tampered | Log: Ongoing

Log: Ongoing

When; mid-day, sept. 10th
Rating; R for excessive gore and horror
Characters; Pyramid Head, anyone who enjoys carnage.
Summary; Pyramid Head, feeling abandoned once more by Alessa, goes on a killing spree to prove his worth. He starts in the subway, and will work his way up until he meets resistance.
Log;

The man shook as he walked, his gait jerky and erratic as he approached the crowd on the subway platform. Were any to look at his eyes, they'd see only two pools of red. The man stopped at the edge of the crowd, then tilted his head back, and let out a tortured howl of pain. He then dug a scalpel out of his chest, and plunged into the crowd, slashing back and forth, coating the floor and ceiling in glorious sprays of red. The crowd surged forward, heading for the exit, when the now-familiar sound drifted down the tunnel. The air raid siren. Most of the city knew what it was by now, and horrified screams went up like cheers at a horse race. The crazed, scalpel-weilding man stopped, and jerked upright, his body trembling.

That's when the monster stepped from the shadows. The great knife was absent, but he was recognized all the same. One of the monstrous white hands was outstretched, the fingers moving... As he drew closer, his actions were clarified. He was holding the man's veins, manipulating him like a puppet. The monster's hand twitched slightly, and the man rammed the scalpel into his own forehead, and tumbled from the platform, trailing his veins behind him. The crowd was screaming, huddling in the corner. It was amusing, how they were paralysed with fear. It was all the same to him, however; they'd die either way. The monstrous hand reached into the squirming crowd, selecting a young woman, her makeup streaming down her face, and lifted her airborne by her hair. He dragged her out into the open, her pitiful pleas and screams echoing loudly through the tunnels. She screamed and screamed, right up to the point where he tore his hand into her flesh and gripped her spine. With a ferocious tug, he ripped her spine and skull cleanly from her flesh, letting the mangled corpse fall to the floor.

He now had a weapon.

Gripping the base of the spine, he waded into the crowd, slinging the grisly mace to and fro. How glorious! How proud she'd be! One man tried to scream as the skull's teeth took out one of his eyes. Another man could only gargle as the monster rammed the sharp end of the spine through his mouth and out the back of his neck.

Fifteen minutes later, the blood was trickling from the platform and onto the eletric rail lines, as the monster headed for the stairs.

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That damned siren was sounding agian.

V had started the morning off irritably, being denied a normal shower and Tea, but nevertheless had set out to take care of a few early morning chores.

Almost as soon as he set foot outside the camoflauged door he could hear the screaming down the tunnels.

Bloody Hell.

A quick burst of speed and two corners later, V was standing across the track.
The Creature was on a rampage?!
Unhappily V was only armed with his daggers, but being dead already took some of the worry out of dying agian.

Now, if he could just lure the thing away from the platform, he might be able to make it to a storage cache and drive it back with flame.

....Assuming this new incarnation had the same distaste for napalm as the old.

Not agian.. He thought with a great deal of exasperation.

"Over here, you overgrown paperweight!

I wondered when I would be dancing with you agian." He called, and drew a blade for each hand.

The creature seemed not to hear, or care, as he lumbered up the stairs, the darkness following him into the daylight, gripping the sky in it's inky blackness, choking the sun from the sky. For a hundred meters in every direction around him, the darkness smothered light. He surfaced, dragging the spine along the steps, his robes dripping blood.

It was time to impress Alessa.

Slowly, the creature made his way towards Misery Square.

Alessa had been sleeping peacefully, her mind filled with dreams of purple skies and black flowers, her mother braiding her short black hair and singing lullabies to her. Another sound drifted on the air, raping her mother's voice and turning it into screams of pain and agony, echoing across the fields of black flowers and blood red butterflies.

What...? she thought, slowly fighting back into consciousness. She blinked, her vision slightly obscured from one of the bandages that covered one of her eyes. She sat up slowly, looking around her room. Lisa was reading a book, and turned to her, her face one of concern.

'Alessa? Is everything all right?' She asked, stifling one of her eternal sobs, tears of blood forever running down her cheeks, tears that would never dry.

She wasn't dreaming, but the screams were still ringing through her head. Alessa closed her eyes and concentrated. ....oh no, she thought, finally realizing what was happening. Pyramid Head...oh no, oh no... She sat up, throwing the covers off, scrambling to her feet. She stumbled, but Lisa grabbed her before she fell on her feet. 'Alessa, what's going on?' Her nurse asked in alarm.

