#BENRIYA SWEEP !!!!

[imaginarianisms]

alex(andria) benedetto. / gangsta. / cis woman. / bisexual. / superhuman, chimera-human hybrid (unaware of this) / multiracial; predominantly black & chinese american. / 24. / cancer sun. / normani kordei. / neutral good. / canon compliant & headcanon/exomemory based. / #4091f5. / primary. asoiaf verse available; more tba. alex is a former t.rafficking victim who currently works as a secretary and mercenary for the benriya alongside worick arcangelo & nicolas brown who rescued her from her abuser, barry abbott. she is also a part time singer at bastard, the club owned and operated by the christiano family. not much is known about her past due to her memories being repressed due to the tb medication barry gave her to control her, but after her mother died, stuck at home with an alcoholic father, alex took over caring for her younger brother, emilio. alex is a enigmatic, troubled, & quiet young woman, though after worick & nicolas take her in & buy her clothes, ensure she has more clothes & ask for her family's whereabouts to no avail, she begins to speak up for herself more. she's incredibly kind, caring & often acts like a big sister and/or a motherly figure to many people who she deems needing protection, knowing all too well what it's like to feel that no one protected her, so she guards over others, even if she trembles & quivers & she can be nervous, finicky & prone to bouts of anxiety, she's capable of reading, manipulating & charming others, her resilience, tenacity, humanity & will to live, thrive & seek the world is outstanding. alex is freespirited, lively, fearless, protective & courageous, & willing to put herself in harm's way just to protect those she cares about, especially other women, elders & children. asoiaf verse available; more tba. trigger warning for human trafficking, child abuse, alcoholism, addiction & (c)sa.

nicolas brown. / gangsta. / cis man. / bisexual. / twilight; thai-chinese american & ashkenazi jewish. / 34. / scorpio sun. / dark neutral. / chella man. / canon compliant & headcanon/exomemory based. / #654321. / secondary. asoiaf verse available; more tba. nicolas is a deaf twilight & currently works as a mercenary in benriya alongside alex benedetto & worick arcangelo. he was the illegitimate son of west gate mercenary commander gaston brown & an unnamed twilight sex worker. gaston killed nicolas' mother after she gave birth & took the child to add to his mercenary group to avoid the expense of simply hiring a twilight mercenary. nicolas was born deaf, & between his deafness & gaston's control of his celebrer supply, the drug vital to his survival, gaston kept him obedient & dependent. he endures constant abuse from his father & the rest of the mercenary group without resistance until gaston assigned nicolas as worick's bodyguard & the two eventually became friends, bonding over their abusive fathers. his father later abandoned him & nicolas, despite knowing his father was abusive, was left in a state of shock due to his abandonment, remained as worick's bodyguard. after the brutal massacre of the arcangelo family, nicolas & worick ran away together to escape the carnage & started a new life on the streets of ergastulum, california. nicolas is mostly quiet & aloof even to people he likes, he occasionally speaks out of irritation or when someone isn't able to understand sign language, but mostly keeps to himself as to save himself the trouble of accommodating those who can't communicate with him. frequently irritable, he's also capable of small acts of kindness, such as playing with small children like nina or steadying alex when she's shaking too much to open her medication. he seems to find slight enjoyment in picking on people; somewhat illustrating his dark & sarcastic sense of humor. above all, however, he seem to be the most alive on the battlefield, he often is seen smiling while in combat, hinting a sadistic side which compliments his thrill for blood & he tends to toy with opponents that are weaker than himself before finishing them off remorselessly. despite his antisocial traits stemming from his undiagnosed antisocial personality disorder, nicolas isn't without heart. he's been shown to care for those close to him & furthering his somewhat complicated personality, he isn't the type to hold grudges against others. trigger warning for mentions & references of child abuse & organized abuse & parental abandonment, suicidality & mental health issues.

worick arcangelo. / gangsta. / cis man. / aromantic bisexual. / human; white french & italian american. / 35. / gemini sun. / dark neutral. / fc tba. / canon compliant & headcanon/exomemory based. / #ffe24e. / primary. asoiaf verse available; more tba. worick was the second son & the sole survivor of the wealthy arcangelo family & currently works as a mercenary & a gigolo / freelance sex worker. he was an illegitimate child, a fact his father used as an excuse for the constant abuse he heaped on him, & if not for the violence of his life, worick would have led a relatively sheltered existence surrounded by servants, a private tutor & a succession of bodyguards ending with nicolas. worick is an easygoing & cheerful person who gives away smiles like confetti at a parade, kindhearted to a fault & is extremely protective of people he cares for, though despite his friendly attitude he seems to keep most people at an arm's length when it comes to his personal issues & while he has a fairly laidback attitude, he takes things seriously when it's important & gets the job he's required to do done; he possesses an incredible memory in the form of hyperthymesia, able to remember all the people he meets & sees including their names, faces, physical characteristics & even where he last saw them, skimming through an entire book & remembering its contents which can cause him to have flashbacks of entire events. he does tend to tease people a lot, & has a naturally mischievous attitude, but despite his cheerful exterior & laidback demeanor, worick seems to have a somewhat nihilistic view on society as a whole, a view that he hides behind humor & a good-natured personality. trigger warning for human trafficking, mentions & references of child abuse, mafia & crime related activities & sexuality.

