to flip her shit, blinking every so often, as if to make sure that her tantrum was not, in fact, a trick played upon him by his mind. He ripped himself from his stupor in enough time to slip from on top of the table, bringing his copy with him, as the crazed woman (he was sure now it was a woman, at least) completely lost it and utterly demolished the table, reducing it to nothing more than bits and pieces of the furnishing it once was. He refrained from leaning against the wall, preferring to remain on the alert and appear like it too.

When the madwoman Slayer had finished decimating the table, she seemed to calm down, regain her composure. This made her look a bit (stress on a bit) more feminine, although Nirvana was pretty much convinced at that point that even some of the females back at SPARK had more womanly characteristics to them than this... creature. Which was, actually, saying something. But, then again, he supposed that acting with appropriate decorum was damn near last on this thing's list of priorities.

Question marks began popping up in the flurry of Nirvana's thoughts when the Slayer said that she was, supposedly, the Champion. Was this some kind of mistake? Or joke, even? Was BLOOD fucking with them? He raised a brow in confusion. This was wrong. Why was she lying like this? Where was the real Champion, and why the hell was he not where he needed to be? Maybe he had an accident and they needed a quick replacement? No... Nirvana was positive that even the filthy Slayer organization wasn't stupid enough to replace their one and only Champion with this ridiculously volatile woman. When she said she would prove this, the Demon skeptically eyed this being that had tried to kill him about a minute beforehand. He really, really doubted with all of his mind and soul that she most certainly was not the Champion, and there was damn near nothing that this woman could produce to make him believe otherwise.

But when she started reading, Nirvana, despite himself, tried to pay as close attention as possible through the ever-present haze of his mind's eye and his rapid thinking. When he heard the word "executed", his reaction was immediate and quite vehement. He narrowed his darkened eyes and released a small sound that was half snarl, half hiss. He felt a very sudden rush of an extreme, potent rage. His vision tinged black around the edges, and his shadow flared up, then vanished altogether for a mere second before returning to its solid doppelganger form. Nirvana’s heated fury came and left within a few moments, and once his vision cleared, he came back to his senses in time to hear the last of what the abomination had to say. She crooked her finger at them, beckoning them to action, and, for the most part, Nirvana was very, very tempted to do so. He wanted to rip this wench limb from limb, and laugh with unbridled glee as her filthy Slayer blood painted the room.

It was a rather tiny voice of reason that stopped him from rushing in like a maniac. It soothed his hellish fires blazing in his chest, reducing them to smoldering embers. The woman was out of line, begging to be slaughtered on the spot for all her audacity and gall. But still, the tiny choruses of logical voices in his mind grew, and, in the end, he was persuaded to restrain himself. Letting the she-beast strike his nerves was the last thing he needed to do. So, he bit his lip, not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to keep him grounded, mentally.

The demon’s eyes slid over to the human when she spoke in that soft, sweetness-laced voice of hers. Her challenge made his eyes widen a fraction. Was this female off her rocker as well? Suicidal? There were other ways to go, ways less painful. But maybe... maybe she was actually onto something. Maybe he actually had to give the human some credit; she had some nerve. But, there was a fine line between courage and outright lunacy, a very thin line indeed. Regardless, he supposed that there was a chance (a very small one, though) that she might have known what she was talking about. He had to admit, too: he liked the way she delivered her challenge. Quite confident, even with such high stakes. He liked that.

Nirvana considered the odds: Of course, any sensible person would have to bet that the human would lose. And, initially, that's what he had thought. He had, naturally, decided that the human would not be able to hold a candle to the psychopath she had challenged. But a small part of him wanted to believe that she could win, mainly for the purpose of his own entertainment. Vaguely, Nirvana imagined the kick his associates would get from this story if he told them that he'd watched a human best a Slayer. Another part of him wanted badly, oh so badly, to fight the she-beast himself. He had been insulted by BLOOD's underestimation of the other Champions' abilities (most importantly, his own, of course). Someone was going to pay dearly for assuming he could be defeated so easily, and by a wench who clearly couldn't tell her ass from her elbow, no less. Nirvana was not about to stand for that. In a way, just as he'd thought it would be interesting to watch beforehand, the last thing he wanted was for the human to win. That would mean that he was, technically, defended by a human. A lowly human. His natural Prey. The notion was ridiculous, embarrassing even. He would feel much better, he decided, if he at least took part in the slaughter the creature. But, at the same time, he wanted to watch this fight... Becoming confused and conflicted in record time, his thoughts continuing to fly about in his mind, he began to lose focus on maintaining his doppelganger. It would flicker, glitch, die out, then suddenly flare up again, like a spasmodic flame.

