A Deal with the Devil [Jericho]

[Nothingness]

So much noise. So much empty, hollow noise. None of it meant anything--just flies buzzing amongst themselves. How irritating. How damnably, insufferably irritating. Clive was sitting in his usual corner of a bar that was situated in one of Agrabah's less than reputable sections. That being said, very few parts of Agrabah were reputable, but this was definitely on the lower end of the scale. As for what he was doing, he was drinking a glass of red wine and waiting for no one in particularly. People knew where to find him for his "services."

Clive preferred as little interaction with his clients as possible. If the person just put a sack of money in front of him and said the name, he'd get the job done. Those were the good jobs--quick and easy. No attachment to the mark. They were nothing more than a target to him, not even fit to be called human. But then there were those that came for revenge jobs. Irrational, stupid, and they never shut up. For whatever godforsaken reason those louts had the clout to spill their whole life story, as if that would somehow make anything different. Idiots. Useless.

He sipped his wine with a strange kind of elegance that wasn't seen in a bar like this. Despite having fallen to the lowest of the low, he still retained some of who he was. The ring and necklace were proof of that. Setting the glass down he twisted the ring on his finger--some of the pale skin beneath was showing in stark contrast to his deeply tanned skin. Letting go of the ring, he touched the tiny, silver cross that was dangling off of his neck. They were all that were keeping him going.

The sound of a man crashing onto a table woke him from his reverie. Apparently one of the trash-heaps here managed to piss off the wrong person. "Idiots." He thought with more than just disdain. A client would more likely than not be showing up soon. Perhaps this time it would be more than a revenge job.

[Slash]

The sound that Clive heard was the sound of Jericho teaching someone not to start fights that they couldn't finish.

This place was a hole where the lowest of the low lived and spawned. He was referring to the world as well as the bar. Agrabah was a pit. But to bring his plan to fruition, he had to be everywhere, know everyone.

He had a vast array of faces to choose from to fool others, but he chose not to use any here. He was among other scum, and there was no need to hide. But he was a higher breed of monster, and he was going to make that painfully clear to the thugs and rapists in this hellhole.

"Next time you attempt to goad me, I suggest something a little more inventive. I've heard so much about my stature and my glasses that it's honestly all become white noise to me. However, next time you break a beer bottle with intent to use it as a weapon I suggest that you strike while you have the advantage. If you threaten them first, you may end up in this situation." 'This situation' happened to be the man having his face shoved into the ground while Jericho bent his arm in a way that arms did not usually bend.

"Of course, your type never learn anything besides the very basics. It is a sad truth, to be sure." He dropped the man's arm in disgust. The thug had fainted, Jericho didn't even have to use his sword. Pathetic.

Was there anyone here he could even use? He scanned the faces in the bar. They all turned to their business- brawls were not an uncommon sight for them. No...no...no...hmm. That one, perhaps.

He had the deep tan possessed by inhabitants of Agrabah, but was...cleaner than most here. His clothes were nicer, and from the silver cross around his neck to the ring on his finger he could tell that the guy had a better source of income. There was one who could be used. This was probably where he set up plans for his business. Jericho couldn't think of another reason for someone much higher in the criminal hiearchy to be here. Unless he was hiring, as Jericho was. Then they could work something out.

"A lovely batch, aren't they?" Jericho asked casually, sitting next to the man. "Not worth the trouble of a fight." Abruptly, he dropped all formalities and looked at Clive with a cold, appraising eye. His voice became serious and thoughtful.

"You are of a working breed. An assassin, perhaps, or a mercenary. Something involving death and money gained from said deaths. I could use someone like that. But how skilled are you, I wonder...?"

[Nothingness]

You're One of Those

Well, at least he didn't have to wait long after thinking that. Yet, if this guy could completely debilitate that other man without much effort than why enlist his service? Oh, he was one of those kind of people. Those obnoxious pricks who think they can act like his equal despite being on a completely different level than himself. How pathetic. Even the casual conversation was a complete waste of time. Was he going to get to the point yet? Whatever, as long as the work was solid.

What is this? Now he's trying to read him like he was working on disguising who he was. He was half-hoping that the injured guy would hire him to kill this trash. Sadly, it looked like that wasn't going to be happening anytime soon. It looked like he would be dealing with this guy. It didn't matter, regardless--he only thought of himself as a tool to be used anyway. That's what his life has been since the day he should have died.

