Ballad vs Renji: (A Tale of Two Killers - PvP)

[Corporal Light]

Golden locks of massive wild flames surrounded him in one circular spot. His knees buckled underneath him as the poisoned dark air seeped through the scarlet fabric around his face. The toxic air burrowed into his nose and mouth before it settled inside his throat and lungs. He let out a series of desperately choking wretches, his throat raw from inhaling the deadly ash. Fire rose up and up and up and up into the air and lit the sky above into a dirty monochromatic yellow.

Ballad.

Glowing yellow eyes rolled upwards as the voice reached his ears. Just in front of him, consumed in a reddish-orange abyss, was a tall and blackened but otherwise indiscernible building. The heat had melted its features and left only a decaying ruin in the wakes of the oncoming apocalypse. The bright fiery inferno emanated from the sides of the building as it spread forth from beyond to devour what remained of the land.

Ballad!

The voice echoed with the sound of thousands -yes- thousands upon thousands of people. Above and below, all around him they rose from the whitened cinders. Orange embers slipped between their decaying bones and shredded fur clothing as they climbed up, mouths agape as if screaming. They were speaking to him, crying out to him, their voices accusatory and despairing. He remained motionless as he saw them charge at him, but not with the intent of harm. Their eyes said it all.

They needed his help, but as he tried to stand, his limbs remained glued to the earth. His eyes widened more than they ever had. Why? He glanced down. He was on his knees, his hands buried in snow-like ash. It seemed as if the inferno was reshaping the world around it, reshaping its very atmosphere for its own destructive purposes.

It was only at that point did he notice that he was sinking. The dust of his disintegrating village settled around him. Each particle stacked on top of its fellow, threatening to drown him. His gloved hands had already been enveloped by the time he understood this.

Ballad…

The fire consumed the dark building and removed it from his sight entirely. Slowly, but surely, the wall of fire drew closer. Each passing second drained the hourglass of his life. Soon, though, his eardrums were assaulted by screaming. It was the most unbearable noise he had ever heard in his life; it echoed, high pitched and eerie as it rang from every direction.

He looked around. More and more numbered the skeletons that stood as his race. The very people he had invented his weapon for were being burned alive all over again. Families held onto each other, attempting to comfort one another in one last show of love before their excruciating demise. Those who were not fortunate to have another to hold close could only flee towards the gunsmith himself. Their jawbones clattered in a twisted mockery of language, begging him to save them before they were swept away in the wind, disintegrating to ashes.

He opened his mouth, the words he wished to speak replaced with an inhuman wail. He tried once more to lift himself off of the ground, crying out in pain as his elbows locked in place. The flames spread forth, infecting the land, and slowly advanced towards him. The screams, cries, nor the fire ceased as it made its death march to him.

He struggled against the massive, seemingly insurmountable phantom weight placed on top of him as the ashes of the dead surged up his arms and shoulders. He tried to breathe, but he drew in nothing but snow and soot. He opened his mouth again to say he was sorry, that he wanted to help, that he was trying to help, that he was doing everything he could. This time, though, the only thing he could scream was the sound of silence.

Tears streamed down his face. The heat of the fire began to lick his body. What cruel god wouldn’t allow him to shriek? To allow him to share in the agony of the deceased? What wicked god wouldn’t allow him that?

The world seemed to tighten around him, forcing the air out of his lungs. He felt the control of his body slip away from him as his vision turned to black.

————————

“Ballad!”

The gunner felt a force crash into his cheek, followed by a heavy crunch. The next thing he knew, his head was on the ground, his cheek cold as it landed on the icy floor. He groaned, rolling his tongue around in his mouth. The clacking of something square and bloody sounded out from inside his mouth as it knocked against his teeth. The aches within his gums informed him that whatever hit him had knocked out a fair amount of his molars. He lifted his hand to pull his scarf down.

He gazed at his wrist. His hand was nothing more than a charred stump. A light amount of fluid oozed from the warped and injured tissue a mere few inches from where his fingers had once met the joint.