'I have to get out,' Alessa murmured, her own voice sounding foreign to her ears and muffled due to the bandages. 'I have to get out, Lisa, let me go. He...he needs me.'

'Who?' Lisa demanded. 'Alessa, you're not strong enough to go running around in this place...'

'LET ME GO!' She screamed, pushing Lisa weakly from her side, making her way out of her room and out of the Cathedral, the fabric of the clothes Lisa had given her to wear feeling foreign against her mended skin. The sky was dark, but Alessa followed the screams until she made it to the entrance to the Underground and the subway station. He's here, she thought, slightly trembling in excitement. She would be seeing Pyramid Head for the first time in her real body, she would be able to talk to him, she would be able to touch him.

Taking a deep breath, Alessa walked down the steps slowly, goosebumps raising on her arms, her feet savoring the cold surface of the stairs. 'Pyramid Head,' she whispered.

The words flitted through the night air like the soft wings of dark butterflies, and met the horrenous conciousness.

She knew he was out. He couldn't stop now! He had to prove his worth!

The terrible monster lurched into Misery Square, where the myriad crowd seemed at first not to notice him. Suddenly, a scream, and the sound of a hand entering the back of a skull, rending the brain free.

The city had a big problem.

" Bloody hell" V muttered to himself, and leapt across the rail.

Climbing the platform, he had no trouble winding his way through the milling crowd, though a panicky person or two did attempt to push him away before he made it to the stairs.

Another push of speed, and he caught up with a woman leaning weekly agianst the rail.
She seemed to be injured already, but holding her own.

"Madam, you must get awa-" he started, and made move to carry her if she threatened to fall...when he heard her whisper the creatures name.

V knew that voice.

It had haunted his darker dreams for many weeks. Ever since he first heard Alessa declare him to be another avatar of her Red God.

"...Miss Alessa?" he asked, astonshiment.

The trance lasted only until more screams echoed from Misery Square.
Without further ado, and not waiting for her pardon or permission, V put one arm about her shoulders, and the other under her knees, and lifted her.

She was slightly built to begin, but enhanced strength made carrying her no burden whatsoever.

" Forgive me, Madam," he said to her as he climbed the steps two at a time, " but you must contain the beast with all haste"

Now at a flat-out run, V pushed thier way into Misery Square, and stopped dead at the sight that awaited them.

Alessa regarded V weakly; her body was still not very strong and it took every ounce of strength to stay on her feet. 'V...' she murmured. She glanced past him down the steps to the bloody massacre below. ...Xulchibara...is this what you wanted? she wondered. She recieved no reply from her God, and it worried her. He talked to her at least once a day, and when He did not, she knew it was because He was up to something. His absences had become more frequent since she came to this City.

She couldn't do or say anything as V picked her up in his arms. For a moment she wanted to use her power to give herself strength, but she knew to do so would result in exhaustion, and she couldn't afford that. So she let him hold her as he rushed through the streets. Another Son of Xulchibara...we could be comrades, if things were different, she thought. ...that's not true. He is like you, Alessa. Burnt, hurt, angry, a protector of the innocent. Yes, you achieve it different ways, but you can be comrades in arms still.

'I will try,' she said. 'I'm not as strong as I was...before. A lot of my energy has gone to the healing. But I will try.' And she would.

They stopped abruptly, and Alessa's eyes widened at the sight before her. People were maimed, torn, broken....Misery Square was a canvas that Pyramid Head had filled with blood and corpses. The stench was atrocious, and Alessa leaned as far away from V as possible to retch what food Lisa had given her out. Her senses were still being overwhelmed; she wiped her mouth and murmured an apology to V.

She took a shallow breath, easing her nausea away, closing her eyes and trying to find her Guardian. '...He's going towards the Opera House,' she told V. '...He wants his Knife back. He left it there when he gave the butterfly her wings.'