Clive's expression didn't change in the slightest while all of this was going through his head. Even with as much sheer distaste he held, he didn't even particularly feel it. After having had his entire life taken from him, emotions meant little--expressing them even less. Perhaps his sheer abhorring of this man prompted him to speak more than necessary, but he figured it best to be said. "You've got ten seconds to give me a target, or I'll just kill you and wait for another client." He didn't take out his knife, raise his voice, or even change his expression. His voice serious, but not demanding or aggressive, and his body language was just as passive. Clive wasn't one to joke around--if this man didn't do as he was asked, then he would be dead.

[Slash]

Jericho turned his head just a bit to the side in amused contempt. He probably wasn't the right type. Too stoic, for one, and too arrogant. He probably had a code of morals, too, which was always annoying. But Jericho needed someone who was a little more reliable than the Heartless Ava.

But he was going to make it exceedingly clear that he wasn't just another sniveling client come to settle a score with someone they couldn't take themselves. Even if it came to a fight. Whoever this guy was, he was far too sure if his own superiority. That was quite a dangerous flaw.

"Shut up," he said. "That's the first order of business, rat. Your threats mean less than nothing." Jericho made a note to cut out the man's tongue if he kept it up.

"Here's your target. Everybody. Or, more specifically, everybody I tell you to. Starting with everyone at this bar." Jericho threw a bag of munny in front of the self-centered assassin. It was a very substantial amount, and only a fraction of the fortunes Jericho could retrieve. He had little interest in material things but recognized the need for funds, so he took from the bodies of the dead often. They didn't need it where they were going. "Half up front, and the other half if you can actually do it. Ten seconds to start. Or I'll kill you and look for another assassin."

[Nothingness]

Proof of Purchase

Finally, a client with some stones to back up their talk. This wouldn't even be difficult. "Deal." He stood up and took a quick check of the bar. It was a small place, luckily for him. Two people just left--some man with a whore. The one his client had injured hobbled off while the terms of their contract were being set. Let's see, that left eight people in the bar, not including themselves. Three were near the center of the room, two in front of the bar, another was sleeping in the far corner, the bartender, and some off-duty guard drowning in his drink. Judging by the dimensions of the room...perfect.

"The guard first," he thought, walking up to him. Taking his blade in his left hand, he placed his right arm around the guard's shoulder before covering his mouth and stabbing him in the heart. The guard was already nearly passed out, so no one would find much odd about his head lying on the table. The dim lighting would also help disguise any blood that might be on the floor.

The next target would be the bartender and the two sitting at the bar. There's no way he could take out the three at the table without alerting the bartender. Time to get serious. Unsheathing his knife, he grabbed the tip of the blade and tossed it at the bartender's throat. Yet in mid-flight, it seemed to stop--or at least was moving so slowly that it was hardly noticeable. He felt a rather strange sensation of restriction in his limbs, but he had grown used to that. Walking straight towards the bartender, he returned himself to normal speed. The moment the dagger pierced the man's throat, Clive wrenched it out and slit the two other patron's throats with two quick slices.

By this point, the three at the table were about to hear the sound of bodies falling. Speeding himself back up, he quickly approached the three at the table. Their faces were contorted disgustingly into what appeared to be laughter. "At least they'll die laughing,[/i]" he thought with melancholy. Reverting back, he took his blade and slit one's throat before stabbing the other in the chest. The third started to run, and was about to let out a scream before Clive tossed the blade into the back of his head, silencing him. The six bodies almost fell simultaneously.

Removing the blade from his last victim's skull, he calmly walked over to the last, sleeping patron and plunged his dagger into their heart. Truth be told, the person may as well have already been dead. It didn't matter--all eight targets were eliminated. It took about twenty seconds to complete--less if he didn't bother with the ceremony on the last one. Not bad.

Wiping the blade clean on the last victim's clothes, he walked back over to the client. However, he figured he'd make it clear to his client who he was hiring. Speeding himself up, he almost instantly appeared behind Jericho and had the tip of his dagger poking the skin just above his jugular. "You said everyone. That's everyone that matters." Taking the blade away from the client's throat, he walked back over to his seat and sat down. His job was done--now back to waiting.

[Clive used, Fade, two posts until next use]

[Slash]

Oh, get over yourself.

Jericho was a second away from knocking him back and getting that damn knife off of his throat when the assassin backed off and sat back down. Well, he'd do. He was arrogant, but his skill was quite obvious. And if it got too bad, Jericho would beat a better attitude into him. If he kept the money coming, the assassin would work despite their quickly growing mutual hatred.

"Not bad," he said simply. "You'll do." He liit a cigarette and looked at the bodies with a mix of hatred and annoyance. They were all better off dead.