"Anything to add, anything to add..." he murmured, repeating the human's words. "I THINK..." he trailed off the beginning of his words, pointing at the human with the hand that did not hold his sickle. "I think YOU, HUMAN, ARE out of your MIND. HOWEVER, I think that THIS SHE-BEAST-" he jabbed his sickle in the direction of said woman. "NEEDS TO DIE A PAINFUL DEATH. I... I don't know what to think..." he muttered as he trailed off again. Then, he threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. "FUCK THIS! Very well. THIS SHOULD BE worth watching..." Nirvana tilted his head to the side and backed up a bit to get a slightly better view of the two females that would be fighting. However, he was tensed up and almost shaking with anticipation, his doppelganger constantly flickering into and out of its form. He was prepared to jump right into this fight, the moment he deemed appropriate. Even though, where he came from, interrupting a duel was something that was just not done. This was different, he decided. So much hung in the balance, and he very much wanted to do what he could to make things fall in his favor.

OOC: Be sure to check the OOC thread

The Slayer frowned at the human's challenge, relaxing her hands at her sides and bowing her head slightly.

She took a deep breath and sighed slowly, shrugging her shoulders a few times to put the rigid overcoat protecting her back in a more comfortable position. It seemed really heavy.

The Slayer seemed oddly unruffled—even serene, but she hadn't looked at the human yet. Hadn't even acknowledged the challenge.

With pursed lips, she knelt down on one knee, picking up a large splinter of wood—a piece of the demolished table. She played with it in her hands for a few moments before standing, using it to pick at the gunk under her nails.

"Elma," she muttered. "Alera Elma. That bitch who thinks she's queen of the Slayers." For the first time since walking into the building, she gave the human her complete and undivided attention. "Fuck her," she said plainly, deliberately drawing out the syllables. "Fuck. Her." She paused before continuing, chewing on her lower lip, mulling over the remainder of the human's words. "But the leader of another agency, huh?" She touched her mouth with her index finger, looking down and off to her left. "Holy Lithium would be so pleased," she almost whispered to herself. "Plus I could just kill the rest of the trash and take her back to Meso..." She suddenly looked right. "But what if she's lying?!" She almost hissed, but stopped short. A smile tugged at the edges of her mouth. She looked back to her left. "I've never tasted human before, have I? I wonder if it works the same way..."

The Slayer returned her gaze to the human, staring into her eyes. There she saw confidence. There she saw intellect. But she also saw uncertainty. Fear. She could smell it. Being underestimated not by food or Elf, but a lowly human?! Hah!

This was going to be easy.

The Slayer sneered. "I do love bets."

Without warning or delay, the Slayer reached back with her arm and chucked the table fragment at her opponent like a spear, all in one fluid motion. With a roar, she surged forward like a raging tsunami, faster than first expected, fist cocked, waist twisted, aiming to smash this human into the next century.

She seemed to have missed the part on how a dead person can't hack a mainframe.

An odd feeling seemed to come over Skylar, an almost indescribable feeling. It was a warm feeling, settling on her skin, unlike anything she had felt before. There wasn’t much she actually remembered of her past, but she knew the only feeling she ever remembered was numbness and pain. It was…almost unnatural to feel anything else. Nonetheless, Skylar put the thought aside. There was a more important observation to be made. Who did it? Obviously not Foxy. Through process of elimination, she figured it must’ve been Shae’s doing. She couldn’t help but smile ever so slightly at that fact. No matter what reason the elf might’ve had, however selfish it could possibly be, she helped a human. That meant, for once in her life, she wasn’t completely alone. Huh.

Then, Nirvana spoke. He was obviously having conflicted emotions on this whole thing. She smiled a little more as he sorted through his mind. Out of my mind, huh? Seems like I’ve heard that before… Thinking about it, and then the rest of his words, she looked down. A painful death? Honestly, she didn’t wish death on anyone. Though, Foxy certainly deserved it. A small sigh escaped her lips. If it came to that, she decided, the others could do as they pleased… but she would wash her hands on the matter. As Nirvana finally sorted himself out, stepping back to observe, she gave a slight nod. It was a good compromise.

The sound of metal shifting redirected her attention back to Foxy, who was muttering something about Elma and fuck her. Tilting her head slightly, she observed the slayer continued talking to herself. Upon hearing the slayer speak of eating her, Skylar’s face gained a slightly disgusted look. She was one of those people that wouldn’t eat anything resembling human flesh. Yet, here she was, standing in a room with those who seemed to enjoy the semi-cannibalism. Sure, they were not humans, but…close enough.