[chilly-territory]

Gangsta: Death of Anosmic Stray Dogs, chapter 5

A second chapter in a row that had my vision blur with tears from time to time. But this was the last chapter, only a short epilogue left now.

As previously, a big thanks goes to valgerdrgodiforseti for providing the original Japanese text.

Gangsta: Death of Anosmic Stray Dogs by Kawabata Junichi

Chapter 5 (pages 187-220)

When the patient from the second floor declared briefly that he wanted an early discharge from hospital, Theo didn't protest. "Don't come crying to me if you reopen your wound," was all he said. General treatment of Dario's wounds seemed to have been over though.

Nicolas who had Nina examine the leg wound Johann gave him stood up. Nina peered at him with worried eyes, but didn't say anything. Nicolas waved a hand at her and walked over to Worick, taking a spot by his side.

When they left the clinic, Worick dropped by the first bar he could find and bought a bottle of whiskey and 2 shot glasses. "We're not a tableware shop," the bartender grumbled, and Worick stuffed two bills into his breast pocket to placate him.

Next, the Benriya headed to the familiar back street garbage dump site. The stench it emitted was familiar as well, although weaker and thus more tolerable, probably due to yesterday's rain dampening the worst of it.

There was only one tattered couch in sight - the same one Johann collapsed on the other day. When Worick ran a checking finger over it, it didn't feel too unclean, so he sat down on it and lifted his gaze to look at his partner.

Said partner let out a big yawn, raised an eyebrow and surveyed their surroundings with disdain.

'Why a garbage dump? It stinks to high heaven here.' "We'd be the ones in trouble if we bothered neighbors and earned their anger." 'Having to wait is more troublesome. We could just fight near the clinic.' "And what if you wrecked its walls? We'd have to pay for repairing them. Besides, we can't involve Nina-chan in this." 'Hah,' Nicolas grimaced and produced a case with Celebrer. It still had quite a lot of its contents left, and Nicolas threw all of it into his mouth. The case, now empty, then got launched into a pile of trash.

That dose was clearly too much, but Worick didn't even try to lecture his partner for it.

It wasn't like he wasn't concerned. But a part of him found it very much agreeable every time Nicolas was being reckless, pushing himself too far like that, and not even Worick himself could quite make sense of those feelings. Right now, he would deal with that duality by making a small meaningless talk.

"It's promising to be an intense night." 'We're just taking care of a couple of strays, is all.' "But they're pretty capable strays." 'Thankfully.'

Nicolas lightly tapped the toe of his left foot on the ground a few times. His recovery rate may have been exceptionally high, but there was no way his injury could have already healed completely. At the very least, that timid Tag was strong enough to wound Nicolas, one of his own kind. The dose of the drug that his partner took might as well have been Nicolas giving due credit to the boy's ability.

That said, Worick wasn't worried.

"I'm counting on you, partner." 'Leave it to me, partner.'

Nicolas' eyes narrowed, becoming sharp. That expression could also be interpreted as a smile, with enough desire. Before long, Worick's ears, too, registered the sound of two sets of footsteps.

Dario made his grand entrance with a high held head, chest thrown out and hands in his pockets. Although he dragged his injured leg slightly, he didn't let the pain show on his face. Right behind him, like a shadow, Johann quietly walked.

Dario approached the couch, sitting down next to Worick.

"Well, ain't it a good couch, eh. Too good for throwing in garbage." "Yeah. And I got us some good booze to go with it." "That so. Then it's gonna be a good night. There's booze, there's gambling and there's a friend. Nothing else to wish for." "I'm jealous of how inexpensive your wishes are. I'm a little greedier, myself."

It had been long since for Worick the word dream had started to associate only with nightmares, and the word hope he would rather not hear or utter if he could help it. But still, he had yet to give up on the wish to see his tomorrow begin in peace.

Handing one of the shot glasses over to Dario, he held up a black bottle. Its glass surface reflected the distant city lights, dying them cheap darkish red. The city that was a big garbage dump itself seemed to shine so beautifully to the observer watching it from a real garbage dump. Old Parr was 12 years old. It was Worick's favorite, and Dario previously commented it was good, too.

Worick poured half a glass for both of them.

"Your treat?" "Yeah. I wanna make you memorize what good booze tastes like." "What, no ice?" "Don't you know? Shot glasses are special glasses for drinking good whiskey straight." "You sure know a lot." "It's just that you know nothing."

Heh, Dario snorted. Snatching the shot glass, he dipped a finger in it and licked the droplet off the tip.

"What are we toasting to?" "Whatever you want, I don't really care. It's not like we had any special cause before either." "No, tonight's circumstances are different. It's a big moment for my kid brother where he'll go wild for my sake. No any other cause can make a drink taste better." "I feel for Johann-chan's trouble. Better be careful not to get yourself too drunk and cause him even more trouble." "Being troubled over his big brother is the kid brother's job. Ah, right, let's do it this way then." Dario wasn't drunk yet, but his whole face lit up as he declared without a shred of embarrassment or competitiveness, "For our victory."

Worick's mouth curved a little. This man really lacked taste, painfully so. But pointing out every single instance was just too much trouble.

"Alright, we'll go with that, too."

The two glasses came in contact, knocking against each other lightly and producing jingling surprisingly clear for articles that cheap.

Only, the clanking of clashing blades that filled the space directly after drowned out that clear sound all too fast.