There was a voice calling to him, the soft keening of the waking world, though whether this was truly the waking world or another dreaming he couldn't tell. There was a woman, huddling behind the turnstile as if metal was enough to stop the creature. Poor thing. Her mind fell into nightmare, of things she wished she'd never done, stealing at 12, an abortion at 17. Her great sin was coming to fruition. That must have been why the Red Pyramid was after her, for taking a little life. Her eyes reflected the executioner, no longer bearing the welded hood, no, he took on the form of a rotting teenaged girl, sores gaping over her pert breasts, dirty whore. She cried that it was for their own good, that the child would have been born into a dismal world, into misery. She wept as the corpse of a woman brought down the executioner's axe, a bit of metal shrapnel spearing her through her temples.

Every cry, every scream, a howl of pain silenced abruptly, The Corinthian couldn't keep the symphony out of his head. It led him by the loins, as it would have the first of his kind, but he was stronger. He had will and control, one could not be a good nightmare without seeing everything there was to see that fueled his work. He descended into the pit, the pungent odor of oil, metal, bodily fluids leaking over the electrically charged rails. Was this the smell of Misery?

Get the fuck out. Get the fuck out you weak little shit.

He thought to himself, these words, something an old friend would say. The raven would have been a voice of reason, blunt with his caw, a soul he would accompany to safety if only to serve as his protector. If Matthew could only see him now.

The Corinthian watched the massacre silently, the beast in blood, steam at the Red Pyramid's every footstep from the recently eviscerated. The masked man and the girl in his arms, if this was their battle. The nightmares of the dying... and the eyes. Eyes everywhere. Dying eyes, dead ones, eyes whose vitreous humor made the floor slick as they oozed out of the sphere--blood flicked across his face in a swift sweeping arc. Another dead. The nightmare seemed unfazed.

He pinched the arm of his spattered sunglasses and removed them from his face. A pink tongue slithered out his left eye to lick at the red, not to clean his skin but to taste it, to remember how good it felt when blood was on his hands. It stained the tiny crevices between his teeth, and he smiled.

"Time to play."

The monster could feel his mistress getting closer.. He hadn't done nearly enough! Quickly, the abomination lumbered toward the corner of the street, through the screaming, running masses, and both huge hands gripped a sign... How ironic..

Slow, Children at Play

With sinister strength, the judge tore the post free from the earth, and held it aloft triumphantly in one hand, like a warhammer. The slow, casual gait for which he was known was no longer present as he took off at something akin to a dead sprint, right into the squirming, crying throngs, swinging the makeshift weapon in wide, sweeping arcs, sending heads popping off lazily into the sky. Limbs, intestines spilled across the ground, littering the pavement with dark red. His boots were barely identifiable as having once been black, now dripping blood with chunks of flesh hanging from them.

Time to get his own weapon back. He began cutting his way towards the Opera House, his path soaked in blood and remains as he tore through the masses, indiscriminately. Even a child, cowering upon the ground, muttering softly as he wet his pants, wasn't safe as the monster drove the stake through the child's heart, then flung the lifeless body against a wall.

Nothing would stop him.

He could hear the inaudible call from deep within the embrace of the carousel. Walter quickly formed himself and jumped atop the spinning apparatus.

"Stupid....stupid red man is around! I hate him!"

The visage of the Pyramid Head always subconsciously reminded him of the church. The place of pain. The place of Toby Archbolt. The place of the words, and wails, and whips, and writhing agony.

No more.

"I'll..." the black energy swirled in his hands unconsciously.

"I'll..." it formed into a large chainsaw, which automatically activated despite it's lack of fuel.

Thankfully Alessa had managed to lean far enough away that she didn't become sick on his person, but V felt distinctly ill as well upon seeing the path of carnage the creature had left in it's wake.

V was no stranger to blood, and even the occasional dismemberment, but the fact many of these people were still alive had a tendency to evok old memories.
Memories of the endless nights, the needles, the tests, and those poor souls who would scream until they lost the ability to do so in the cells around him..

Get a hold of yourself, old man. Now is not the time

Alessa was speaking agian, and V wrenched himself away from the sensorial memories to be able to hear her clearly.

The Opera House.

"Then that is where me must try to cut him off, possibly bottle neck him into a lesser populated area. Close your eyes, Madam."
The tactical part of his mind was still operating at least.

Shifting Alessa in order to hold onto her a bit more firmly without the risk of injury, he set out agian at top speed, making him appear as little more than a black blur for the majority of human eyes could not correctly register him at such times.
The request for her to shut her eyes had nothing to do with feminine sensibilities in the wake of such carnage, and everything to do with V's concern for her nausea. At these speeds her eyes would be unable to focus on thier surroundings, and so make her dizzy and ultimately ill.