Foxy took a moment to meet her gaze, undoubtedly receiving a confident glare in return. Though she was confident, she wasn’t haughty, and she wasn’t without fear. It was very clear, now, this woman had every intention to eat her. There would be no second chance with this. One wrong move, and the penalty is death. It’s a good thing she wasn’t afraid of death… no, she was afraid of suffering without death. That’s what always seemed to happen to her. With one last glimpse of the slayer’s sneer, she closed her eyes and released a breath. Moments later, she felt the air split.

So it had begun.

If the woman had sought to surprise her, it didn’t work. By throwing the small projectile, it actually gave her a moment of warning. The protesting floor and heavy vibrations told her the woman was faster than expected, but she was no cheetah with her size. Skylar was average in size and speed, but her footwork was unmatched in her agency. It was like a seal dodging a great white. Surely, the shark was more powerful, but that means nothing if the seal cannot be caught. It was exactly like that. Shifting her weight left, she felt the shard of wood zip through her hair, an inch or two over. One. Two. Three steps forward. She thought it was odd how the creature roared when attacking. The only way to beat Skylar was to either decimate her physically in speed and prediction, or remain completely silent with slow movements. Clearly, this woman would do neither. It seemed too flamboyant, roaring like that.

The woman was directly in front of her now. A great wave of air rushed forward, indicating a poised fist coming towards her. At the last moment, so as to taunt her opponent, she turned a full 360 degrees—much like a skilled quarterback—missing the blow by a matter of inches. She placed her feet carefully around the slayer so as to end up behind her.

Once the split second evasion was successfully executed, she jumped back a few yards, keeping on her toes. It was interesting, in a way. She was hopping up and down softly in place, keeping on her toes, seeming like a nonchalant child at play. Amusingly, she had learned it from watching tennis. The split step. It was amazing how much one could learn by observing normal occurrences… the things one can absorb from unconventional sources. It ensured she had her own fighting style. A big mess of movements used to confuse the enemy.

At this point, the pain from her wounds was even more severe, and she was even dizzier than before, but she ignored it. She could last two minutes. All she had to do was down the giant in that amount of time. “You missed,” she whispered softly, still hopping and waiting for the next advance. Her eyes were still closed, as an advantaged that seemed like a handicap given out of pity. She swiftly drew her pistol from its holster, keeping it ready in one hand. Might as well try it, eh? “That wasn’t supposed to be your finishing move, was it?” She smirked lightly, as though she were a cat toying with a dog. Ironic, but… it was how she rolled.

The Slayer was filled with so much rage that she began to literally see red.

This CIA bitch got jokes!

The Slayer had rushed her opponent, expecting her to hesitate. If she had, she would have been pulverized—but no, she executed an expert evasive maneuver, dodging her attack entirely. The Slayer's sneer grew so wide that all of her front teeth were exposed. If possible, she looked even more insane.

The Slayer stopped her fist but inches from the wall. If she would have made contact, the entire building might have come down—not that she minded in the slightest.

She stood upright, her face going calm—the sneer remained, however. She had the advantage of expert control over her body and all its strength, something this human was going to find out the hard way. She would be satisfied with nothing less.

So she switched it up. She widened her stance a bit, bending her knees ever so slightly, one leg a few inches behind the other and off to the side. She started alternating her weight between her front and back legs, assuming a boxing stance with her hands up close to her jaw, knuckles out.

"Nice dodge, human." She narrowed her eyes, inflecting her tone. "Do try to keep up."

Before finishing her sentence, she launched at her prey, taking several steps in rapid succession. Once in range, she threw out a jab, but the human side-stepped it completely. The Slayer wasn't finished yet though. She followed that jab with another, moving to match the human's footwork and keep her within range of these devastating punches.

All the Slayer needed was to land a single blow and this would be her win.

The fight continued on that like for a few moments, the human bobbing and weaving while the Slayer threw out differing combinations of jabs, hooks, and crosses. One could tell just by looking what insanely monstrous strength was behind every punch.

The Slayer dropped her guard in an attempt to draw the human in to an untimely death, but she didn't take the bait.

Shame.

Eventually they reached the opposite end of the room, with the Slayer advancing and the human retreating. With her back against the wall, the human feigned left but went right just as the Slayer's cross smashed a hole in the wall where her head would have been. Dust flew from the crater, but the fight did not let up.

The Slayer pivoted on her heel, turning to face the human, whom had seized on the opportunity to gain a bit of distance, hopping backwards. To the Slayer, she looked fatigued. She was breathing hard. The Slayer, on the other hand, hadn't even broken a sweat yet.

But this was annoying. The Slayer was no longer sneering, lips pursed. How was this blind human dodging her attacks so precisely? Were her combinations too linear? Too easily predicted?

Her sneer returned.

Fine, let's switch it up some more.