*

Nicolas couldn't suppress the smirk. Not that he tried in the first place.

Holding the tags hanging from his neck slightly up, he showed them to Johann. The ranking category etched on them read A/0 - the two characters that were synonymous with Grim Reaper for most.

'Did your big brother provide you with diapers?'

Johann didn't understand Nicolas' words and otherwise showed no signs of caring, as if he didn't understand the meaning of the characters on the tags the same way the rest of the world did.

He, too, held up his tags. They read B/1. A valuable rank considered high, but a whole ranking category below Nicolas'.

"A fight to death is no card game. And Ace is not always necessarily stronger," Johann said with a smile.

Nicolas read his lips but didn't reply. So long as he had a confirmation that the opponent was done with his preparations, no talk was needed anymore.

Johann quietly closed his eyes. The moment he did, it was as if even the scenery that Nicolas was seeing turned several shades darker. The dark-haired man raised his eyes to look at the sky, covered with heavy clouds. But he couldn't care less if it was. Star-gazing wasn't something that held any appeal to him.

On the edge of his vision, Worick and Dario clanged their glasses together.

It probably wasn't like it was the starting signal or anything, but Johann made a sweep with his hand, as if wanting to tear through the space. And he actually did. The blade of a throwing knife was fast approaching. By the time he consciously perceived it, Nicolas' body was already moving, his katana repelling the knife and sending it flying off course. Nicolas could tell that a blade meeting a blade produced a high-pitched metallic clang - he didn't hear that sound of pure murder but felt it with his skin.

'Not half-bad, eh.'

Ranking categories were an index assigned to Twilights by Normals for controlling and managing them. Like Johann said, they weren't a failproof indicator of real strength. It was just a number assigned based on one's results. If the outcome of any clash could be determined beyond any doubt just by looking at the opponents' ranks, all fights would be settled peacefully with just the display of tags. It would be incredibly boring.

'Don't go down too easily, okay? Let me have my fun.'

Nicolas broke into a run. The distance between him and Johann was 7 yards. Traversing it in the time it took to draw a quick breath, he brought down his high held katana. Like a greeting to a friend from the same town he had unexpectedly run into in a strange foreign land. The point of the sword tore Johann's oversized down coat on its descend, and the fluff went flying around. On the other side of the white cloud fluttering in the air, the young man smiled, as if he enjoyed the touch of bloodlust he had experienced a moment ago. The two of them were similar on a level much deeper than superficial classifiers like ranking categories, Nicolas confirmed and the thought made him grin back.

---Yeah, we're something totally different from humans, he pondered. Was it his self-derision talking? No. It was just the truth, simple as that. Twilights were kept by humans as pets, while keeping inside themselves a beast.

Johann shrugged off his down coat and tossed it aside. Throwing knives, combat knives, several handguns, wires, explosives - all kinds of items that were murderous intent given shape were wound around his slender body.

Yet, what drew eye about him was not them but his right arm. It was bony and covered in many wrinkles, like that of an old man. One glance was enough to know that it was the form his compensation took. There was no way that arm could muster any notable strength. Still stronger than a Normal's though, of course.

That right arm of an old man moved with speed that left Nicolas' perception ability wanting and made him wonder what it even was made of. The point of the combat knife enclosed, only 2 inches away from Nicolas' right eyeball. With the back of his katana's blade, he held it off. Instincts drove him to protect himself and to kill the enemy. Having his brain simply faithfully follow his instincts was enough.

Nicolas switched his grip, holding his katana with his left hand only, and grabbed the combat knife that his katana was currently keeping back, with his right. He cut his fingers a little when doing so but couldn't bring himself to care. When Nicolas twisted the combat knife in Johann's grip, the youth immediately let go of it, his body smoothly diving down like he tried to slip into a hole in the ground. By that moment, he had already drawn a gun with his left hand. Nicolas plunged the knife he had just snatched from the enemy into the gun's barrel. Johann pulled the trigger unfalteringly. Naturally, the gun misfired. Johann rolled across the ground, Nicolas chasing him. Neither knew where the bullet went. For the time being, it was only clear that it didn't hit either of them. The ruined gun tumbled down onto the concrete, blanketed with rubbish.

Nicolas was aware that his opponent had mastered quite a few weapons and for his part, he wanted to make the youth unleash all of them at him, to be exposed to every available type of murderous urge. He would smash all of them to pieces and only then bury his own blade in the guy's chest, that's what his wish was.

On the ground, there lay a car's left door thrown away for garbage by someone, and Johann bumped into it as he rolled, movement stopping, smoothly whipping out his still childish looking left arm and pointing it at Nicolas. Bloodlust this time took form of a needle fired from some crafty rig. With no way to dodge it, Nicolas had to let it sink into his left shoulder. Not letting it slow him down, the man tried to stomp on Johann, intending to crush him underfoot. Johann jumped low but long as if sliding, securing a position behind Nicolas. The older man promptly turned around as to not lose sight of him and the same instance sensed something coming from behind him. The car's door that Johann bumped into a few seconds ago was now flying at Nicolas. Johann must have pulled it with his wire. Catching it with his left hand, Nicolas threw it at Johann.