He leaned back and focused his gaze on Clive. "Since you're decent, let me make this clear. I'm not interested in some one-shot job. It'll be a long-term thing. I keep the money coming, you do what I say and kill who I tell you to kill. Not really different from what you do anyway. While the ones I tell you to kill will pay more, of course, you'll be paid money for each head you give me. I'm not particular. However, you'll be paid little for the deaths of children and the elderly, since there's no reason in paying you much for easy targets. You keep your mouth shut and I'll stop from saying anything to you except orders. I'm not going to ask you your name, and I'm not telling you mine. There's no point. We're certainly not going to be friends." Jericho immediately chose a name for the assassin. Dog. It was fitting.

"And one more thing. It's incredibly obvious how superior you think you are. Therefore, any threats I make are as meaningless to you as yours are to me. But should you attempt to kill me, or even so much as threaten to do so, we'll find out who's the better fighter. And I might surprise you. Of course, that doesn't mean anything to the arrogant man, so I'll also cease all payments and dispose of you. You are skilled. But there are others like you."

He stated the numbers of each payment for a requested head, ones that Dog had hunted on his own, and the quite small fee for killing children and elderly. Money was no issue to him. The Dog would pay for himself through the men he killed.

"Can you work? Or should I just leave?"

[Nothingness]

Client

Clive didn't particularly care for what this man was saying. He knew that neither of them would be getting along--not that he wanted to at all. Nor did he care about getting paid or killing people. If he was superior, he didn't notice or care what his clients thought of him. It was just like his old life anyway. People hired him for a job, he finished it, he got paid. The clients didn't need to give him their name, nor him his. Only the job mattered.

At long last, Jericho stopped his long-winded explanation of the job. Clive drank the last of the red liquid resting at the bottom of his glass. He really only had one thing to say: "Deal." As always, this man would be referred to as the Client until such time as the contract ceased. Any form of personal connection would be wasted on the both of them, a rather welcome change from the usual one-sided relationship the client tried to have with Clive. What always seemed sad to him was that the clients never did, nor would they ever seem to, understand why Clive was doing what he was, despite the answer being so obvious to him.

He wanted to die.

[Slash]

Music: Mephiles' Whisper
--------------

The deal was done. Dog's services had been acquired. As promised, Jericho wouldn't speak much to him...but there were other ways to find out what made him tick. And Jericho would find out. Yes. Just because he needed to use Dog didn't mean that Dog was safe.

His soul had been given over as part of his services. Jericho was the Devil's Poet, after all. Devil. It was right there in his nickname.

How much has your soul corroded, Dog? How much farther can you fall? And, most importantly, what secrets have you locked away inside your heart? I warn you, nothing can be truly hidden from me.[/color]

But he said nothing of the sort. "Good." He would have said something about how they'd start here and how he was going to burn down the building, but he was trying to keep interaction down as much as possible. That was incredibly hard to do. Jericho really enjoyed talking.

As he got up, he felt a quick pain in his heart. He knew exactly what that was. It had been many years since he'd started his revenge. The seed of darkness that had been planted in his heart ages ago had been well-nourished, and was finally beginning to bloom. What it would do to him Jericho had no idea. But he would last long enough to see his plan either come to fruition or fall into ruin. Whatever the darkness did to him, Jericho would use that to his advantage. But he would most likely die or kill himself before it consumed him completely. Heartless did not have minds (save for the strange exception of Ava), and Nobodies...Jericho dreaded the thought of becoming one. Even if he retained his memories, the hatred that had become his sustenance would be lost. How would he survive?

But that had little importance to him now. He took a look at the bottles of alcohol lining the shelves. Walking around the counters, he smashed quite a few of them with his sword, then took two and made sure to cover the bodies. Then he struck one of his matches, lit a cigarette with it, and threw the match onto the ground. Within seconds, a good blaze was going.

"For completion's sake. I hate leaving a mess." Did Dog like fire? He didn't know. Either way, it was about time to move onto the real thing. Time to see how well Dog could follow his master.

Jericho had moved quickly, almost as quick as Dog had come at him, and was standing in the doorway. This was just a bit of a caution that, while Dog was faster, it wasn't by such a significant margin that it would leave Jericho helpless.

"Come out and we'll start. Or you can stay and burn in there. Your choice." Really, the burning was probably a more desirable fate. But whatever.

[Nothingness]

Neither of Us Hide Anything

Clive watched as the Client studied him for a moment--peering into his soul, or at the very least trying as much as he could. It was now that Clive realized just how pathetic this man was. He could even assume that this man had descended a level lower than himself. What was this feeling? Pity for the Client? If he could he would mock the idea of thinking this. Clive honestly didn't believe anyone could have fallen lower than himself, but the Client seemed to have disproved that. "He and I are one in the same. Yet he refused to give into numbness. Is it that he, unlike I, blames himself?" This was conjecture, of course, but it seemed to fit the Client.