The Slayer stepped outwards and at an angle, bringing her back foot forward in a fluid sweeping motion aimed away from her other foot, unconsciously clearing some debris from her path. She took a much wider, deeper stance this time around. It looked as though she were sitting on an invisible horse. One fist swirled elegantly, taking its place slightly behind her ear. The other came up in front of her chest, as if she were stabbing the air with a nail. Her fists opened slightly, relaxing for a moment, and then becoming rigid, clenching the air as if she were holding on to a large fruit or small ball—like claws.

Linear motions are easily predicted. Easily dodged. She thought to herself. If boxing doesn't work, let's try Kungfu.

With another roar, she came at the human, head shaking, mad with glee. This time, however, she seemed to flow forward, like a leaf in the breeze, switching between low stances and expertly sharp forward-moving foot configurations as she advanced. As her footwork brought her closer to the human, her hands flashed through the ambiance, clawing at the air a few times before even coming within range of the woman.

The human might've been surprised by the switch-up, but she didn't hesitate. The Slayer liked that, but it wouldn't be enough this time.

With the grace and elegance of a tiger, she swiped at the human with one hand, then the other. Again and again, in varying directions and with differing intensities. You could hear every movement. Every swipe. Every claw. The human managed to dodge the insane combinations, eventually dodging under a swipe and moving off to her side... but that's what the Slayer had been waiting for.

She entered a sharp reverse arrow-like stance—one knee bent sharply while the other leg remained straight—placing her face and the humans on the same plane, and then she switched styles on the spot, moving on from Kungfu to Pa Kua, the speed art. She immediately leaned to the side in her stance, dropping downwards, her body close to the ground, head now looking up at the human's completely exposed torso area. The Slayer formed an "X" over her chest with her arms, flowing with the momentum of her drop, preparing to use it to her advantage. For a fraction of a split of a second, the human hesitated.

The End.

With a cry of triumph, the Slayer leaned towards the exposed woman's torso, twisting her waist and punching both upwards and downwards with both arms simultaneously, a magnificent move performed so perfectly and with so much force that the air around her fists seemed to scream.

...

...

The silence only lasted a second or two before passing.

The Slayer pursed her lips once more, still in her stance, one arm crooked upwards, fist toward the ceiling, while the other remained motionless a few inches from the ground. She looked pretty badass.

"Inconceivable..." she said to no one in particular, a genuine and authentic smile touching her lips. "I had no idea humans were this fun! You're pretty good at this game, lady."

The lady in question had managed to dodge what was supposed to be a finishing move, but only just barely. The Slayer's fist had come so close to smashing the human in a devastating uppercut that she could feel remnants of the woman's heat and sweat still on her upturned fist... ... Wait, what? The Slayer stood upright, looking at the back of her fist.

Odd. My hand feels... warm. As if it had been sitting in the sun for too long. After a few moments, the feeling dissipated, as did the Slayer's curiosity for the source of this warmth.

All of that action and little more than sixty seconds had passed. To the Slayer, it felt like an eternity. That's how it should feel, in a fight between masters of this caliber.

But her time was running out—not that she particularly cared. She was going to end this now. For real this time. Even though the woman had an expert sense of direction and timing, the Slayer had noticed one consistency with her actions: the leg she put her weight on. The agent woman never put her full weight on her other leg. Perhaps it was injured?

The Slayer grinned again, deciding to take this fight a bit more seriously. I'll end this with superior range of motion.

As she switched into this latest style, she moved with a type of graceful finality that didn't impart arrogance—just an unequivocal escalation of skill, her overcoat creaking as she took on this new stance. She pondered taking the thing off: what she was about to do would be much more easily accomplished without it on, but she came to the conclusion that this human needed the handicap.

It's not every day she got to use this style of fighting, and she wanted to have as much fun as possible until the very end.

The Slayer shook out her arms, as if flinging water from her hands—her sleeves snapped at the gesture, a sound that echoed throughout the broken and dilapidated room. Her arms settled in a new formation: right arm upwards slightly, palm facing outwards. Left hand slightly under and to the left of her armpit.

She was not low in her stance, and her feet were relatively close together, although her right ankle was slightly removed from the rest of her posture, perpendicular to her left, and her right leg was slightly straighter than her left. She held her head upright.

The air around the Slayer seemed to stiffen. She looked the human straight in the face.

She was focused. She had her goal. This was it.

"Try to dodge this one," she whispered, moving forward suddenly, hands flashing through the air. The human was running out of space to move backwards and so began moving laterally. The Slayer expected this, and was already there.

To a bystander, it would've looked as if the Slayer had gone for some sort of haphazard tomato punch with her palm outstretched. They'd be dead wrong.