V chose to leave the discussion of Alessa's brutal punishement of Inspector Abberline's lover until a more oppurtune moment, but he had by no means forgotten her words.
Evey had found that poor woman first...and he had spent the remainder of the evening and the next day holding her while she wept.
There was no cause for such atrocity that he could see, and even in vengeance, some things are still in bad taste.

They were flitting between the throngs of panicked people as quick and silent as dark shadows, and all too soon, the Opera House's red-lit statues could be seen rising above the rooftops.
Instead of agian bursting onto the creature at work, V stopped within view of the front doors, but far enough away that the creature would not take note of them just yet.

" We have arrived, and the beast is not yet here. You may open your eyes, now."
V used the shadow of a building to his advantage, and easily shifted to cover most of Alessa in his cloak. They were effectively part of the background, unless one were to look hard enough at this moving piece of darkness.

" What do you propose we do to stop him?"

Alessa obeyed, closing her eyes as V bolted across Pyramid Head's crimson canvas. They moved incredibly fast, and she clutched to him, not used to moving at such a speed. It wasn't just the smell of the blood and the dying, it was the thoughts as well. The thoughts of the dying and suffering were closing in on her, and she thought she would scream when the thoughts of a dying child flashed through her head.

NO. THIS ISN'T WHAT I WANTED...this CAN'T be what Xulchibara wants! Surely not! She thought desperately. Not children....NEVER children. Why???

She fought back sickness, rage, and tears when V's voice cut through her conflicting emotions. She opened her eyes slowly, slowly gathering self-control, not allowing her confusion surface. She must appear in control, even though she wanted to punish Pyramid Head herself and embrace her guardian at the same time.

'....I could call him to me, tell him that it is enough. He's never done this before,' she said. '...killing as many as he possibly can. It's almost as if he's trying to prove himself.' Why would he do that? He knows his purpose, how can he...?

...Oh... Alessa's eyes widened in realization. '...he's jealous!' She whispered, touched and revolted at what Pyramid Head was doing in her name.

Everything is changing now.

And jealous of who, one might ask, but The Corinthian could find this answer. He need only look at the creature, it's carnage, everything about it, and what Scarab had said before. If V was a black blur then the Nightmare was a white one, speckled red of course. But he wasn't going to overtake the pair to the Opera House, no, his target was right here. The Corinthian intended to intercept the Red Pyramid's carnage, following the trail of blood, seek out what part of the street had yet to be coated for that was where the creature might strike next, eager to paint its cadmium red of flesh, and stroke with the flat end of a pedestrian sign.

"Resourceful big fucker," he hissed to himself with delight.

The white-haired man was changing, his features, save for his teeth eyes, twisted to become another, with rougher skin and longer sandy brown hair. Henry Townshend appeared spotless, his hair clean of the blood that had flicked across the Nightmare. He wielded a knife, the balisong in The Corinthian's jacket, but perhaps it too would change shape, into the object of the Red Pyramid's desires. Something large, a two-handed weapond. But to any other casual on looker (the ones who hadn't died really), ones who had no strong feelings towards the man like the beast did, he appeared like the one and only Nightmare.

A Nightmare daring to take a knife into a sword battle and place himself between the Pyramid Head and the Opera House.

Things were going well. The screaming, the running.. They ALL knew they were guilty. They made it SO easy. So, so very easy.

The massive beast was still running, the improvised weapon gripped tightly in one frightening apendage as he swung it with a soldier's fury, swatting down the guilty like flies. He was near the opera house now, so close to his weapon.

He'd grab the weapon, finish off those who pursued him, then melt away into the shadows.

"'Jealous'?", V echoed with an obvious sense of confusion.

What could that thing be jealous of? The Pyramid Head had always struck V as a thing made solely of rage, anger, and destruction. The very idea that it could be capable of other such complexities of human emotion unsettled him.

It made the creature far too easy to understand on a level that V would rather not face within himself.

All such musings became irrelevant when a familiar face in the crowds of panicked people came into his paripherial vision.

"Henry!", he exclaimed.
"Damnitt! What is he doing?"he asked mostly of himself, and returned Alessa to her feet. Quickly removing his cloak, and settling it about her shoulders, he removed his hat as well and let it drop near her feet.