He looked up, seeing the greaser standing above him, a wide smile curled its face. In the demon’s clutches was his gloved hand, the fingers bent from rigor mortis; it still held onto his revolver, poised to fire.

“You radge!” Ballad cried out. His voice was raspy as he shot upwards, his remaining hand outstretched to grab the demon. Suddenly, he was forced back down, a scream tearing from his mouth as an agonizing sting twitched around his shoulder. He laid back down and glanced to his left, weakly glaring at the blood-stained blade impaled inside his shoulder.

Kuzuru chuckled, turning away from him to call for his allies once more. Meanwhile, Ballad tried again to rise up from the ground, lifting his torso up in an attempt to stand. Each attempt was met with agonizing and relentless pain that coursed through his system and forced him back to the ground. His formerly green clothes were covered in the muck and grime of battle, and each nerve and bone in his body ached. His head lulled to the right as he looked towards the blade lodged inside of him. He had no other option.

He raised his remaining hand and curled his fingers around the base of the metal blade. He held on tight as he pulled, not even attempting to hide his groans as the metal pole of a weapon shifted around inside of him. His whole arm wobbled and the veins on his arm popped out from under his skin as he pulled harder. Even with his best effort, however, he got no leeway.

He tried again- he had to get out. He couldn’t die, not to this psychopath. Before he could do so, however, the rock-star demon turned right back around, lifted the gunsmith's head, and slammed it down onto the ice. The entire world was indiscernible for what seemed like forever as he lay there, his energy spent.

'SPB?'  he whispered so quietly that he doubted that Kuzuru could tell it apart from incoherent mumblings.

'You have awoken.'

'Not the time… how do we get out of this?'

'We cannot. Our only grounds for hope is to pine for their mercy.'

He lifted his head up from the small hole it created when it hit the ground. He glared at the back of the demon’s head.

'No. That’s not fucking happening.'

'… Well, then… I have only one other solution to this conundrum.'

'Do it.'

'It will require additional time.'

'I don’t care. Whatever it is, do it.'

'You will despise the outcome.'

'What could be worse than this? Do it.'

'… As you request.'

Somewhere, deep within his chest, he felt his heart thump. Not like a regular heartbeat, but like a punch from within his body. For a few moments, he thought his heart was going to beat out of his chest until it slowed down. He only got a moment’s time to breathe before it returned in a more intense fashion. He felt his blood pulse and ooze out of his wounds. He bit his lip; he would not give the leader of the Ashen Blades any more satisfaction.

Suddenly, he saw a light. A massive beam of blue incandescence had been shined directly into his face. He moved his hand to his face to block out the annoyance; he squinted, trying to see what was shining said light at him.

The little orange robot from earlier stood in front of the injured Ballad and the standing Kuzuru. It didn’t look like it had changed much from their first encounter. A few dents here and there, but he was more or less intact. He said nothing and just stared at the bloodied and battered gunner. Ballad glared at him in response; he didn’t recall that robot EVER shutting up like this.

“Claps, would ya mind NOT blinding the poor thing?” the demon said, turning towards the inventor with a smile on his face, “I want him to SEE everything I’m gonna do to him.”

The gunsmith clenched his teeth and spat out a response. “Fucking inbred…”

A swift boot to his side launched a huge jolt of pain through his body. Despite it all, though, he smiled; even if he was going to die, he was going to die pissing off his enemies. It would be the perfect moral victory.

He was about to goad Kuzuru into attacking him again when he saw the other two. They stood only a few feet away, but they were close enough for him to discern exactly who they were. The girl with the beanie on her head and the sniper rifle on her back stood small next to the taller, black-haired, black-eyed boy. The gunner frowned for a moment and squinted at the boy.

'Is that…?'

'I can confirm that that is him.'

'Wai- what?!'

'Quiet down. I require concentration.'

Suddenly, his eyes were drawn to another individual that had materialized right beside Koal. It was shadowy and barely visible in the darkness of the cave. The one thing that he could see from any distance, however, was its blood-red eyes.