The Slayer's palm struct the air where the human's chest had been. The strike had been so forceful that speckles of dust several feet away seemed to be swept up in a wind.

She didn't even start attacking yet.

The Slayer swung her entire arm laterally, swiping at the human, who dodged. The Slayer expected this. It wasn't a move meant to hit her opponent, and she would have been disappointed if it had. No, this move was meant to generate torque. Like a missile, the Slayer followed through with the move completely, angling her palm toward the ground and spinning, pivoting on her back heel and leaning forward.

The human tried to say something. Perhaps the time they had agreed upon had finally expired, but that didn't matter to the Slayer. Not at all.

This is the end! Gao style: Baguazhang—eight trigram palm!

With all of her torque and momentum, the Slayer balled her palm into a fist, and, using it as a fulcrum, performed an unexpected kick at the woman's head with her front foot, completing the action with a spinning back kick—both feet off the ground simultaneously. The human hopped backwards, but the Slayer wasn't finished. Not even close. Still swinging, her angular momentum increasing with each spin, she released a flurry of kicks and palms. First a back kick in the air, followed by a spinning ground sweep and several palm thrusts, followed by a mid air flip, with her foot swinging to the side and downward. The movements—sublime as they were serene, like flowing water or an intricate dance—put the woman off balance, but that wasn't the extent of the Slayer's technique.

She followed up the explosive kicks with another spin, palms out, keeping her momentum. All of her movements thus far had her landing slightly to the side of her previous position each time, allowing her to move in a circle around the human... who didn't figure it out until it was too late. The Slayer kicked at the woman's good leg. She dodged of course, but that forced her to land on her bad leg.

The woman buckled, her leg unable to keep up with the rest of her body, and she fell backwards.

She was screaming something at the Slayer. Something about time being up or whatever. The Slayer could hear nothing save the sound of her own heartbeat as she stood over the fallen woman like the shadow of death itself.

"You did well to dodge my blows. You actually managed to make me try a bit, woman." She praised, bringing her fists together above her head. Her face and torso were completely exposed, but she didn't care. She was like a beast—no, was a beast. A monster, standing over its vanquished prey. If the demon and Elf made any movements, the Slayer didn't notice. "That was unexpected, but this is the end."

Her muscles tensed as she prepared to drop the full weight of her fists upon this human's body.

"I win."

"Wait"

Shae's voice cut softly through the still and tense room like a knife through fine fabric. Her voice resonated with a quiet demand to be heard, sharp, and clear as a bell. She stepped forward, away from the window, strong and confident. It wouldn't matter to her whether or not the Slayer female turned to face her, because as flames began to lick hungrily down the blade of her sword and the leather of her whip, she would act as she wished anyway. A weapon held in each hand, Shae advanced, her teeth bared. With a disdainful flick of her wrist, the whip snapped in the air beside her, sending sparks cascading like a small firework in the air.

Another flick of her wrist, and the whip snapped forwards, curling to catch the Slayers cheek. Shae couldn't care less if the creature bled or not as she issued her challenge.

"Slayer. You have bested the human. Not even a feat worth congratulating. We all know that those puny mortals are lesser beings. You have spoken your challenge to the weakest of our group, and she fought bravely, but lost. I refuse to be represented by a weakling of such little importance " Her voice dripped with a malevolent challenge, and her eyes were dark with power.

"Slayer, fight me. Prove yourself against a stronger being. I am the sole, uncontested, Champion of DEPTH, and if you defeat me...then the entirety of DEPTH Agency is at your fingertips"

Shae glanced to the human on the floor, blinking slowly with a completely neutral face in an attempt to convey to her that she was attempting to pull the Slayer after her, rather than pulverize the already injured human. She then sneered at the useless human before her, and looked back to the Slayer.

"Pathetic."

When the Slayer filth accepted the human’s challenge, Nirvana was both quite surprised and quite satisfied at the same time. Joy. He would get to see the human girl in a life-or-death situation. He’d seen humans in this kind of situation several times over the years, but he believed that those certain circumstances were much more unfortunate than they were here. Here, a large part of him was starting to believe that the lass had a chance, either at victory or at keeping her life. Where he came from, those things were one and the same, but he was still trying to be open-minded.

As he watched the duel, however much he'd convinced himself he was rooting for the girl beforehand, he found a part of himself willing the Slayer towards victory, rather than the human lass. Nirvana assumed this was because he just wasn't used to supporting the underdog. At some point, he became so engrossed in watching the fight develop, he lost enough focus for his doppelganger to lose form, receding to the wall behind him, two-dimensional again. That didn't matter at the moment. He wasn't fighting. Yet. What surprised him was that he was sure the human girl should have died at least two or three times during the course of the skirmish, yet she remained alive. How odd. He had observed the battle with the eyes of a trained spectator, and this still made very little sense to him. Surely, she should have been decimated! Nirvana frowned. This was completely okay with him, and yet completely not okay with him at the same time. The dual opinions of his many thoughts began to confuse him, and so he just settled for watching, and not thinking as much about what he saw anymore, even though that contrasted greatly against his nature.

