A Good Day For Slaughter

The drive to the small countryside mansion had been none too pleasant. Amongst other things, it entailed a fair few winding, bumpy roads, which... well... really, Ayden Derocha never had a fondness for them. Granted, it was nice to roll the windows down and feel the air currents gently brush in and out of the front seats of the car, and Monteverdi rang throughout as the assassin raised and lowered his free hand in imitation of grandeur, a pretender in place of the conductor, and a pair of speakers in place of a four-hundred strong orchestra.

However, on the horizon, the house in question quickly came into view. On the exterior, Mr. Derocha quickly picked out at least six or seven fairly burly mooks, and he presumed that they were all armed with some sort of blunt or bladed weapon, and probably a nine-millimetre pistol, if not some... heavier artillery. Ayden ground to a snail's pace and ever so slowly pushed the car past the front gates, and just as suspicion begun to raise around the manor, he picked up a mite more speed and curved around the hedges, chuckling as his free hand went to the speakers, flicking them off.

The life of the car grumbled and finally extinguished as Ayden yanked the handbrake and retracted the keys from the ignition, slipping them into his pocket, opening a door, and stepping out, closing the door quietly and locking it behind him. The car was a fairly textbook black sports car, worth a decent chunk of his annual turnover, with all the windows tinted black. Ayden chuckled quietly once more and remembered the creed of that Xingese alkahestrist. 'If you're going to do something, do it right.'

He shrugged, yawned, and clapped his hands, drawing a sleek pair of sunglasses from his jacket pocket, folding them out, and slipping them onto his head, cracking his neck from side to side, before finally shaking his hands and jumping from his left foot to his right a few times. It was time to get into the game. A smirk crept onto the corner of his face, and his hand immediately went to his gunbelt; his fingers brushed against the engraved metals, and his heart was set at ease, his pulse calming some.

His phone let out two short, sharp beeps, and he drew it from his pocket, flipping it open and tapping a button. A text was brought up; he scanned over the details, and closed it shut, slipping it back into his coat. And, finally, assassin Ayden Derocha began to move, starting towards the gate he'd passed not five minutes ago.

Drawing up to the nearest column and just slipping around, he saw a pair of suited guards begin to move towards him. Ignoring them, his eyes flicked to the top of the mansion, and each balcony a subsequent lower floor down. There appeared to be one on each floor, and at least six cars were parked out front. This Ballzini knew what he was doing, it seemed.

The smell of fresh grass was in the air from a lawn on either side of the drive. Ayden took a long, deep sniff. Beautiful. Just... beautiful. A perfect accompaniment to the following events of the day. Returning to the house, he marked out himself and entrance, and hopefully an exit on the other side. It wouldn't be too hard. Grinning, he realised that he'd just done what most military soldiers would need a pair of binoculars to do from this distance. He enjoyed having eyesight once more.

The guards reached the gate, and Ayden realised it was time to reveal himself. Finally, his hands went to both pockets, and there were at least two sticks of chalk in each. He closed his eyes and propped up his sunglasses, stepping out into the drive, revealing his full form, and, finally, his eyes flicking up to both guards. "Morning, boys."

(OOC: Observe! For I shall be the Vaudevillian in this role as to RP in the shoes of the NPC's to provide maximum badass action for the one known as Ayden. Not RPing as Nikolaus for those new to this thread.)

The text much earlier was that of a full clarification of the assignment from Nikolaus Stuka. An officer within the security department as to give free reins to an assassin as to massacre all within the Ballzini building. Condemning all within the vicinity to death, as well as making the assassin's job infinitely much easier as a result of no "ethical" or impractical restraints placed upon such a skilled career killer of finesse.

Those two guards reacted accordingly to a man on the premises not mentioned to be invited by their boss, Ballzini. A stranger uninvited, a trespasser at best yet an uncertainty lingered in their eyes over the confidence of this man, and the greeting he gave as if he were expected into the place, a classical "Bavarian fire drill" situation.

"Did the boss mention someone he invited to his parties Bugsy?" Asks the goon to the other to his flank.

"No, I do not recall such things, mister Fibbs."

"Stop calling me that, you're too bloody formal." The other slurred.

The one known as Fibbs glanced at Ayden inquisitively, still an air of uncertainty lingered about in curiousity over his unknown presence.

"You there with the shades, do you have any invitations from the boss? I'll have to report this and see if he'll confirm ya, hold on."

Reaching for his pocket, he took out what would be a walkie-talkie, albeit a more portable one. His fingers reaching for the button to allow him to talk to the frequency he specified, the closeness of giving away Ayden's presence as the other goon held his hands close to a holster sticking out albeit subtly so.

A potential chance the other goon as well possesses a firearm as to use against Ayden. As within the mansion resides what would be another one of Ballzini's cannibal masquerade combined with an orgy which would at most, they would be partaking in soon for the most depraved and immoral of guests inside.

One may recognize the corrupt politicians and military officers inside partaking in such a scandalous affair, otherwise all are fairly unarmed, but certainly the two guards are not the last to be seen as more would be guaranteed within the confines deep in the sanctum of the Ballzini.

"You there with the shades, do you have any invitations from the boss? I'll have to report this and see if he'll confirm ya, hold on."