This is why he hated revenge jobs. Personal conflicts only clouded the client's judgment and they never ended well. How many men and women had he killed that didn't deserve death? Clive couldn't remember. How many of his clients regretted their actions? Too many. But this man's revenge wasn't on a person, it was on people. It was on the world. The world betrayed him--or more rather he brought about the betrayal--and now he wants to get back. If any shred of emotion was left in him, Clive couldn't feel anything but pity for this man.

As Clive's mind was drifting, Jericho's words fell on deaf ears. It wasn't until he saw Jericho standing in the doorway and the heat of the flames on his skin that he at last stood up and began to walk towards the Client, leaving both sacks of munny on the table to be consumed by the fire. Maybe he'd found a new reason to live. While Clive never considered himself righteous, to see someone suffer agony greater than his just seemed wrong. If he could live long enough, Clive would make sure to end his client's life.

As he stood next to Jericho outside of the conflagration he only said one word. "Target?"

[Slash]

Sympathy for the Devil?

Caught it. Jericho had seen it. It had been faint and fleeting, but it took a level of subtlety unknown to man to escape his eye. Pity.

He hated the pity of others. It was an emotion that was utterly wasted on him. Why would anyone feel for a monster? A self-imposed monster, at that. He had no delusions about what he did. True, he had been pushed to the very edge of sanity by the deaths of his family, and perhaps even thrown into the abyss. However, when he landed, what had he done? He hadn't killed himself or imposed the emotional nullity which Dog possessed. No, he had gone a different route. To defend himself from the pain of loss, he had hit the bottom and dug deeper. Deep enough to eclipse his hatred of his own failings with hatred of everyone else's.

How many people had he tortured and killed? Too many to count. While there were similarities between him and Dog, namely them being the scum of the earth, Jericho knew he was much worse. And to be a lower level than Dog was near impossible to do unwillingly.

"Don't," he said angrily. "Don't pity me. Hate, scorn, contempt, anger. Pick one. But not pity. I'm beyond deserving that. I-" He was cut off by another pain in his chest, more intense than the last. What was going to happen to him? He knew he would find out, very soon.

"Never mind. Follow me. I'll show you your targets."

[Nothingness]

Orders

Clive had struck a chord. Proof that his assumptions were true. The Client had indeed fallen to a lower level that was only reserved for the most tainted men. Beyond all salvation, the Client only had death or madness as a release. Somewhere in the deep reaches of his mind Clive was wondering which would take this man first.

It didn't matter in the end, however. Clive would do as he was told until such a time came that would end their contract. And as such, he simply followed Jericho to wherever the next mission lead.

[Administrator]

Just then, what happened but several portals opened up, and out came several white-suited creatures. They were Samurai Nobodies, wielding swords of a grey material and following a code of honor not many understand. But their honor was not on display today. They had orders to come here and destroy the one who would inevitably attack them.

Any who helped that one was to be destroyed as well. The three looked at each other, as if sharing a silent thought. At that moment, the trio whipped out their katanas, two attacking Jericho, and one attacking Clive. They were ready for this task, which had been assigned them by an undisclosed source. The blades whipped quickly, and the Nobodies prepared to fight.

[Slash]

The Spider

Jericho glared angrily. Nobodies? What was with all the Nobodies all of a sudden? They were EVERYWHERE. Had he done something to a Nobody recently? The ones that he'd destroyed had attacked him first. He had no interest in Nobodies. "Well, here's a couple of targets."

The Samurai Nobodies attacked him quickly- Jericho kept moving back to avoid their attacks. One was certainly enough- together, it was all he could do not to get slashed. They were moving him back into a wall, advancing slowly but inexorably.

Not that it would matter in a bit. His vision kept shifting in and out of focus. Perhaps he wasn't changing at all. Perhaps he was just dying.

A great pain ripped into him, a mechanical screech filled his ears, the Samurai advanced-

-and suddenly, it seemed as if gravity itself had shifted. The wall of the building became a floor. The ground became a huge wall, with people defying gravity by walking on it.

Or was he the one defying gravity? He was on the wall, after all. Standing as if he was still on the ground. It felt strange, and not in just the "holy crap i'm on a wall" sort of way. He felt...different.

He did not know that there was a golden tint to his eye, or a slight red aura surrounding him. He crouched down to a position with his hands almost touching the wall. It felt more natural that way- he didn't know about the strange distortions of the air that seemed almost like six segmented spider legs extending from his back, but he must have felt them in some way.