There came a point where Nirvana assumed that everyone knew the fight was over. The she-creature had obviously won the duel. Nirvana frowned once more. This wasn't a satisfying conclusion at all. Expected, definitely, but not satisfying. Was this honestly the best the humans could put forth to defend their lowly species? Shameful, it was. He shook his head ever-so-slightly. He had known all along the fight would turn out this way, but it wasn't as if he had to believe himself all the time. Where was the climactic comeback? In his mind's eye, he saw the human miraculously regain strength and the battle begin anew. But through his true eyes, he only saw the Slayer preparing to kill the human, as she'd won the right to do. Nirvana lowered his head and scowled, but refrained from interfering. The beast had won, fair and square. It was her privilege to take what was offered to her.

When the Elf woman sharply intervened with a single word, his eyes slid over to her in surprise. What was this? She had moved from the window at last? What a shocking development! She struck at the Slayer with a flaming whip, as if to catch her attention, and the demon tilted his head to one side, intrigued. Fascinating. How odd he had not predicted this. She posed her challenge to the Slayer, and he raised a brow. Again with the dire stakes. The creature was obviously simple enough to take bait of lower standards, but no. These people were going all out. He crossed his arms in thought. It was getting more and more difficult to make sense of them the more he thought about it. Apparently, drastic measures were in their nature, or else they would probably be proceeding with a tad more sense. This thought posed into him another question: Why had the Elf woman interfered? That was another thing Nirvana could not grasp. The human had explicitly stated that her life was forfeit upon defeat, and the Slayer was, as much as it made him uncomfortable to admit, entitled to doing whatever she pleased with the human's life. He supposed that maybe it was an honor thing, from what the Elf said, and he decided that he could understand that. After all, he didn't want anyone else thinking he was weak either, just because a silly little human lass couldn't hold herself in a duel.

And now, he had yet another fight to look forward to. Perhaps showing up hadn't been a complete waste of time.

It stings...

The Slayer was frozen in stance, hands above her head, muscles primed for action—but she didn't move.

Someone had attacked her... landed a hit on her... and her face stung. This Slayer has a very high tolerance for pain. She wouldn't even pretend to notice most normal attacks that hit her: from bullet wounds to a good knifing, but this...

She brought one of her hands down from over to head to her cheek ever so slowly. The hand was shaking.

Pain...?

She brought the same hand to the center of her face, so she could look at it.

The Slayer's eyes grew wide like saucers as she grimaced, hand shaking even more.

Blood. Viscous. Red. Essence. Blood.

Emotions were playing across her face like a mass of race cars crossing the finish line, each trying to overtake the other.

Heat... like bathing in the light of the sun... The Slayer remembered the feeling on her fist. The feeling when she thought she smashed the human's skull. It was the same feeling—although this one was accompanied by pain. The human... she... they cheated!

A low sound began emanating from her throat. Quiet at first, but, as she stared at her hand, it grew in intensity. It was the sound of a wounded animal, confused as to why it was feeling this way.

She brought her hand back to her cheek, trying to wipe the blood from her face. The stinging sensation only increased with her actions, as did the sound of her whining.

The Slayer placed both of her trembling hands on her face, covering her cheeks. She took an uncertain step backwards, the rising crescendo of her whine turning into a low-pitched tortured screech. She then clawed at the collar of her overcoat like a rabid animal until the thing detached itself from her, smashing into the floor and shaking the entire complex with a miniature earthquake.

The overcoat had embedded itself about a quarter of the way into the floor. It was extremely heavy.

The Slayer kept taking slow steps backwards, her screech growing louder with each footfall. Eventually, it became an outright scream—one of pain and anger.

She clenched her shaking hands into fists and gritted her teeth as the air around her literally glowed red with her fury, her shadow expanding to unnatural proportions.