Johann deftly slipped through the hole gaping where the window's glass pane used to be, fast approaching Nicolas, swinging a second combat knife at him as he was. Aiming to hack the knife in two, Nicolas raised his katana high overhead before delivering a blow. As a result, contrary to his original plan, it was Johann who was put on the defensive, having to block the blade with his knife. Due to the kickback, he had to leap high into the air again to escape. Nicolas gave chase, jumping after him.

The youth was about to fire a needle from his left arm again. Striking his left shoulder with considerable force, Nicolas disturbed his aim and derailed the needle off its intended trajectory. He overtook Johann midair. Johann was holding a handgun. Eyes still closed, his lips were curved up in a smile. It wasn't even bloodthirst. Just genuine joy, like he was having a ball. Glad that the mad dog before him was smiling, Nicolas, spinning in midair, took a swing at him, asking the youth in his heart not to die on him just yet as he did.

Just as Nicolas had hoped, Johann deftly caught the older man's blade with the gun. Not firing it, he released his grip on it and launched a knife. But Nicolas had already seen through him. The gun Johann let go of was free-falling along with the two of them. Nicolas caught it and threw it at the knife headed for him. The gun grazed it, and that was enough to alter its path, sending it into the dark night sky fruitlessly.

When the two landed back on the filthy ground, they ended up about 7 yards apart again, facing each other, Johann with his eyes still closed, Nicolas pressing a hand to his damaged left shoulder and smirking ferociously.

His sneer not letting up in the least, Nicolas pulled out the needle that made a spot of red blossom out on his shoulder, with a violent jerk. Bending his finger, he then launched the needle into space, the tiny metallic stick hitting a steel plank the original shape of which was impossible to guess and falling to the ground harmlessly. Nicolas' five senses were clear. He could even feel with his skin the soft ching the needle produced upon the impact. This place was dirty, mixing garbage and blood together. The stench was awful but the place itself felt comfortable.

Johann opened his mouth - not to talk but to let loose a war cry.

---So you get it, too, don't ya, kid.

There was no need for words in a fight between beasts. Or for breaks, for that matter.

That's how a real fight between Twilights ought to be. If their twilight was soon to change into eternal night, they had only the now to play to their heart's content. You can still go on, right? 'Cause we're not nearly done here, yet. Show me your next way to kill.

The corners of the two's lips lifted up even higher, as they kicked the ground, looking positively like a pair of savage beasts.

*

Watching the two beasts that unleashed their instincts to play with each other with murderous innocence, Worick and Dario sipped Old Parr.

"How nice. They look like they're having fun," Dario commented.

Worick only nodded in reply. The necklace intended for women dug into his skin, making it itch, and he raised a hand to his neck.

---Was this what Sophia wanted? he contemplated, fingering the faint scars found there.

No, this couldn't be it. Except at the same time, he couldn't get rid of the feeling that this was one of the possibilities she foresaw. At the very least, she knew that Johann would come to this city, searching for her. And to her, the play to unfold then was not a happy one but a tragedy, through and through, Worick was sure.

Just as he thought this, Dario spoke up.

"Y'know, in the end, Johann just can't live without depending on his little sis."

Worick didn't believe that Dario could possibly be smart enough to see through him and surmise what he was thinking; the short man didn't even try in the first place. What he said just happened to echo the words floating in Worick's own mind, was all. There was nothing strange about it, Worick felt.

The blond Benriya poured more of Old Parr into Dario's shot glass. Dario accepted the bottle from him and took his turn to fill Worick's glass.

"You see," he continued cheerfully, "he probably didn't really understand why he even lives in this world. So he made his sister his one and only reason. Only so long as he lives for his sister that he can feel that he really lives, I think. That's why he's having fun right now."

Sophia had to be aware of that, too, Worick was convinced. She had to know that to Johann, she was his everything. That's why she had placed such a request with them at the very end.

---Hide me for 3 more years.

It was for Johann that she went to the trouble to ask that. Her beloved big brother was the person that she desperately wanted to hide her tattered body and her death from. Just like her own flesh, Johann's body wouldn't hold out much longer. 3 years should be enough, she must have estimated.

That's how she probably lived all her life since being little, taking it upon herself to give her brother whatever meager hope she could, and going even as far as to hide her own compensation from him. Desperately trying to preserve her brother's illusion and keep it pretty.

And that's why Johann was able to fight right now, throwing his life away for his little sister. That's why he was able to shed blood with a smile on his face.

Worick felt that a cheap necklace was a fair price for the request tasking the Benriya with protecting the kind lie of a little sister created for her big brother. On the other hand, he also felt that being saddled with arranging the conclusion of two lives was too heavy a burden to carry.

He lit up a Pall Mall.

"So what about you, personally?" "Huh?" "How well did you know Sophia?"

Dario scratched his head. "It ain't cool to talk about others' women. Praise her or diss her, nothing good'll come out of it either way."

Dario stuck a Garam between his lips. Worrick moved to light it with his Zippo. Sweet-smelling tendrils of smoke, spewn from the tip, started creeping about, spreading out.

Dario was a strange man. Resorting to cheap cliched descriptors, he could be characterized as unfathomable. There was no way he was smart enough to know everything, but just like his little brother said, evidently the man lived his life always being able to somehow determine the right option to take, if just narrowly. Perhaps, it could be said that rather than remember so many things, it was better to forget most of them. Yeah, that just might be it, Worick reflected.