" He will be killed out there..." V said to her, " You must try and control the beast, Madam. I will see what may be done to distract it."

Without waiting for her to respond, V was away into the crowds, and running toward 'Henry', equally armed ( and possibly equally as futiley so ) with a blade in each hand.

((OOC: >.< Typos!))

'Yes, he must be! I've only ever punished the guilty with him, no one else...he must feel like I've tried replacing him, because of the curse day...' Her voice trailed off as her eyes fell on the figure of Henry standing in the midst of the crowd, approaching Pyramid Head as V rushed off into the crowd.

NO. Nonononono! Henry, what are you doing??? He'll kill you! What... Alessa let the cloak drop to the ground and ran out on shaky legs, blood and dirt caking her bare feet as she staggered out into the rain. She felt delirious, the thoughts of the tortured and the dying kept slamming into her head, and the stench of death was overpowering, but she still kept moving forward, desperately trying to hold onto her sanity. She couldn't let Pyramid Head kill Henry, she couldn't!

I have to use my power, I have to use my will, she tried telling herself, but she was awfully tired and didn't feel very good. Alessa staggered through the screaming crowd. Pyramid Head, she began, feeding him the words mentally. Dark Angel, I am here.

Two. Two who knew the man but not as he seemed to be tonight. The voices of warning fell on deaf ears. The Corinthian's right teetheye rasped.

-Stay inside now.-

And then the left.

-There are children at play.-

The nightmare now in the guise of Henry took his knife, masked as the giant executioner's blade, and plunged the tip into a dead salary man's gut. He hoisted the entire body into the air and took one full circle swing, a simple man with the strength of many, to fling the corpse towards the Red Pyramid's welded mask. It was a distracting measure, or was he intending to insult the butcher by spilling blood on his person that was not of his own doing... Blood etiquette was a tricky thing. Henry could not know the severity of these actions, then again this wasn't Henry. Would the girl have enough strength and will within her to stop the creature, to stop it from killing the man disguised as her... friend, was it?

The butcher stopped for a moment, hearing Alessa's voice, and began to lower the sign when suddenly, a body slammed into his helmet, sending him staggering sideways for a few steps. The helmet faced Henry for a moment. Something was different. The man he knew as Henry had a darker Aura. And he was weilding his blade. This wasn't fair.

NOT FAIR.

Slowly, the beast turned, and started lumbering towards the man as he raised the sign, holding it at the ready as he prepared to lay waste. He had nothing against Henry, at all. Henry was a judge, an innocent... Until he'd taken the judge's blade.

He didn't want Alessa to see him without his own weapon. He had to get it back.

((OOC: going to skip my turn this round. I'll tag agian on the next round because there isn't much other than V running over to Henry that I can do ^_^;;;;;))

'PYRAMID HEAD, NO!' She cried out, tripping over a dead body and landing on her face, the palms of her hands getting skinned in the process of trying to catch herself. Shakily, she propped herself up, and narrowed her eyes, getting a good look at Henry. The Henry she knew would never do something like this, not after the curse day....it couldn't be Henry, but it was Henry, he looked just like him....

Wait. You yourself used a different guise as well, for quite some time, didn't you? she thought. But...

She lurched herself to her feet, sprinting the rest of the way until she was only feet from her guardian. She looked past him at Henry, and noticed abruptly that his eyes looked awfully funny. What...? she wondered. If that isn't Henry, then who...?

She walked forward slowly. 'Pyramid Head...Pyramid Head, look at me.' She pleaded, reaching up to tear the rest of the soaked bandages that remained on her face and neck off, throwing them to the ground unheeded. 'Pyramid Head...please...'

She reached out, and before she knew what she was doing, wrapped her arms around him from behind, hugging him tightly. It was the first time she had ever actually touched him, and it felt strange to do so, to feel his muscular back touching her cheek, to feel the blood, rain, and sweat spattered on him, to actually be holding her Pyramid Head. She closed her eyes tightly, and poured her power into him, willing him to listen to her. She loved him, if it was even possible to love a monster such as he, but he had been her loyal servant and companion for years. She did not want him to pave the path to his own destruction.

Pyramid Head. That is not your Knife, she told him firmly.