And then, suddenly, she dropped onto the floor, on all fours, still screaming, but something new was happening. Her muscles bulged like balloons, tearing her military fatigues to shreds in an instant. Blackness spread through her skin like a thick ink being poured into a glass of water, completely corrupting it. From there, what looked like scales began to form, concentrated at her shins and forearms, jutting out like spikes. The pitch of the Slayer's blood curdling scream was dropping by the second until it reached a booming contralto that shook the very air itself. Her fingers and toes elongated, with large gruesome claws pushing their way through her fingernails. Slowly she sprouted three tails, each adorned with different murderous appendages. One ended in a very fine point. Another ended in more tails, each sporting large curved spikes. The final was covered in some sort of gelatinous green mucus that seemed to be melting the floor beneath it. The Slayer's elbows elongated into large arciform peaks that, themselves, turned into thick long masses of cordage. All five whip-like appendages flung themselves around in a mad spasmodic frenzy, shredding through the air and lashing at the ground, leaving large gashes.

Her red hair elongated as well, covering her head and neck like a mane, down to her shoulders and chest. Her face stretched forward, eyes sinking into her head, pupils forming into slits, nose receding and restructuring itself... all to make room for her massive mouth, which was growing and shaping itself out of her face, like some sort of self-aware play-doh.

By this point, her scream had turned into a full bellied and thunderous clamor, like continual explosions. Dust and pieces of mortar were coming loose from the ceiling and falling to the ground.

The room itself smelled of death. It certainly felt like death.

The very sight of the behemoth forcing its way into existence has been the cause of the retreat of entire armies. This is the monster that single-handedly decimated an entire platoon of elite anti-Slayer demons. The form that allowed this Slayer to receive the title of "Divine Nine" from Alera Elma. The monstrous abomination against nature that earned recognition as one of the three most powerful Slayers in the history of Slayers.

The undefeatable beast of legend.

A god of nightmares.

But things were about to get much more complicated.

Along with the miasma of unadulterated evil that radiated from this beast, something else began to pervade the air. A new feeling.

Not of evil, exactly. Not of loathing. Not of hate.

This was...

Without warning, the beast went silent, its beady red eyes going wide, cat-like pupils focusing in on the Elf. Its tails swished menacingly in the air. The transformation was not complete. Only the upper half of the Slayer's humanoid body was fully transformed. Her legs were still reconfiguring themselves, but the beast was impatient. It wanted its kill now!

To everyone's surprise, the monster spoke a single garbled word in what could only be assumed to be English. One simple word: PREY.

The monster leaned backwards, preparing to pounce, its mouth open, displaying multiple rows of long sharp teeth.

...

But it didn't move. In fact, it leaned forward again, eyes cast downward. It shook its head once. Twice. Three times, as if trying to clear something out of its ears.

The beast's transformation had stopped as well.

Who the hell?

The beast's immense presence filled the room like an offensively effervescent pressure, but there was another force at play here. A pressure of equal or even greater malice. The two forces seemed to do battle on an invisible plane, with the effect being a noticeable shift in burden—a sort of heaviness that descended upon the occupants of the room. A stress. A palpable tension between this half-transformed monster and some outside force.

Something...

That's when the beast fell to its knees, grabbing its head with its hands, back arched. It was so tall that its face almost came into contact with the elevated ceiling.

The transformation had more than just stopped, though, for the hideous monster began to shrink. It shrunk and shrunk until it regained the form of the female Slayer, naked, lying on her face.

With the overbearing presence of the monster gone, all that remained was that second force. That second source of feeling. The push that competed with and overtook the monster. That broke the female Slayer's concentration. It's transformation.

In the space between the Elf and the Demon, someone else leaned against the wall. He had been there the entire time, others had just failed to notice him.

He stepped off the wall, fully revealing himself. The Elf and Demon both turned on this new figure, this potential threat, but he did not really take notice of them. He only looked forward, and only at the naked woman lying face first on the ground.

The guy had a well-fitted black overcoat with the texture and consistency of leather. The back of this garb had the BLOOD insignia stamped on it. His hands, surrounded by tight black gloves, were in his pockets. His short black dreadlocks went in every which direction, extending no further than his ears. A few of the locks fell over the from of his mask, which looked like some sort of serial killer's face accessory.

This second Slayer stepped around the human to stand between the downed red-haired Slayer and the room's other occupants.

Entire minutes passed.

The Slayer just remained there, like a statue. He probably played statue quite a bit, because he didn't move a single inch. But even his patience has its limits.

"How long are you going to lie there like that, Depravity?" He spoke in a baritone, angling his pose slightly.

Apparently, Slayers are quite fond of striking poses.

The Slayer didn't look like she was even conscious, but she slapped the ground with the palms of her hands, proving she was still awake. It was a gesture of exasperation.

"Kin Killer." She spit the words, as if she had tasted spoiled milk. "I knew you were around here, hiding in the shadows like the cowardly pet you are. I knew it." She came up to her knees, bare chest exposed, but if she had any sense of decency or embarrassment about being naked in front of her enemies, it didn't show.