Someone once said that having many talents was more dangerous than having none. Worick couldn't forget anything, and way too many women took a liking to his talent of sorts - his fine hair. How many things had he missed out on because of that? He wished he could say with conviction that all of those things were something unnecessary to him, but his only eye could not record and store something that it had not seen even once.

"You said you can tell the smell of misfortune." "Yeah, I sure can. That's how I lived my life." "Can you smell it now?" "Nope, none at all. Booze, smoke, blood and the godawful stench of garbage. That's all. The usual crappy peaceful odor." "I see."

It appeared that Dario really didn't feel a sliver of uneasiness or anxiety, being no different from how he was all the other times he and Worick drank together. Did he believe Johann would win? Or...

Worick had to smile at the thought. Giving the man more depth than there was was no use. He would only set himself up for something absurd and equally stupid if he did.

Dario took a drag out of his Garam, then took a sip of his Old Parr. Repeating the process a few times, he finally said, "Speaking of women, in the past, I drew a picture together with a gorgeous woman. It was an awesome picture, too, of a grinning dog." "I know. You drew it on the hood of your Fiat." "Don't remember where I drew it. How come you know though?" "I heard from you. Time and time again. And I even saw it." "That so. Anyways, she was one fine woman."

How does it feel to forget, Worick suddenly wanted to ask badly, but limited himself to only an ambiguous smile in the end.

He kinda liked Dario. If only they had met under different circumstances... but there was no use to think about those ifs. In this city, every and all meetings always spelt trouble.

Worick recalled Sophia again.

For his tastes, she was neither pretty nor charming. She put up a cool aloof facade, but it was only skin-deep as she dreamed like a little girl even when her body was falling apart; she talked like she believed in nothing, yet a little kindness was all it took for her to trust a man. She was the type of woman you could find everywhere dime a dozen. But at least, she knew her womanly ways. At parting, a true woman was to leave trouble after herself. And fulfilling the wish of a dying woman made on her deathbed was the worst kind of trouble of all.

Fulfilling that wish would be beyond his powers to begin with if he was on his own, Worick whispered in his heart. Exhaling smoke, he focused his gaze on the two locked in an intense battle.

Luckily, Sophia entrusted her entreaty not simply to Worick alone but to the Benriya as a whole. It required no romantic-flavored pity or kindness. She never sought those to begin with. All that was requested was to accurately fulfill the wish, in just moderation.

And if he was allowed to involve the both halves of the Benriya in this matter, then Worick had just the man he could trust above all and who always did a job so perfect that it was almost offensive.

For the man in question, too, having any sort of personal feelings towards the client was resolutely out of question. It was a job, and that was all the reason he needed to act. Said man didn't even harbor human-like sentiments towards Worick himself, the blond was sure, being a creature that followed a simple rule demanding him to obey his contract holder. And he was not happy or sad about it. Nicolas Brown truly was an ideal partner for Worick Arcangelo.

*

Raw pain felt pleasant, making Johann smile a big smile.

It took him back to when he was kept by Gummy. He didn't have a single good memory about that period, but it was then that he had learned to enjoy this. For Sophia, for Sophia, he kept repeating to himself while destroying everything in sight. Only when doing that Johann felt redeemed.

If there was salvation to be found anywhere in his dirt-filled life not much different from that of a starved stray dog groveling in the dirt of a garbage dump as it waited for its death to come, it lay only in those moments. In the moments when he could be free. That was the only time when hope was born, hope for his beloved little sister that gave him hope in turn.

Johann's eyes were closed. He didn't need his vision to fight.

For Johann, his sense of smell provided him with exceedingly more information than his vision ever could. Smells covered everything that needed to be covered, and he could detect where the enemy was hiding and what was happening behind, above and below him, from smells alone. Smells were what told him the level of his opponent's fatigue or how close to death they were.

The Twilight he was presently dealing with was a deviation from the norm. He was stronger than anyone Johann had ever met. His physique was by no means big, but his body was covered with thoroughly tempered muscle - heavy, tough and elastic. Being lighter, Johann won in speed. And thanks to diversity of his weapons, the ranged fight advantage was on his side as well. But his opponent had him beat in everything else. The youth couldn't hope to best him in power or experience or raw madness.

Johann could readily see himself crushed by the man facing him. It was disturbingly easy to imagine the man's katana take Johann's head clean off his shoulders and pierce deep into his chest.

In contrast, he couldn't picture himself win. Knives and bullets would simply get repelled. And even if some of them happened to hit their target, that powerful body wouldn't stop. Wire would be cut up, the hidden weapons would deal no more damage than a gentle breeze, and everything about him would be dismissed.

---Even so, the winner would be himself.

Johann knew the smell of blood, as well as the smell of killing. He had absolute faith in his nose. Additionally, he also had Dario on his side. The man was powerless, but picturing him die was even farther beyond Johann's imagination than conjuring such an image for the muscular Twilight before him. As long as Johann, with his ability to smell blood, was with Dario who could tell the scent of fortune and misfortune, they wouldn't lose to anyone, ever.

The terrifying smell of the terrifying Nicolas was getting closer. His sweat was infused with vitality. His left calf and left shoulder had the scent of blood on them. The wound on his leg definitely wasn't anything light, at that. The area was sweating profusely and had a heightened temperature. But the man didn't seem to be concerned about it in the slightest. The mass of muscle bounced, and the iron scent drew closer.