The monstrosity stopped in it's tracks, the weapon lowering to his side. He didn't move for a few moments, the only sound, besides the screaming, being the steady drip of blood from the signpost, and the pattering of rain upon the great helmet.

Slowly, shakingly, one massive white hand found her tiny fingers, and interlocked tightly with them.

Henry, the masked judge, the dead around his feet, none of them mattered anymore.

With a clatter, the signpost fell to the ground, the rain washing away the streaks of crimson. His master was back. His master still loved him. It seemed that the darkness above began to waver, settling finally on a soft shade of grey. The massive helmet drooped a bit, and if such a monstrosity could show sadness, this was the best display of it that any would ever see. He stood motionless, like a tin soldier awaiting the next wind of it's gears.

The Corinthian showed no fear as the monster rumbled forth. He even failed to acknowledge the young girl as she dashed to meet the butcher halfway. Perhaps their fates were intertwined, locked beyond his lust for the great knife or hers for the punishment of the weak. Now that the monster was occupied with her, and who knew if that was the original intent of this entire stunt, the nightmare quickly spun around to meet blade to blade. Balisong to dirk. The tint of his brown hair melted with the rain and now it was a white haired young man who stared in the face of the mask.

His teeth eyes spoke their jagged speech.

-And you are?-

-The Voice of the People?-

V's resolve may have been too strong, his logic a well-oiled machine, someone who faced his nightmares with confidence and dignity, or did he falter amidst the smell of fire?

God is in the rain

The ring of metal on metal seemed incongrous juxtaposed with the frozen moment of serenity a few feet from the two mirrored combatants seemed almost obscene.
Beauty calming the Beast, while a shadow and a ghost crossed swords on the killing field.

This was not Henry. This was something grotesque masquerading as his friend, and V felt the old burn of kinesthetic-induced strength flowing down his arms.
Alessa had made for the Pyramid Head, but V knew this wasn't Henry when he could finally see the creatures eyes, and so allowing the Master to take on her servant alone, he made for the doppelganger.

Blade to blade, and the ghost held his ground.
The grinning mask made shadow slashed low with it's left hand, his white reflection danced away.

The scent of charred flesh, chemicals, and the ozone of melting plastics
V was no longer in the here and now. He was looking at another reflection of the past, and fighting with not the man who parried his blade, but inner demons who laughed and mocked him in his weakness.

Turn into the strike, balance the wieght, find your mark, and move.
V followed the feint to the White Ghost with a round kick. It made no contact, and the Ghost side stepped.

The wind whispers of fear and hate. The war has killed love. And those that confess to the Angka are punished, and no one dare ask where they go. Here, only the silent survive.

Alessa kissed her guardian's back fervently, her eyes snapping open as she heard the clash of metal on metal. Her grip on Pyramid Head tightened. Yes, dear one, I am here, I love you, she told him. Your Knife is at the Opera House, where you left it in the concrete, remember?

.....This battle is not for you. Alessa planted one last kiss firmly on his blood-stained back, and made to draw back. Should we stop them, judge? Or should we continue on our way, and retrieve your Knife? It was one of the very few times she asked for his mute opinion. He did not say much, but being in such close proximity and intimacy was making her want to talk to him more, despite the circumstances.

Ghost and Shadow dueled, and Alessa stood on her tiptoes to peer over Pyramid Head's shoulder to watch the fight numbly. If the Ghost got too close to injuring V, a son of Xulchibara, she would intervene, but for now...she would just watch, and stay close to her Guardian.

What are you doing? Your function is a mirror, not a weapon. This is a breach.

His abilities were magnified by the fears of those who looked at him, into his teeth eyes, the inner demons that fueled his power, his skill. Those who did not fear power saw him mocking and undying, unable to perish despite every blow, every swing of the axe, the boney corpse finger who beckoned beyond death. He was everything to fear, everything to hate, it was a wonder he worked for Dream and not Desire or Despair, unless his Lord had placed a bit of both within him. The Corinthian was a deft fighter because V saw him as such, unreachable past, inexstinguishable fire.

-Don't be a coward.-

-NAMELESS masked man.-

Before V's kicking boot could touch the ground again the nightmare lunged forward and to the shadow's side, slashing his balisong upward. He intended to cut the bonds that held the guise of Guy Fawkes to V's identity. How could one face his true fears, his guilt, everything that pained him, without the legitimate exchange of showing such anguish upon his real face? Now that was a fair trade.