She got to her feet, idly brushing some dirt from her shoulder with the back of her hand. "You've gotten better, Gabe." She said his name as if they were really close friends. "Much much better compared to our last fight. Even I couldn't hear you. I scanned the room for you... multiple times. I couldn't even smell you!"

The Slayer—"Gabe"—did not respond. Depravity seemed to expect this, so she continued.

"I heard from on high: those MAVD Slayers we sent after you. Marid and Magni. You dealt them some serious blows, huh." She took several steps toward Gabe, but only to reach down and pull at the handlebar on the collar of her overcoat. "I knew those lesser Slayers wouldn't have been able to touch you. The fucking chosen Champion of BLOOD!" She pointed at him, mocking him. "It's because I'm the only one who gets to kill you." The familiar chorus of metal on metal filled the room for a moment before dying down. The overcoat had turned from rigid back to flexible, and she donned it, slowly buttoning up the front. "They should have just sent me to stop you instead."

She looked across at Gabriel. He didn't respond, nor did he move. She sighed, her face going calm.

"You know," she started, pulling at some tufts of bright red hair that had gotten stuck when she put on her overcoat. "I don't appreciate you interrupting my transformation like that. It was really rude." She struck her own pose. "How about this. You get the fuck out of my way and we can fight later. I just want to kill them. It has nothing to do with you."

For a second, Gabe neither moved nor spoke. Depravity tilted her head slightly. Then Gabe reached into his pocket. At that, the female Slayer tensed, but it was for naught. Gabe had a black letter in his hand, and held it up for Depravity to see.

"Oh fuck you," she said nonchalantly. "I have one of those too!" She pulled out the balled up letter she had read from earlier, holding it up, mirroring Gabe's posture.

For a moment they stood there in silence, glaring at each other from behind their masks.

Depravity broke the silence first. "My orders were to learn what the lesser beings know about Nix and then kill them. BLOOD does not need the help of other agencies. WE rule this world." She returned the wad of paper to her overcoat. "Step aside, Kin Killer."

Gabe stuffed his letter back into a pocket of his overcoat as well, although more delicately. He didn't want his getting balled up like hers. How unseemly.

"Depravity," he spoke. He didn't seem to like speaking very much. "There is no person that can supersede the orders of Alera Elma. We were ordered to—"

"I take my orders from MAVD. From Lithium." She hissed.

"And Lithium takes his orders from Alera Elma." He retorted, voice calm, but with a hint of disdain.

Depravity seemed to pout. "WELL THEN FUCK YOU!" She shouted, gritting her teeth. The pitch of her voice dropped a few octaves. "I can't believe Alera Elma would have us working with..." She pointed at the Demon. "BLAH! I can't believe this!" She stamped her foot. "You're going to side with that filth over there! You fight for THEM instead of US now?!"

Gabriel tensed not at her words, but at the tone in her voice. She was getting riled up.

For moments more, they just stared into each others faces, but it was Gabe who made the first move.

He brought both hands to his head—one holding the front of his mask while the other moved to unbuckle the strap that kept it in place over his face. With a click, the strap came loose, but he did not let the mask fall from its position. Not yet.

Depravity's eyes grew wide at this, and she took a step back, hands up. A gesture of surrender.

"Woah there, Kin." She smiled at him. "You know I'd love to smash your face in any day of the week." She punched her left palm with her right hand. "Unfortunately, I was expressly ordered by Lithium not to engage you." She looked genuinely disappointed. "At least, not yet. It's the only reason I stopped transforming."

Gabe stood motionless for a moment before re-buckling the straps of his mask. Seems he wouldn't be fighting her after all.

Satisfied, Depravity began walking in the direction of Gabe and the others, but she walked right past them without incident, heading for the hole that used to be a door. Sure, she could have left through the gaping hole in the building where that one wall used to be, but she wanted to ruffle Gabe's feathers first.

In the doorway she turned, pointing a crooked finger at the opposing Slayer. Gabe, for his part, didn't even turn around to acknowledge her. He remained motionless.

"Gabriel Morgan DeKnight." Her tone was neutral. "Kin Killer. Holy Lithium and MAVD officially declares war upon you. You, that bitch Alera Elma, and all these lesser beings." She made a circular gesture with her palm, referencing the others in the room. "All of them. MAVD declares war on all agencies."

She laughed, as if she had told herself something funny.

"This world is in chaos," she declared. "It will be Slayers who bring order. Bring rule. So decrees Holy Lithium!" Depravity used her free hand to punch a large hole in what remained of the doorhole, turning towards the others, her chin upturned, trademark sneer ripe upon her face.

"We will meet again," she uttered. "And at that time,—" Without moving her head, she leered at Gabriel from the corners of her eyes. "—I won't be stopped."

And at that, she left.