"Invitation?" Ayden paused, and lifted a finger to his chin, staring off into the middle distance in mockery. He began to chuckle, a weird, odd, light, even euphoric chuckle, before all sound from Ayden was cut off, and his vision centered on the pair of them, and he growled a single world. "No." He continued after a short, sharp pause. "No invitation for me..."

A jingle of metal. Ayden's vision snapped towards the slightly ajar lining of Fibbs' jacket. A set of keys. Then, his eyes went to the lock on the gate. Putting two and two together, he realised the man was, literally, his key into the place. With a dark, bloodthirsty grin, Ayden lifted both hands, and slowly pulled a set of thin, white, nylon gloves from his hands, folded them up, and slipped them into his pockets, revealing a set of tattooed hands, with miniscule circles inscribed on the pad of each of his index fingers, with all others bare. A grin slipped onto his face as he calculated the distance between his now-outstretched fingertips, and Fibbs' eye sockets. He tensed his wrists and held them out a short way in front of him, before uttering a quick, stern phrase. "Goodbye, now!"

The grin and the maniacal bark shifted quickly into crazed cackling, and Ayden's right arm flicked out, his entire body twisting backwards as his palm thrust forwards, his single index finger outstretched, the remainder of the fingers and the thumb on his right hand all curled up into a small, fist. The finger struck Fibbs in the eye, pushing through the initial layer, shattering the cornea, causing black aqueous humour to spray forth as the man shrieked in pain, his adversary supposedly stunned by fear. Within a moment, his eyeball was reduced to a white-black mush, slowly rolling out of the socket and down his face, as inside, Ayden scratched, his nail carving a small incision into the flesh, and a warm crimson mixing into the white and black of the pulp that had once been this man's eye.

With a glow resonating throughout his socket, Fibbs' hands went from clawing at his eyes, and Ayden's arms, to suddenly scratching at his cranium. He dropped to his knees, and began to slam on his head with both fists as Ayden recovered his finger from the mutilated eye socket and wiped the wet digit on the man's dusty suit, before admiring it. "Astonishing that such a small drawing can cause so much pain, don't you think?" That lead on to another chuckle, followed by Ayden's eyes flicking from Fibbs to Bugsy, the former of which whose writhing had began to cease as he spiralled into unconsciousness, and, in a few moments, what would be, inevitably, death. He turned to Bugsy, and grinned, crouching down, his glare fixated on the other man as he worked around the small puddle of blood to recover the keys from the incapacitated man's jacket, flicking his wrist and spattering blood up the nearest gate column, before slipping the keys in, twisting them, and pulling them open, the blue electrical discharge crackling intermittently around his finger as he stared up at Bugsy.

"You can call me the Blackskull Alchemist..." He said, drawing his revolver from its holster, and clicking back the hammer, admiring the self-applied engravings. "For the remaining moments of your pathetic life, anyway." He smiled, and began to whistle nonchalantly. "About now is when you should be running for your life~!" With a finish, he took aim, and began to cackle once more.

Alarms could be heard that indicated that there was an intruder, so a guard headed to his employer’s office to tell his boss what was going on. “Boss, I’m sorry to interrupt your meeting, but there is an intruder.” A shadowy figure suddenly stood up from the other chair in the office and put his hand on Ballzini’s shoulder.

“Maybe I could be of some assistance, for a price. If you hired me, my men and I could take care of this problem for you while you escape.” The guard did not like the way the shadowy man talked as if his boss could not count on his employees to get rid of the intruder. “Hay I don’t know who you are or who you think you are, but I know that there is no way the boss is going to trust you more then he’s going to trust us to take care of this problem. So forget it.” Then guard put his hand on the shadowy man’s back, so he could turn him around and see him face to face.

When the guard saw the shadowy man’s face he jumped back and fell to the floor out of fright because now he fully realized who he had been talking to. White Fox looked at the guard that fell to the ground and then returned his attention back to Ballzini. “So, like I was saying you can hire me or you can keep relying on your guards. So what's it going to be?”

Bugsy was caught silent at the horrors he had seen. Shaking with fear as his muscles were aching for him to run. To run from Ayden. That every fibre screamed from fear of him. A foreboding aura of death had enveloped the Blackskull before Bugsy's eyes as he had seen the horrors that had happened to his partners. A point of which he could not even gather the energy to reach for his firearm.

And then there was an order that cooed and caused a shaky realization that his energy rushed right back into his very muscles. Heart pumping faster as things were now realized as they were -- desperate. He had a wife and kids back at home, that Bugsy. Even promised to watch with Fibbs a Soccer game later at the evening. It seems like the stranger before him, the Blackskull, shattered all of that most casually.

That order to run was obeyed. A sudden vigor sprang and coarsed through his blood, it beckoned for him to run not down the road but to turn back and to throw open the mansion gate desperately as fast as he could. To run within as he shrieked for his life being in danger, that there was a dangerous murderous psychopath outside at the gate. Though not the whole mansion was alerted, certainly the guards at the courtyard had beckoned to the call for help.