Everything was slowing, moving as though time were grinding down to a halt, when in fact it was the shadow who sped up.

Out of his peripheral, V could see The Corinthian's thrice grinning visage leaningin, cutting up....

.....going for the mask.

And in the moment between one breath and the next, a red haze fell over his vision. A bloody film that muted sound, dulled sensation...overcame the mind.

The blade was arcing up, slowing, ...slowing.
Almost lazily V dropped his left hand blade, and turned with the ghost.
Like dancers they connected, and a black hand took hold of the ghost's wrist.

Took hold, squeezed the radial nerve, and spun the other man around.
Now off balance due to over-extension, the Corinthian turned with V and stumbled.
Both men went to one knee.

There was no thought, no sense of juctice.

No right.
No wrong.

In the same fluid movement the right dagger came around, and with a savage downward angle; cut up into the ghosts' throat.
Blood sprayed outward and scattered across the mask.

Through the jugular, then the inch of subcontaneous fat. Find the windpipe, there, now push

Seconds passed as minutes, and almost before it had begun it was over.
The shadow embraced the ghost from behind, and made a fourth red grin to compliment it's others.

"Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood.”" The shadow growled for only the Ghost to hear.

The tip of his blade almost slit the edge of leather, but threat of this action alone was enough to rouse the monster within, executioner all the same. The Corinthian dared to laugh even as V snatched his wrist, brought him to his knees with a hard pull and crack of his shoulder. The pain didn't register with the nightmare, why should it? The balisong dropped to the ground and out of his reach, but he hardly seemed to notice nor care. His laugh was cut short as flesh and blood warmed the edge of V's dagger. Red sprinkled his skin, spilled forth on his shirt, his jacket. He was going to be a dead embarrassing mess, as one would say.

Summon the blood he did, but even the blade could not silence the voices in his eyes.

*Song of the Right, Silencer of the Wrong.*

-Where's the justice in that.-

Not all things were black and white, ghost and shadow. Blood stained the gray area, and The Corinthian coughed out his 'life.'

Watching in fascination, Alessa rested her chin on Pyramid Head's back, still not breaking their embrace. She gasped as the Ghost nearly tore V's mask off, certain that she was going to see a mirror image of what she herself had looked like only days before when V managed to keep the being from unmasking him. She said nothing as V cut the Ghost's throat, the man on his knees as if he were praying.

'.....Impressive,' Alessa said, loud enough for V to hear. '....You truly are a Son of Xulchibara. You are like us, in your own way.' She did not mean it as an insult or that he was exactly like them, just simply stating the obvious. 'Brothers in arms someday, maybe...' She trailed off wistfully. I like that thought.

Alessa looked up at the sky, the gray clouds swirling. The sky was attuned to Pyramid Head's emotions, just as he was attuned to hers. How peculiar, she thought, letting her hands travel across Pyramid Head's upper body, savoring in everything. It was the first time she had actually touched a man. She stroked his neck, and was overwhelmed with the sudden desire to remove his helmet to allow her fingers to continue in their journey, but pushed it aside, tentatively reaching out to stroke the edge of the helmet. Her fingertips were having a field day, feeling so many strange new things, dried blood being one of them.

The creature watched the battle diligently, all the while aware of his master's touch. The horrendous consciousness had taken in many things, but none like this. Of course, no thoughts entered the head beneath the helmet with the normal clarity with which a human would receive them. The dark mind registered the new feelings quietly, the bloodstained chest of the rugged monster slowly heaving.

Wordlessly, the great monster slipped from the embrace, once the battle had finished. This Ghost was truly a great judge, one to be respected. The terrible mind vaguely registered flashes of the mask, perhaps seen before, but that wasn't important now. His master was here.

Dutifully, and with a gentleness never seen from the body-render, the long, grizzled digits alit upon Alessa's sides, and hoisted her into the air, setting her softly upon his shoulder.

I would like my weapon, but wherever you wish to go, master, I will go.

The rush of adrenaline was making him light-headed, and with a gasp, V came back to himself.
The red haze receeded from his vision as the Nightmare lost it's hold over his thoughts.

Nearly shoving the other man away, V rose and backed off quickly.

" My God....what have you done to me?" he asked of the Corinthian, his voice pitched low and dangerous.
V was no fool, and he may be a touch mad when it came to certain ideas on safety, but he knew this particular killing rage had not originated within himself.