Either way, he knew that a tiny bit of his humanity had just withered and died. He felt surprisingly okay with this. He backed up, the result being that he was higher on the wall, then jumped down with a slash, hitting a Samurai.

Click. Gravity shifted again. This time there was no pain. Back down to the ground. He attacked once, then retreated again.

Click. To the wall. He tried to move quickly, but his balance wobbled and shifted- if he went too fast, he knew he'd fall. Attack.

Click.

Click.

Click.

He kept shifting back and forth, back and forth, from the walls to the ground, always moving. Every time he hit the ground, his appearance returned to normal, and every time he got to the wall it shifted. And it was fantastic. His joy was almost childlike, the joy of discovering some new and wonderful thing. Such a strange power. The pain was worth it. Would it develop further? He hoped so.

[Nothingness]

Target

Clive didn't believe that these were the intended targets, but anything would do--he wasn't going to be picky. And what an interesting target is was. Silver, malleable skin and clothing, a strangely shaped metal helmet, and two silver swords that seemed to be attached to its back. The two stared at each other, both waiting for the other to make the first move.

Clive slowly drew his dagger, holding it in a reverse-grip. In his previous life as a pirate he was easily one of the crew's best knife fighters, and had no problems taking down equally skilled swordsmen. As long as they stared each other down, Clive would be able to get the jump on him. Just as Clive tensed, preparing to strike, the Samurai bent over slightly, drawing a blade and holding next to its side as if it were unsheathing it.

Clive made to move on the Nobody, speeding himself up. As he moved, the Samurai was surprisingly moving at running speed towards him, swinging its blade at his head in a quick-draw attack. Ducking his head before the blade made contact, the Nobody turned its head and watched him. If the thing had a face underneath that mask, it was probably showing a surprised expression. Clive felt himself speed down and watched as the Nobody placed the sword it was carrying on its back.

Knowing each others speed would make this a very quick fight. One false move and it would be over in an instant for both of them. Another stare-down. Clive's eyes flitted over to Jericho, who was sporting some strange arachnid-like appendages. The Client certainly was different than most people it seemed. It was then that Clive saw the Samurai make its move. The blades on its back seemed to pop up, and Clive sped up and rushed towards them before the Nobody could grab one. Sticking an arm out, he managed to grab onto one of the blades before slowing himself back to normal. One of the Samurai's hands grasped a sword, while the other just caught the air.

Clive spun the blade in his hand before throwing the blade at the Samurai and speeding himself up. As the Nobody went to catch it, Clive dashed up to it and slowed down just in time to pierce the underside of the Nobody's free arm with his dagger. The Nobody vanished in tendrils of nothingness as its own sword pierced through its chest. The fight was over. Now for the Client to finish his.

[Clive used Vanish, 2 posts until next use]

[Slash]

What had once seemed like a tough fight had become child's play due to this strange power, and the only reason he was extending it so long was to test the limits of his abilities. He found that if he was knocked back, he was able to quickly switch his center of gravity and land comfortably on the wall, provided he focused. Moving at anything more than a jog caused him to abruptly shift back to the ground. He could switch back and forth as much as he liked with no side effects, and as long as he was within jumping distance of the surface he wished to walk on he could do it. And he certainly was. Adding such a strange, gravity-defying aspect to his fighting made his movements hard to follow and his attacks confusing and unpredictable.

He struck at the Nobodies while switching from wall to wall, always keeping on the move. He was impossible to keep up with. If they attempted to climb the wall and get to him, he landed and struck from behind. If they attacked him on the ground, he dodged by going to a wall, afterwards attacking them with a jumping slash. It was not long before they were eliminated.

Hardly satisfying. Especially with enemies that do not scream or bleed. People would be much more satisfying. I could kill them, then the darkness in me would be stronger and make me stronger as well. Not that I need to be stronger. With this, I feel like I could kill the world.

Jericho was surprised at the sheer animal brutality of that thought, which hardly seemed to come from him. However, the idea of a dead world was incredibly appealing. If he ever wanted to stop his plan, the first thing he'd do would be to find a mostly uninhabited world, kill the inhabitants, and live there until he died. Or he'd just kill himself, but whatever.

Dog was still here? Jericho had to admire him for his devotion to his pay. He willingly worked for someone who had moved from wall to floor like a demented spider monkey. If he could deal with that so well, maybe he was okay as far as scum went. At the very least, he wasn't a coward. Jericho hated cowards.

He smiled. It was time to truly begin bringing everything down. And if Dog stayed with him, all the more reason to respect the arrogant bastard.

"Wonder what they were doing..." He shrugged. "Let's go."

He turned towards a pathway, and in doing so also turned towards whatever painand destruction the future may hold.