Storming outside, they would like a body of masses, rush towards Ayden, not one on one but hoping to jump and dogpile him as to beat him to death with shock batons and knives. Their aim was not to disturb the houseguests inside but to dispose of the intruder silently.

There was a good dozen of them hoping to dispose of Ayden without informing Ballzini, whom at the moment would have partaken in his own affairs. As does the rest of the mansion partake in a vastly different affair to which is that of depraved orgy within with all the mistresses of carnal affairs tending to the guests, wine flowing as freely as the bodies that commune in heated exchange.

Thankfully no guards but a certain batch of Aerugese female mercenary assassins reside within the bowels to which the notorious Ayden must overcome singlehandedly, which is to say nothing that requires effort to the jovial psychopath.

With perhaps the visit of a mysterious entity aiming to aid Ballzini? The alarms after all were restricted to the guard quarters after all and any posts manned by whomever guarded the private haven for the mob boss.

"...Five thousand Cenz for the intruder, capiche?" Ballzini replies to the White Fox, "Now get to it quietly, I have no use for your kind if you can't dispose of him quietly. Prove you are as your reputation precedes..."

And so after that, Ballzini gestures for the woman underneath the desk to continue using her mouth for the suckling of carnality to which best left vague for the horrid mass that be Ballzini's organ, disfigured and small.

Kicking the gates open further, Ayden stepped in, and realised that it had gone from Bugsy running from him to an entire horde, a dozen strong, running at him. This certainly wasn't right. "Oh, so, it seems Mr. Ballzini's got it all wrong..." He chuckled, and took aim at Bugsy's back, holding the revolver with one hand, his entire body twisted into a rigid, stalwart pose, before he fired, the shot echoing through the air and cleaving through the musky silence in every room of the manor, even the fat Ballzini's.

The bullet made thousands of revolutions, twisting and shearing through the air, as it twirled gloriously, the very sound of it slicing through the wind very much music to Ayden's ears. When it made contact with Bugsy's back, it slammed him forwards, and sent him flying a good three feet, flailing, back arched inwards, before he finally collapsed on the floor, a pool of blood hastily forming around him, the blue discharge now crackling around the glowing engravings of the hand cannon. He took count, and dropped one from the number in his clip. Five left. He took count, his pupils sharpening as he dipped his head, before raising, and chuckling once more, maniacally, of course, as he slowly pulled his thumb back on the hammer, waiting until it clicked, and he felt the cylinder cycle. "...after all, you don't run to the Blackskull Alchemist..." He grinned, ready to finish off his three-part declaration, soundwaves rippling through his lungs as he prepared himself, twisting into it and throwing both arms forwards, the empty hand beckoning with both fingers as he valiantly proclaimed the final part of his trilogy of self-assessments.

"...you run from the Blackskull Alchemist! GYAHAHAH! COME AT ME, FOOLS!" He shouted, before chaos erupted in the courtyard. Could a slick instrumental rock soundtrack begin to echo throughout the grounds of a mansion, it would. Infact, inside Ayden's head, it did. He hummed, and tapped his foot idly on the cobble as three muscular guards dove in at him, batons in hand. They wanted to fight close, eh?

Well, he had nothing to do but oblige them. As the trio converged inwards on him, he jumped backwards, and skirted left around them, his athletic frame having the advantage of agility... coupled with his alchemy, that made him a lethal combination. He grasped the hilt of Fleshbane, and flipped the gun around, before bringing it down like a hammer of judgment, aiming and making the first - and only - hit count. Despite Ayden's thin frame, he had all too much experience with bludgeoning enemies, and whilst it didn't knock the man out, and both he and the other pair recovered, spun around, and dove at him, it had done exactly what he wanted it to. Taking aim, he shot once, pulled back the hammer, and shot another time, before swapping the gun to his off-hand, and grasped the third's head, finding the wound he'd created from solely blunt force, and activated his alchemy with the trademark cyan discharge rippling through the air.

It was beautiful. The bullets had punched through the wrist of the leftmost, who was now left, writhing on the ground, clutching the bloody mess where his ulna used to be, trying desperately to clutch for pieces of shattered bone, but it was futile; his fingers and hands became clammy, then numb, then he lost control. And as the other, who had taken a bullet to the shin, attempted, grunting, to rise to his feet, he found that the bones no longer held any structure, and the muscle flopped under his command, like jelly. And finally, the one who Ayden had already bopped on the head was dead as dead could be.

In reality, the respiratory systems of the first two were failing. This didn't just encompass their breathing - which was becoming more and more haggard, and pushed, as if the oxygen that entered their lungs became thinner and thinner with every intake - but the delivery of oxygen to their muscles, too. In moments, they would lose control of all of their limbs, and, suddenly, oxygen deprivation from their brains. Ayden cackled madly, stepping over the three lifeless bodies as the pair on the left began to join their accomplice on the right, and collapsed into unconsciousness, becoming corpses in mere moments. "This," He said, unable to control himself, cackling madly. "This is my alchemy. Respiratory Alchemy! Designed by me, the Blackskull Alchemist! Perfected by me, the Blackskull Alchemist! None have ever survived it, and none ever shall!" He finished his speech, and grinned, panting, before drawing the back of his bare, free hand across his forehead, and shaking it to the side, sweat droplets slamming against the floor and crashing into tiny wet patches, vanishing in moments beneath the furious Amestrian sun.