'Seraph…'

He said nothing as the pale-skinned demon circled him with a cocked eyebrow. He wasn’t entirely certain, but he swore he saw the thing’s lips curl into a grotesque mockery of a smirk upon sighting his plight. He tightened his fist as Seraph walked back towards Koal; he was tempted to shout him down before he got to the boy just so he could find an excuse to tear him apart once he got near his fallen form.

That’s when the white-haired demon spoke to his black-haired prisoner.

'He has a relationship like ours, one of a shared vessel. It has corrupted his mind, integrated itself into every part of his being.'

He did not fully register what the abomination had said before the Mister Lynch had sprung forth at him. He let out a loud gasp as the boy’s fingers wrapped around his face and brought his head up off of the ground. He winced as Koal’s nails dug into his cheeks and drew blood. Their eyes connected, and while no words left his mouth, the inside of his mind consisted of nothing more than questions. 'What is happening?! Koal, what happened?! I thought you killed him! Why are you doing this? I thought I was your friend…'

"Tell me Ballad. Do you fear death?" his former friend said, Seraph’s voice overlapping with Koal’s. Their eyes shifted colors until they glowed two different kinds: bright red and a vivid violet. The gunsmith kept his mouth shut, but really, what could he say? He could only stare into the boy’s malformed, hate-filled eyes and try to find something, ANYTHING, that resembled the Koal he knew. The Mister Lynch he knew would never have simply ALLOWED the abomination of an apparition to possess him like this, let alone use the demon to kick the inventor while he’s down!

He groaned as the Seraph/Koal being squeezed his face and dug his claws deeper inside him.  The being continued his rant, going on and on about how the world was like a cruel mistress and how in order to stay alive you must kill everyone else and that humanity was weak and that he was stronger now before he ended with a swift kick in Ballad’s jaw. By that point, the gunner was still staring at him, but not in confusion. Rather, every ounce of his self-control was being spent on him not rising right the goddamn up and tearing the red-eyed demon apart.

'How dare he accuse me of disregarding death!' he thought, biting his lower lip as he lay in a trance on the ground, 'how DARE he say I’m corrupt! How DARE he compare myself to HIM!'

"When you die, bring my image to the void,” he said, planting his boot on the gunsmith’s stomach as if to goad him even further down the path of rage, “remember my face when you see God."

Ignoring the aches and pains that shot through his body, he let out a ferocious kick forward. His boot slammed into the boy’s foot. Koal brought his uninjured leg off of Ballad’s chest and slipped backwards, swears muffled behind clenched teeth. Claptrap and Dawn both drew their weapons, having been watching the whole event, and aimed them at the green man. Kuzuru only watched, a curious eyebrow raised and arms crossed.

“You think you’re fucking strong?! YOU?! A cowardly FUCK who’s sole achievement is taking over the mind of a mentally unstable CHILD?!” he screamed, his torso slowly rising up the blood-stained blade and smoke rising up from his pores. Blood was flowing out of every wound in his body like a waterfall; some of the Ashen Blades might have wondered how he was still conscious with how much blood he was losing. His eyes were now a solid white and glowing like a massive flare.

“You come here, kick the shit out of some crazy old man, kick the shit out of an INJURED PERSON, and you have the fucking GALL to claim YOU are the strong one?! YOU STUPID FUC-”

His speech was interrupted by a massive pulse from his heart. He thought he saw an image- it looked like snow, or perhaps it was the sky?- flash in front of him before he was returned back to reality. He took a series of breaths and darted his eyes to everyone in the vicinity. They settled onto the girl, who was too busy staring at him with an incredulous look on her face to really feel like shooting him.

“WELL?! YA GONNA KILL HIM?!” he said, thrusting his head towards Koal. Dawn glanced from Mister Lynch back to him as he continued, ”well?! What are you waiting for?! Were you LISTENING to what he was saying?! Huh?! WERE YOU?!”

He stopped and glared at the sniper. Sweat poured down his face and mixed with the red coloring of his blood. The air in front of his face whitened as his breaths became increasingly ragged. He waited for a reply that never came.