He didn't know the man in white from Adam, so there was absolutely no reason to hate him.
V also did not believe for a moment that this man was mortally wounded. He was still speaking, slit throat and all.

The mask turned to regard Alessa briefly, but he had nothing to say to her....in a way she was right, but he felt no desire to confirm or deny it.

V was still shaking slightly with unspent energy when he stooped to retrieve his hastily dropped dagger, then moved to kick the man-in-white's balisong further away from himself and his opponent.

" You are mad..." he informed the choking man as a wet girgling sound began to emit from a throat trying to breathe, and stepped into his prostrate would-be opponents' field of vision.
V was staying out of reach this time, though.

" Be thankful you will come away from this with only a single scar. Had it been otherwise," a tilt of the mask to indicate the Pyramid Head, " you would not have had limbs left with which to walk away."

Make no mistake, V was not happy about the entire bloody situation, but he was not angry.
Not anymore...The rage that had clouded his vision moments before was firmly tamped back down, only to be used as a weapon, never a suitable reaction to threat.

Turning his attention back to Alessa, V sighed slightly.
The creature was now subdued, but thier was utter carnage surrounding the little group.
This could not happen agian.

"Madam...I have held my toungue, time and agian, on the subject of your doings" he reminded her, " but this-" he waved a black glove vaguely to take in the red abator they stood in, "- is madness. I do not make threats, Miss Alessa; but if you can no longer reliably control your beast, I assure you others far more powerful than I will be only too happy to do it for you."

V shook his head at the utter waste of it all.
He did not wish to estrange Alessa in any way, for that seemed a foolish idea, but niether would he allow her to believe he approved of her behavior.
Little enough to be done now, however, and there was no use in the risk of agitating her gaurdian agian.

He turned criply on his heel and started to backtrack to the shadows where his now-sodden cloak and hat had been abandoned, and spoke agian without turning.
" I would advise caging that creature for a time, madam. There will be many who will call for it's destruction in the wake of yet another rampage."

Alessa regarded V's words numbly, wrapping an arm around Pyramid Head's helmet, her free hand laying on it gently. She leaned closer to him protectively. Caged???? Never! I could never cage him like an animal, never! she thought angrily, then willed herself to calm down.

'....I will do my best,' she said stiffly. '...But I think things are all right now.' She stroked the monster's blood-caked helmet affectionately. She had been neglecting him for too long....she would have to lavish extra attention on her puppy to keep him content.

She wasn't going to argue with V or start a fight. She respected him and his opinions greatly. 'Thank you,' she said to V, looking over her shoulder to give him a small smile, even if he couldn't see it.

Let's go get your Knife, dearest, she said to Pyramid Head, positioning herself in order to be better situated on his shoulder.

What else had he done to V besides mirror his guilt, the remorse, the fear? The Corinthian lied to no one, that would be missing the point of his purpose, dark mirror of humanity. Whatever he became was fueled by the onlooker, and yes occasionally he could warp such a perspective with his smooth tongue (all three) but... this was different, felt very different from the first nightmare's doings. Unfortunately it may be that only one person truly understood the machinations of the dark mirror and why they took the turn they did tonight, but former Lord Shaper was not in this place, at least not within the bloody canvas. There was the Red Pyramid, fellow judge, jury, and executioner, though the latter of the three was not meant to be a part of the Nightmare's job description. What did they understand of pure function?

His hair was hardly the fair snow white-blonde before the battle, and now it stained red with blood, gray with rain water. All three mouths smiled, dripping irony over the masked man's words as his neck wound dripped crimson over his body. Such a remark needed no verbal reply. The Corinthian's expression said all he thought V should acknowledge: You know.

Not that the Nightmare could even speak, if V had cut so deeply as to sever his vocal chords. His cheek hit the pavement, throat giving a low and gurgled breath. The wound would take some time to heal, if he could bother to crawl away and separate himself from this mess. What kind of PR was it to be discovered as one of the few survivors of the massacre, four gaping grins and all? Not good at all. Still he remained on his knees, side of his face pressed to the ground as The Corinthian held his open neck. What passed between the other three did not go unnoticed, but it seemed that every purpose had already been served, and he was not a man of vengeance. At least, he didn't think he was.

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