"Who of you," He said, pointing the barrel of his gun at each of the nine remaining in succession, before raising it to the sky, and drawing a finger along the scar on his lip. "Could ever hope to match me in combat!? Who of you could present one such as me a challenge?!" He proclaimed, before beginning to step forwards, smiling. "Come! Attack me, come at me with everything you have!" With this, he hung his head lower, his silvery-grey hair draping from his scalp, as he chuckled, before snapping his neck upwards to the level of the others, his limbs held wide, by his side, his legs moving apart as he readied himself into a combat stance he'd perfected over the years. "Of course, I can't promise it won't lead to your death." He said, his magnificent proclamation having quickly dropped to a crazed growl, as something, perhaps insanity, twinkled in the blue orbs that were his eyes.

“Yes of course, I’ll take care of this as quietly as possible. Enjoy the rest of your “meeting”.” White Fox took his men and they headed to where the intruder was. He then ordered his men wait and not to join the fight, so they could observe. From what he saw White Fox could tell that the man was very skilled and the intruder’s alchemy used elements of the body in order to kill much like White Fox’s alchemy. When White Fox heard the intruder’s challenge he thought that would make a nice opportunity for him to introduce himself.


Coming out of hiding White Fox walked toward the intruder. “I’ll take that challenge. I go by the name of White Fox. It’s been a long time sense I’ve seen someone who uses alchemy that uses elements of the body much like myself, so this should be fun. I didn’t know how exactly your alchemy works, but I do know that you’ll never get close enough to me to use it ha ha ha.” White Fox then whipped out his metal threads. At first he made it look like metal threads were headed towards the intruder to fake him out. Where the metal threads really were going was towards the dead bodies of the people that the intruder killed.

The metal threads stabbed the dead bodies in their spines. “See I use these metal threads to send electric impulses to their nerves, taking control of their bodies even when they are dead. So tell me "Mr. Intruder" can you beat that ha ha ha.”

(OOC: Until the battle between Versin and Ayden finishes up, I shall take a rest. Skip my turn as much as the both of you please until the NPC's are required into play as Ballzini has left the defending to Versin's own designs. En garde and enjoy.)

"White Fox, eh?" Ayden looked him up and down, apparently ignoring the new threat that had been launched at him. Reanimated bodies seemed not to shock him in the slightest. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the man. "Xingese?"

He shifted from thought to active speech. "Come, come, my good friend!" He said, switching to a slightly accented version of what could only be the man's native language. "If we're going to duel to the death here, why not do it in a dialect you're familiar with? Only fair, after all..."

His eyes then flicked to the men this 'White Fox' had taken control of, and he shrugged, making a 'hmph' sound. This would be easy. He switched back to Amestrian for a moment. "See, your problem was that you revealed your technique to me. I simply unleashed the name of mine, and I should presume you're still in the dark about its main functions, aye?" Then, almost over a split-second, his brain shifted back to talking in fluent Xingese. Bi-lingual, if anything. "But, it makes no difference. Simply avails me to pursue a number of different paths in dispatching with your drones, before ending your pitiful EXISTENCE!" With a grin, the same, trademark cackle starting once more, he flew at the drones. Three bullets. Three of them left. They were moving slow, their muscles still near-useless from the affects of the alchemical sequence he'd performed on all three of them earlier. It seemed he'd either have to break the threads, or shatter their spinal cords.

Snapping solid steel wire, at that girth, with his bare hands? That was most certainly a no-go. Perhaps he could sever it with a bullet, but he had a feeling this White Fox would be able to snap it back more quickly than he could move. With a grin, as he flew at the numb, silent bodies of the reanimated dead, he took aim, readied the hammer, finger on the trigger...

...and skirted around all three of them.

Immediately, as he was met with the wires at around waist-height, Ayden hit the ground, and began to skid along on his backside. He had a better chance of shattering the bones from the back, the way human anatomy was designed - plus, these men were all either burly or overweight. Fat and muscle had a penchant for slowing down bullets, much less with this caliber and at this range, but it was still not a chance he wanted to take. This way, aiming underneath where the threads were thrust into the men's backs, it would give the bullets a higher chance to shear through the spinal cord, before moving forth into their ribcages, and probably being stopped by their sternums at that velocity.

A shot. Ayden cocked the hammer. Another round loosed. Ayden readied the revolver once more. And the final bullet propelled itself towards the spine of the last man as Ayden moved his head away from those rather dangerous metal threads and he leaped to his feet, returning to a safe distance from both the 'White Fox', and his three unwilling, and already-dead minions, as he watched the rounds take effect.

((Your call on what those three bullets actually do.))

White Fox could not help, but be amused by the Blackskull Alchemist’s antics and how over confident he was. The reason this amused White Fox so much was because the Blackskull Alchemist thought that he was already wining this fight, but what the intruder did not know was that the battle had not really begun. What the Blackskull Alchemist thought was him wining was really just White Fox’s plan setting into motion. White Fox’s first step in his plan was to take over the bodies of the people that the Blackskull Alchemist killed in order to find out more about his alchemy. So while the Blackskull Alchemist got more confident, the more White Fox was learning about his alchemy and progressing the plan.