Sighing, he got right back into it.

“You don’t care, do you? You don’t care about death any more than me or this FUCK does! All that shit about ‘understanding morality’ was a FUCKING LIE, was it?! If it wasn’t, you’d have shot him right here, right now! So WHY DIDN’T YOU?!”

“I know why,” he said without hesitation, “it’s because, deep down, I’m the only one of us here who’s actually fucking different and who’s actually MAKING a fucking difference. How fucking ironic, isn’t it? The so-called ‘psychopathic criminal’ understands and, more importantly, HAS more morals than the people hunting him down for the sake of… of what, exactly?! Justice?! Blood money?! Satisfaction?!

“Who cares, though, right?! In the end, everyone in here who ISN’T ME is nothing less than a KILLER contributing to a FUCKED WORLD led by FUCKED-UP people. Yeah, I’ve killed people, but never unprovoked, unlike SOME OF US IN THIS ROOM, I’M VERY FUCKING CERTAIN!”

He made a not-so-subtle glance towards Kuzuru, who responded with a shrug of his shoulders.

“But you know what?! All the people I killed DESERVED TO DIE! And no, before you backtalk at me, GIRL, I’m NOT counting the innocents caught in the bombing, so DON’T FUCKING BRING IT UP. I killed a squadron of troopers being led by a corrupt organization that virtually the whole Omniverse DESPISES, and I WIPED OUT an entire BANDIT ORGANIZATION FROM EXISTENCE! In just ONE WEEK, I’VE DONE MORE TO HELP THIS UNIVERSE THAN ALL OF YOU COMBINED SO WHAT THE ABSOLUTE FUCK HAVE THE REST OF YOU BEEN DOING?!”

Even despite all of the questions he tossed at everyone around him, he did not stop shouting and cursing and ranting and raving. He simply kept going, ignoring his rapid and painful heartbeats.

 “But no, I’M the villain. I’M the bad guy here. All because of some ACCIDENTAL deaths entirely out of my hands and NOT MY GODDAMN FAULT. Yet, here I am, being compared to psychopaths, demons, a non-organic, and a HYPOCRITE with me being the unfavored! I’d rip you fucks apart if I had the OPTION to right now!”

He took in one final deep breath, his energy spent for good this time. His heart was now visibly beating out of his chest; how much blood had he used up in his spiel? He lay back down on the ground, his back slightly bent due to how far up he had gone up the blade during his rant. The back of his head barely touched the ice below him.

The entire world was silent for what felt like eternity before the rock-star demon coughed. The gunsmith didn’t even look at him; the last thing he wanted was to give the leader the satisfaction of acknowledgement.

“Well… that was,” the greaser said, scratching the back of his head, “something else. Anyways, let’s just get on with this.”

Right as he was about to set up the film, however, another voice rang out that was unfamiliar to all but Ballad himself.

“I’m afraid that will be unnecessary, you ignorant, bloodthirsty devil.”

Floating above the gunsmith’s prone form was a shadowy being. It was comprised entirely of smoke, with the only part of its body discernable in the dark being its glowing white eyes. It stared at the rest of the Blades with what appeared to be a glare, and one that was focused primarily on Kuzuru.

“For as you see, the one primary difference between a demonic being and a logical spirit like myself is this,” it said, “I don’t need a vessel to function, and thus, self-destruction is a viable option.”

“Wha-what?” said the gunsmith, with the amount of effort required just to move his tongue and jaw to craft words into speech being a chore for him. He squinted, watching as SPB shot down at him and absorb itself into his body.

No sooner did it do that was when he was assailed by images of blood-covered snow, bullet-casings clattering against the ground, and the sounds of burning wood and agonized screaming. He opened his mouth, letting out a massive shriek that matched the echoes of his past memories. His heart beat faster and faster as the images increased in frequency.

The last thing he saw before he felt an explosion within his torso was of a revolver, blood painting the barrel and lying in the snow.

Just to make sure those who are reading things understand, Ballad is now dead. His bounty can still be collected, though.