Johann pulled at the wire wound about his left arm. Damp stench of a musty wooden closet swollen with moisture hit Nicolas from the side. But apparently, the man could actually see the thin wire even in the dark of night. Carefully measuring out the applied power, Johann severed the wire. The crash happened right next to Johann's ear, but he paid it no heed, moving on to launch his next attack.

Leaping into his opponent's chest, he made a slash at the man's throat with his combat knife. Nicolas dived down at the same time, evading and making one wonder just what kind of insane reflexes he possessed. Except, being able to perceive even flexing of muscle, Johann knew he would. Letting go of the knife, he aimed a handgun clasped in his other hand down at the man's face. Shockingly enough, instead of pulling away, Nicolas willingly moved in even closer to the gun. With the hilt of his katana that he now was forced to hold almost flat against his body, he struck at the handgun. Johann pulled the trigger. From the gun’s barrel pointed downward a single round launched. The explosive bang hit them both from below.

He picked the wrong option. He knew it in his head. He shouldn't have fired. He was well aware that his aim was off, after all. Even if it was less than a second, his mistake wasted it in vain and gave his opponent an edge. If this man moved closer to the gun muzzle on purpose to make Johann slip up and buy himself that momentous opening, then he truly was a monster. A split second error in timing it - and he would have died on the spot with a bullet lodged right between his eyes. Was it his way of saying that he was deaf even to the footfall of Death's approach?

What came assaulting Johann in the fleeting second snatched from him was not the katana or the fist or even the sole of the man's boot. A forehead hard as rock crashed into Johann's nose, sending  a shower of sparks blossoming on the backdrop of his closed eyelids. To kill the momentum, Johann allowed himself to fall backwards. His head was thrown back, chin pointing towards the sky, but he knew that his knife was at his feet, bouncing on the concrete flooring. Grabbing its hilt in midair, he drove it up, intending to bury it in the neck in front of him from below.

The monster effortlessly blocked it with the base of his katana's handle. Johann sensed that the muscle in the man's both arm was swelling with even more power. Unable to resist, the knife got ripped out of Johann's hand, the hilt of the katana sinking into his cheekbone on the sheer momentum. Johann still had the gun gripped in his left hand. Not hesitating, he fired it pretty much point-blank. Nicolas reacted immediately, twisting away. The bullet still grazed his left side, but the wound wasn't fatal. Not even deep enough to call it serious. And the man still took a step forward, the smell of his blood getting heavier.

There was no way something like that could stop the monster, and to prove it, he brought his katana down on the fallen Johann laying on the ground. Still, Johann was able to roll away somehow, avoiding the blow, maybe because having to dodge the bullet earlier put the man off balance. Johann tried to use the momentum of his rolling escape to snatch the knife that got ripped out of his grip earlier, but it went without saying that Nicolas, with his both feet firmly planted on the ground, had all the advantage he could want.

Johann scattered a handful of iron tubes as he rolled across the ground. Those were an unstable imitation of hand grenade, but this time they worked the way they were supposed to, successfully detonating. Using the sound of explosion that hurt his ears as a cue, Johann sprang up back to his feet, firing his gun at random to give himself cover. For a split second, his sense of smell got overwhelmed and Johann lost the grasp on Nicolas' position. It wouldn't be strange if that moment became his last, but somehow he managed to stay alive through it as he picked up his knife.

Dario was clapping and rejoicing on the sidelines, the flashy blast uplifting his mood, perhaps.

Johann's sense of smell was back and, following the man's scent, he readied his knife, facing in the man's direction and feeling relieved inside.

---Yes, luck was on his side.

He was still alive even after such a violent clash with a monster. His body still moved. The tubes blew up closer to Johann then Nicolas, but it looked like Nicolas had suffered more damage from the rubble the explosion scattered than Johann. In the first place, the very fact that that defective junk detonated at all was luck at work. If not for that, his head would already be rolling, neatly separated from his body. It just so happened that most of the wounds Johann had inflicted upon Nicolas in the course of the two's confrontations until now were on the other Twilight's left side. Johann was aware that Nicolas was left-handed and knew firsthand how taxing it was to fight when one's body balance was crippled like that.

Were all those coincidences due to Dario's power, too? Although the man sure reeked bad for being the living incarnation of Lady Luck. But at least, the short man's nose picked up that Johann would be able to beat this monster tonight. That had to be why he gave Johann permission to attack Nicolas in the first place.

Johann's nose that had taken a headbutt from Nicolas and the cheek that had been dealt a blow with the hilt of the older man's katana throbbed painfully. The youth was used to ignoring pain, but he felt a little sick, perhaps due to the blows to the head giving him a brain concussion. Would he able to counter the monster's attacks like he was doing until now like this? Contrary to Johann's fears though, Nicolas still didn't move from the spot he had taken after putting a bit of distance between them. He was simply smirking, and nothing else. The youth's intuition told him that the man was letting him catch his breath. That leniency and self-confidence the man displayed could probably be regarded as a stroke of luck for Johann, too.

Johann accepted what he was offered and took a breath. Opening his eyes, he found that the night was unexpectedly radiant. Through a tear in the clouds moonlight shot, like an arrow released from a bow. Not even Johann knew what moonlight smelled like.

Nicolas beckoned him with his index finger.

---Ready yet? If you are, bring it.

That was what was said to him, the youth knew.