All this was not good for the intruder, but what was biggest mistake the Blackskull Alchemist did was thinking that he knew all of what White Fox’s alchemy had to offer. What the Blackskull Alchemist did not know was that there was something very deadly that the White Fox’s alchemy could do other then take control of bodies. After the Blackskull Alchemist took out the dead bodies that were under his control, White Fox decided that now was the time to really start this fight. He then dislodged the metal threads from the dead bodies’ spines and threw a smoke bomb to cover his movements. As the smoke covered his movements White Fox went for his target and his target being the nine guards that were there.

White Fox had now taken control of the nine guards. “So now that I have nine new toys that you haven’t touched, do you still feel confident Blackskull Alchemist?” All was going as he had planed it and now White Fox just had to wait for the right moment to use his secret technique.

With a grin, he realised what the sneaky White Fox had gone and done. Nine minions, groaning, under his control. Nine threads. Nine spines to shatter, necks to break. He looked down at Fleshbane, and sighed, rolling the cylinder out and watching as the spent shells rolled onto the floor with a series of six clinks.

That just wouldn't do. He snapped the cylinder back in, and holstered the revolver, before tossing up his cloak behind him, making him a larger, flailing, more confusing target - after all, the White Fox only had minimal control over his puppets - and pulled up both of his trouser legs, and retrieved a pair of handguns from their shin-bound leather holsters, before pulling the legs of his bottoms back down, and returning to full height, cocking the hammer and holding both pistols out at forty-five degrees, the entire debacle over in a matter of seconds.

A sequence he was used to executing frequently. "You see, 'White Fox', quantity means nothing to me. It's just more people to kill, more canvas for an artist such as myself to work with. If you hope to exhaust my ammunition, then, well, you're going to be gravely underwhelmed, as I brought enough to supply a small goddamn army with me." A sick grin crept onto his face as he scanned the locations of the nine converging on him. Equal - somewhat - distances apart... this would be easy.

He looked down at his fresh set of pistols, the Children. Dubbed by himself, not engraved with alchemical circles, polished, sleek, chrome frames... and given fitting names. The one in his left hand, Asmodeus, and the one in his right, Astaroth. Demons of olde, or so he was told. With a grin, he threw his arms out to either side, and cloak flailing behind him, almost in imitation of a parachute, he flew at the closest drone to him, the leftmost one, at a frightening speed.

Three shell casings hit the floor. Three rounds expelled themselves from the barrel of Asmodeus in a matter of milliseconds, opening up a triumvirate of wounds in the stomach area of the guard. Ayden sprinted up to him, following up, and tossed his right pistol a good ten, fifteen feet into the air, before jamming his fingers directly into the wounds he'd created. The guard gurgled with pain as blood began to spill over his lip, and a blue alchemic discharge in his gut caused a series of intermittent gasps. He fell to his knees, and became useless in a matter of moments as Ayden flicked his wrist, splattering most of the blood he'd assimilated on his fingertips onto the grey stone of the courtyard, mixing the dull colour with a lovely, bright, warm crimson, before he lifted his hand into the exact position, at the required angle... and caught Astaroth with an open grip, flying around and loosing another two from the virgin barrel of the pistol, the first round slamming into the second guard's torso, whereas with the second, he got lucky, the bullet shearing through the man's jugular, halting the blood flow, and shattering his spinal cord.

Quite a feat at twenty metres. Sweating, his right hand soaked with fresh blood, and the barrels of his guns smoking, he chuckled as the first guard had, as per his predictions, been rendered immobile. "SEVEN LEFT, FOX, AND YOU DON'T HAVE AN UNLIMITED ARMY OF PEOPLE, SOON I'LL FIND YOU..."

He paused, and cackled maniacally, raising his voice ever further. "I'LL FIND YOU AND BREAK YOUR FUCKING NECK MYSELF!" The cackle escalated into total hysterics. "GRAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Yes, that’s it keep drowning in your own over confidents you fool. It looked liked the battle had really started now that both White Fox and the Blackskull Alchemist finally seemed to be fighting with each other seriously. So White Fox decided that now was the right time to use his secret technique that he had been holding off until now. “You have done well so far, but this where it ends Blackskull Alchemist. Tell me did you know that the brain puts limits on the body, so that body does not overexert it self or damage it self. The brain does this naturally, so the body can live as long as possible…. Unfortunately for these fools their brains are no longer their brains. I am their brains!!! White Fox demonstrated the guards new power now that they were no longer limited, by having one of them make a large hole on the hard ground with their bare hands.

He then made the guards take out their knives and attack the Blackskull Alchemist. With their new speed the guards attacked the Blackskull Alchemist at every angle aiming for his tendons to make him immobile. While the guards were attacking the Blackskull Alchemist, White Fox gave the signal to his men to shoot the intruder if given the opportunity with their guns equip with silencers. I believe this is checkmate Blackskull Alchemist ha ha ha.

Ayden laughed as the men dove for him and the White Fox finished his speech. He cackled as they aimed for his tendons, knives bared, ready to slice him into little pieces. And last of all, he almost gargled maniacally with laughter from the other man branding him overconfident. "Foolish man. If you really think that using that as a 'special technique' will enable you to win," He looked up and stared dead through the smoke, unsure where the man was but his confidence in himself totally intact.

"Then you're wrong. Infact, I'd even say that you're..." The first guard leapt. It was funny, almost comical how he bumbled towards him. Perhaps the White Fox could remove all limits, all measures of pain, and reduce them into burbling wrecks, but these men were stocky, stout, built heavy. The reality was, even without any limits, they still had a cap on their physical attributes, if just from their muscular state. The White Fox was only perhaps enabling them to be at most ten or fifteen percent faster than usual.

But, yes, as the first man dove for him, Ayden skirted around, and took into heed what he'd just rolled around in his mind. And what the Fox had ordered his minions to do. With a smile, he fired two shots from Astaroth into the back of the man's knee, forcing him to the floor, and that was where he'd stay, whether the Fox willed him up or not. Muscles shredded like that, he was well and truly immobile.

Six remaining. Five rounds in Astaroth, six in Asmodeus. The Children were hungry, hungry for more action, more violence, more blood. Perhaps it was time to finish off his line. Yes, it was, otherwise the entire statement would get stale. "Well, you'd be be dead wrong." He chuckled.

He heard some other men begin to screw silencers to their weapons. "Oh, what's this? A ranged assault?" He smiled, before bursting into crazed, insane laughter once more. "You do realise, Mr. Fox, that becoming the 'brain' of these men means that you also have to manually control how they aim. And how they unleash their attacks, be they from their own fists or a blade. Whether you're a Xingese warlord or a lowly grunt in the armies of Amestris, no-one can control that many people manually. And, as a matter of fact..."

Ayden bolted for the nearest man, diving over a low kick, before pulling himself up to full height, facing the man, then unleashing a punch, pistol in hand and all. And he aimed it directly... so it would miss. It skimmed past the man's face, the fabrics of Ayden's jacket just brushing his chin. With a smile, Ayden retracted his arm, as the man still did nothing but bumble towards him, groaning in pain, blood dripping from his back where the steel thread had entered. The tables have been turned. "Just as I thought." He placed both hands on the man's head, and forcefully twisted his head to the left. Bones cracked inside; it was obvious that his neck, and his spinal cord had been broken.

With a smile, he grasped the steel thread, and pulled it from the dead man's body, throwing it onto the floor as a blood spray missed him by inches. He chuckled, and threw his arm around the corpse's neck, with his other hand aiming Asmodeus over his shoulder. A perfect counter. Not a living human shield, but one made of meat nonetheless. "You see, White Fox, you do realise also that... being their 'brains', the title you oh-so-quickly bestow upon yourself, you need to take upon the responsibility to control the simpler things. Like reflex arcs. For you, the body's limits on over-exertion - yes, which I know all too well about - aren't always bad."

With a grin, he aimed and loosed another burst of rounds. Two towards a nearest guard, one right between his eyes and another piercing his collarbone. They had appeared to have possibly grazed the spinal cord, if at all, so Ayden aimed with Asmodeus and shattered the man's kneecap, causing the last of his voice to contort into a shriek of agony. Four left. And only eight rounds left, too. Things were going to get close, but for now, a little psychological warfare...

"You see, you're really quite a... dysfunctional and pathetic brain, after all. Pyahahahahahaha!"

A pair of suppressed rounds slammed into the meat shield's torso. Ayden cursed mentally. Those were close. The rounds, at this range, could hit or graze his arms, either the hold or his gun arm. He had to take care of this quickly.

[Bump~]

[Yo dawg I herd Versin doesn't like postin' so we post while he don't so he can post when we post.

Translation: I'm very sorry, but our dear friend Versin appears to have not posted much, so we're just gonna skip over him. If he wants to come in later, he should consult us before doing so. COMMENCE AWESOME]

Four of the men controlled were left, and the frequency of the suppressed fire was getting somewhat more unbearable, considering the 'meat shield' now resembled a steak with a few dozen bullet holes littering it. Considering a statue as cover amidst the crossfire of the courtyard, Ayden threw the man aside and dove behind it in one single, fluid movement.

Shit, shit, shit... he had to finish this quickly. What did he have, what did he have, what did he-

A pang of soreness amongst the other bruises, nicks and cuts began to emanate from his hands, the palms, specifically. A dark, almost macabre grin swept across his face as he remembered where that pain stemmed from; a new tattoo, having been done perhaps a few days ago, probably less. And those new tattoos were... well, they were two separate transmutation circle.

One for the manipulation of the nervous system, to cause pain and usually other uncomfortable things amongst the body's infrastructure. Exactly the sort of thing that was useless to him now, thanks to the specific nature of the alchemy of this White Fox.

But the other... the grin only widened as he remembered what it was. It allowed him to separate the hydrogen atoms in blood... collect them together... and detonate them, using the oxygen atoms as a catalyst to essentially create an explosion solely from blood. The grin turned from triumphant to sick and sadistic, and he lifted his pistols to either side, hearing the slow, bumbling footsteps, before firing off, alternate shots, until both guns clicked empty multiple times.