And indeed, his head was clearer, the shock from the impacts on his brain having mostly eased. The scent of gunpowder in the air somewhat abated, too, allowing for easier transmission of information on smells.

At the end, for a very short while, Johann's eyes darted towards the tattered couch. What they focused on was not Dario, however, but the man next to him, sipping whiskey with a superficial smile on his lips.

Worick. From his neck, there hanged that familiar wing-shaped necklace.

Johann didn't doubt that Sophia would never part with that necklace, much less give it to anyone, no matter who, willingly. Actually, her scent coming from that necklace was weak.

For a split second, Johann's murderous impulse flared up, with the blond man as its target.

But he couldn't get his priorities backwards, here. The monster before him came first. The stench of bloodlust coming from in front of him was terribly overpowering.

And a dog was supposed to head to its destination guided by its nose, after all.

*

Worick knew the implications when Johann's eyes met his. And of course, he felt the youth's murderous intent that was directed at him.

He even gave a whistle at that. Being glared at by a Twilight was helluva scary, he confirmed for himself yet again.

"You known him long?"

When asked, Dario let his Garam that had burned up to the filter drop to the ground by his feet, then cocked his head to the side.

"No, not really. A year or two. Ask him for details." "Oh, that's a surprise. I was under the impression that you've been hanging out together for 10-something years or so." "You see, with him, it's like he was born just yesterday, 'cause he never saw remotely human treatment when he was growing up. When he finds someone to hold a decent conversation with, he gets attached to them." "What about you?" "Hn?" "You seem to dote on Johann-chan quite a bit. Why?"

Worick fully expected Dario to just say he had forgot why in reply. Whether it was true or a lie, the short man would just half-heartedly evade the question, he thought.

But Dario didn't.

"Do you really need a reason to be friends?" "It's not about if you need a reason or not. There has to be something." "Maybe." Dario put Old Parr to his lips. "Here, there, everywhere stupid shitty fools are doing stupid rotten things. And I got fed up with it all. Know the feeling?" "Can't say I do." "Better if you don't. Anyways, when you’re hungry, you wanna fill your belly, right? And then the opposite, when you've eaten your fill, you wanna admire guys who are hungry."

Worick didn't understand what Dario wanted to say by that. He could probably easily chime in, saying he shared Dario's sentiment, but he had a feeling that this wasn't something he should treat frivolously and agree without meaning every word. Dario was talking about the reason why he had decided to throw away his own life willingly, Worick was sure.

"Why have you gotten sated?" "I can't remember why very well. My head is great, you see, it forgets all the trifle stupid things." "Yeah. It's one of your few in number special talents." "I know, right? You've no idea how convenient it is." "But also can be inconvenient." "I ask my kid brother at times like that." "You two sure mesh well." "That's how partnership works."

Worick gulped down what was left in his shot glass, and Dario poured him more. The Old Parr bottle was already about half empty.

Taking a sip out of his own glass, Dario smiled. "This booze sure is yummy. And it's such a nice night tonight. Perfectly suited both for drinking with a friend and for parting with a friend," he said.

It was directly after that that blood spilled and sprayed before the two's eyes.

*

When Johann took off his eyes of the necklace and refocused them on Nicolas, the man showed an expression like that of disappointment, almost like the happy smile he wore before was but a lie.

Instinctively, Johann knew the reason. It was because his murderous impulse was diverted away from the monster in front of him, if only for a second. The man was probably reproving Johann's halfheartedness.

---I'm sorry for that, Nicolas, Johann apologized in his heart.

Sorry for spoiling your fun. Sorry for not being a true unmixed beast like you.

---But I have my own joy and happiness.

Sophia. Just the fact of her existence was enough to make Johann feel content.

Johann kept squeezing the trigger of his handgun until the magazine was empty. One round grazed Nicolas' shoulder lightly, but the rest he dodged or repelled with his blade. The same instance Johann was finished firing the last bullet, he threw two knives, then dashed forward himself, following them.

Out of his weapons, he only had one combat knife and one wire left on him.

Closing his eyes, he simply ran.

---Need to purify my desire to kill, he tried to persuade himself.

Like the knife he launched, like the bullet he fired. Like the monster in front. His next slash would inflict a fatal wound, he believed.

He would kill the man. He would kill him, without fail. He would kill him with his next slashing attack. He would forget about Sophia for just those few moments. He would surrender himself to the undiluted madness for just a split second, like the monster in front. And a single finely honed slash would become the killing drive incarnate.

---If he could just make himself believe it...

Nicolas dodged the two knives thrown at him and, facing the opponent head on, readied his katana.

---If Johann could just make himself believe it, he would be able to make even this monster fall silent forever.

There was a wire attached to one of the thrown knives. When it unwound to its full length, Johann hauled it back in. A sound of the air being rend asunder came from behind Nicolas.

---I'm the pure killing intent personified.

Only, that killing intent was fake. If that monster had a working sense of hearing, he might have noticed that much. But he was staring only at Johann. He didn't even smirk anymore. Johann knew it even with his eyes closed. The next thing he did was to try and stab the approaching monster with his combat knife imbued with the fake murderous impulse. The monster swung his katana.

Directly following the two blades clashing, the thin knife pierced into the man's back from behind, just like Johann had envisioned it.