Chips of stone from the statue and its base flew off from Ayden at either side. He didn't duck, didn't run for cover. He knew he was protected. But more importantly, knowing the Fox would direct them towards this position... he was drawing the bees with honey. Violence would beget more violence.

He exhaled, before reaching into the pockets of his coats, more dust spitting up on either side as the ground slowly became more and more riddled with hot lead. He extracted two ten-round .45 caliber clips, slowly sliding them into each pistol, before slipping them into the somewhat-visible holsters, cracking his knuckles, and cocking his head side to side.

"This is gonna be messy," He said quietly, before giggling in near-ecstasy, the grin finally reaching its peak...

And, then, all fell silent but for a moment. The only sounds audible were the chirping of crickets and the swaying of leaves in the breeze. He heard fresh clips begin to be drawn. Reloading. Now was the time to make his move. Granted, he wasn't going for the ones with guns, but this would be a lot easier without a hailstorm of hot metal flying at him. And more stylish. God, he loved making the kills stylish.

He flew out from cover, several gasps audible from the Fox's men, but this spinning, revolving tornado of black fabric, silver hair, and tattooed flesh ignored it, clearing the ground between himself and the leftmost man of the four plodding towards his position in a single leap, his left hand outstretched whilst his right arm supported it, firmly clasped above his elbow.

He made contact and floored the man simply with the impact, his body slamming to the floor and the head a split-second later from the recoil. His body's natural reaction was to yelp in pain, but Ayden had pinned the man with his hand firmly clasped about his jugular, so the noise came out as a pathetic, muffled squeal, before the blue electrical discharge crackled about his hand, and faded a moment later. Ayden retracted his hand, and leapt back a few feet, turning around to face the second.

The foolish fat man raised his hand to throw a lumbering punch, but it was no use. Ayden ducked underneath it, and kicked him in the gut, throwing him backwards, before throwing his outstretched hand towards his face, not bothering to activate his alchemy, simply bringing his right in to break the man's spine with peak efficiency. His last death throes were a few pitiful twitches before all life flooded from him, and Ayden cocked his head, turning to the last two, now homing in onto him, invigorated. "Kyahahaha! I love my job!"

At about that minute, the alchemy on the first guy activated, and consequently he begun writhing madly, his body jolting in every direction, blood bubbling from his mouth and firing out of it in small projectiles, landing on his rather expensive white silk shirt. Ayden didn't bother looking back to him. He knew what would happen. As a delay, allowing him to get away, he'd set the explosions as a sloping charge.

And, lo and behold, that is how it worked. A few crimson bubbles became dozens, and in moments, the fat man's cheeks became rosy, and inflated, and his neck was an angry shade of red, undulating, the veins bulging to an abnormally unnatural size. As Ayden took a few steps forwards, he felt the ground tremor as the man's head disappeared, his neck erupting into a fountain of high-pressure blood, the immediate area caked in the hot, crimson liquid, accompanied by a sickly squelch and a near-explosive loud pop. Ayden grinned as he felt some of the last drops splatter the back of his coat. He'd always liked giving clothes his own... touch.

As for the last two... they'd be a little more of a nuisance. His ears tuned into the Fox's men. The last of them were readying their weapons. He grunted, and his hands went to the back of his jacket, casting it up, letting it billow in the wind. With his grips reversed, his fingers closed firmly around the handles of two Aerugese tanto, which he drew with frightening speed, leaping towards the remaining two men, banking to their left at the last moment, speeding through them and diving to the floor behind a stone flowerbed.

He smirked once more as he heard the blood begin to spray out from assorted severed veins and arteries. The cuts he'd made with a single sweep had been just deep enough to sever the majority of their spinal cords, and their bloodied bodies fell to the floor. In but ten seconds, four had been reduced to zero. Ayden raised one of the tanto to his tongue, and ran it across the bloodied half of the right blade, savouring as the metallic tang of the liquid soaked throughout his mouth. Absolutely beautiful.

The gunfire continued. He sheathed his tanto and grumbled. This was no fun. Perhaps the White Fox would possess his own men, even if it'd make them a little uncoordinated with their aim. But... it was getting boring. Hm. The contract wasn't on him, it was on Ballzini, and despite the man having initiated this, he was being too passive, too much of a coward. Casting his coat aside once more, he fumbled into a newly-revealed black leather satchel amongst a number of metal objects, before producing what appeared to be a grenade of some sort, rather casually removing the pin with his teeth and lobbing it behind him. It rattled along, Ayden chucking the metal pin aside before he got up, walking away from the scene rather slowly.

Every one of the Fox's men, himself included, probably, had run for cover, presuming the thing to be an explosive, but Ayden just giggled maniacally, heading towards the entrance of the manor as the cylinder hissed loudly, releasing, in moments, a mass of grey-black smoke which covered the entire courtyard, and apparently a collection of sounds from a hidden speaker, in the device, of unenthusiastic middle-aged men muttering 'boom' in rather deadpan voices.

By the time the White Fox stood back up, his vision was completely obscured, and Ayden had kicked the doors of the manor open with a single boot, and stepped into the vacant foyer, applying sunglasses to his brow and raising his hands, quivering ever-so-slightly, in imitation of a conductor, having left around a dozen bodies and a very confused mercenary in his wake. "Oh, Ballzini~!" He howled.