Nicolas' katana lost some of the power behind it, and Johann outmaneuvered it with his combat knife.  The tip of the knife was about to tear the man's throat open, the youth knew.

Only, immediately after he had confirmed it, his knife plunged into something that was more meaty than a throat had any right to be. Nicolas, with one knife already sticking out of his back, whipped up his right arm to let the combat knife sink into it.

---Ah.

This was what a true monster was like, huh. Being stabbed from behind didn't stop him, and neither did being stabbed from the front. The true madness not abating any no matter how much he bled.

Johann tried to pull his combat knife out of the flesh it pierced all the way to the bone. It didn't budge, however. The tough stiff muscle held it captive, the youth realized. Could not be helped then. Johann let go of his last remaining weapon.

Balling his right old man's hand into a fist, he punched the knife, spreading the bloody smell, on the handle. The force of the impact recoiled back into his fist. He did train to fight hand-to-hand, but the shock made his wrist bend and throb in pain. Next, he tried to do the same with his left childish arm. But the man caught it with his bleeding right hand and crushed the youth's hand in his grip.

From the intense pain, Johann's eyes opened. In his field of vision, blurry with tears, he saw the monster smiling.

"Wit' DIs, I dESTroYEd eveRYt'INg."

This was the first time the youth had heard the monster's voice.

He didn't understand what the man said.

What he did realize was that the katana was lodged in his own neck, and from there a spray of blood was gushing forth. But he couldn't feel the smell of it anymore.

*

From Johann's broken, fallen body, dark blood was streaming, spreading on the ground.

With that much, even Worick could smell it, now. It was not a pleasant scent.

Nicolas, who gave his everything to the game, was leaning against a wall, catching his breath. From his right arm stabbed with a blade at the end, blood was dripping. He overdid it, Worick wanted to chide him, he clearly could have won with less sacrifices on his part. But his partner had this bad habit of accommodating his opponents a little too much.

Sipping his whiskey, Dario gazed at what had been Johann only a few seconds ago. No matter how Worick searched his face, he didn't find signs of sadness in it. If anything, there was even a cheerful smile on his lips.

Taking note of the other man's empty glass, Worick asked, "Need a refill?"

Dario shook his head. "Nah, don't wanna have to take a leak." "The night has only just begun." "I've already had my fill of fun for tonight." "I see."

Worick wanted to talk to this man for just a little longer but was hard pressed to find a suitable conversation topic.

Taking out his Colt Government, he pushed it against Dario's temple.

"Do you remember what our bets were?" "No. I already forgot," Dario said, corners of his lips lifting in a smile. "I'll ask Johann on the other side. He's very capable, you see." "Take care of him. He's too good a little brother for someone like you." "Yeah. You said it."

Dario glanced at the Garam box but it was already empty. Only the faint sweet smell still hung in the air, and even that was already dissipating. Worick offered him his Pall Mall, but the short man declined with the palm of his hand.

"See ya, my friend. This is a good night to bid farewell." "Bye-bye, my friend. Say hi for me to your little brother and that stylish vivid violet car."

Worick pulled the trigger.

A bang, stupidly loud, echoed.

It resembled this man's voice, just a little.

Worick returned the Colt Government into its holster, then put a hand over the half-open eyes, as if in a smile, of the man laying collapsed on the couch and closed the lids. Good night was the words that you were supposed to say to a lady. "Well done," Worick whispered instead, but there was no answer.

He downed what Old Parr was left in his shot glass in one gulp. Lighting up a Pall Mall, he puffed out a cloud of smoke and closed his eyes.

Dario remained an elusive man till the very end. At the very least, he was no friend. Still, Worick wished they could have had a drink together one more time. And that he could have sat in the passenger seat of that violet monstrosity just once more. Or that Dario would call him friend once again. He really needed to put an end to this train of thought.

When Worick opened his eyes, he saw Nicolas walking up closer.

'Over?' his hands signed, and Worick nodded. "Yeah, both, more or less."

The requests of a dead woman and of a mafia organization, and with this, both of them were done and over with.

Worick got up from the couch and crossed to Johann. Standing over him, the blond gazed down at his face. The youth's expression wasn't nearly as bitter as Worick had expected. He looked like a sleeping child watching a dream.

Taking off the necklace too tight for his neck, Worick squatted by Johann and put it into the young man's hand, closing his fingers around it. Did he really risk his life for something as petty as a wing on a chain? The moon was finally out, showing through tears in the clouds, but the cheap thing didn't even glitter properly in the moonlight.

'Isn't that supposed to be the pay?' Nicolas pointed out disinterestedly with a sweep of his hand. "But of course," Worick nodded. "Except with this cute girly item lying around our house, I'll get fewer job requests for my main occupation. It's a cheap article, it's not worth the trouble." 'So what, we worked for free then, huh?' "You reap what you sow, remember? That's why some nights are like this, partner."

Nicolas grimaced with distaste at Worick's nonchalant words, but didn't really look especially discontent. To him, some necklace was something he couldn't care less about from the start, probably.

In the small city of Ergastulum, surrounded with walls on all sides, all you needed to do to run into trouble was take a few steps. Whether the fact was fortunate or unfortunate, no one cared. This time they just happened to draw the short straw, was all.

Worick didn't possess a nose capable of telling the smell of good fortune, after all. "Tough luck," he shrugged his shoulders and plastered the usual well-worn business smile on his face.

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