"Daddy's home!" He shouted in a singsong voice, before cackling almost inhumanly. It was time this farce ended, the more abrupt and bloody, the better.

Garments were littering in bundles across the reception area as fluids of sticky white were puddling the floor. Juices flowing and intermingling, men and women respectively. But why the lack of inhabitants around the place of orgy? Not all is what it seemed to be. People in their middle ages mixed with young women in particular, are peaking from around the ledges a floor up to look at the entrance opened by a mad man.

Alerted prior by the scuffle and gunshots outside that even the music played could not blur as to avert it from reaching their ears. After all, they are dealing with someone after them that is probably some rebel of sorts.

No, to them, it was a hit man probably meant to clean up everything, they conspired and tattled to each other in hushes. Betraying their location as the numerous whispers around were anything but discreet. To be ashamed, no, embarrassed of their current nudity as many of the guards are not allowed into this location, was something they would not stand for.

It would be that there were a good couple of dozens from among these orgy-goers. Important in some way or form, some were company presidents profiteering from the economy that's been sucked out, others are military officials, all middle aged and married yet partaking in this sinful acts.

Taking upon whatever they can get their hands on, from fire place sticks to bottles of fine wine, they armed and descended upon the stairs to flood the foyers in droves. A horde. Encompassing and swarming around Ayden as to attack and to eliminate him. Naked bodies bumping into one another as genitals sway, breasts flop, whilst the younger ones, those prostitutes hired to satisfy the guests, were not present within this attacking crowd. Cowering and hiding up stairs.

Ballzini as of yet still within his inner sanctum, unaware that the White Fox had not stopped the hitman's progress as to eliminate and rub him out of existence... not yet enabling the guards, those armed, to combat Ayden due to his ignorance. Until he looked upon the video feeds in rage and disappointment, that orders were given. Given to reinforce and eliminate the alchemist.

The Aerugese are not to be let loose just yet...

Guards of course would be en route, armored this time with bullet resistant gear and riot equipment, but inevitably they would be delayed, too late as to save the fate's that awaits these corrupt VIP's.

Oh, this was... unexpected, to say the least. He'd expected there to be enough weaponry for a small army, but when the guests, of all people, dove at him with improvised melee weapons, both blunt and sharp, he arched an eyebrow and chuckled, flipping his hands around and staring down at his tatttooed palms. Did he bother with the revolvers, or the tanto, or the pistols...

...hm, no. He'd already bloodied his blades, and they wanted to fight close. He'd have to indulge them... show them he wasn't messing around. A quick headcount showed around ten, eleven bare figures diving at him, descending from the upper levels of the foyer, with other assorted younger men and women - although primarily the latter - taking cover by some of the ornate pillars in decoration. Cracking his knuckles and tilting his head from left to right as the first of the group closed in, he pulled his sunglasses from his pocket, flicking them out with a simple motion of his wrist, before pushing them onto his face. "Let's dance."

A macabre chuckle, then the entire room exploded with violence. The first, a short man, to one of Ayden's stature, anyway, perhaps... 5'9? 5'10? It didn't matter. He was topless, although still bore bottoms, but it was a sight none too pleasant, flabby curves flapping as he swung at the man with what appeared to be an ashtray, holding it in both hands and attempting to smash it over the would-be assassin's head.

The hitman, of course, weaved aside, and grasped the man's arm, placing both hands on it, and putting as much pressure on his wrist as was possible, before yanking it to the side. Audibly, the bone cracked, and the radius and ulna moved into a position that they really shouldn't have by the normal limitations of the body, and the man fell to the floor, cradling his snapped wrist as the stone ashtray fell, shattering on the tiled floor.

Another two, a pincer-type assault, one from either side. Ayden rolled forwards as a fire poker and the smashed, sharp remains of a glass beer bottle both lunged for where his body had been but moments ago. He grunted as he felt the two 'weapons' shear through the air just above his backside; that was too close. He had to stop playing around. "Kh..." He muttered, before leaping forwards towards yet another locked door in the manor of Ballzini, turning mid-flight to face the pair, now joined by a third and a fourth, one thin, tall, nude woman, perhaps in her mid-fifties, and another lanky man, grey-haired and clutching a leg of one of the coffee tables, hastily snapped off as they'd heard him enter.

Standing up to his full height as they fanned out, readying to attack, he propped his shades up and let out a sick grin. "That was close..." It was time... it was time to get serious. Yet his smile was wider than ever. As thoughts of the assassin's next move reverberated through the minds of the nude quartet clutching their 'armaments', Ayden raised his right hand, this time, and flipped his palm towards them as the rather sharp and jagged-looking transmutation circle glowed with that sky-blue alchemic electricity, crackling as it did so.

He stepped towards them, lowering his hand, although it was still illuminated. "I am the Blackskull Alchemist," He smiled, barely ten feet between him and the two frontal attackers. "Bear witness to the science of pain, flesh, and blood," He raised both hands this time, clearly ready to fight, moving into a ready stance with his right palm outstretched.

Had his eyes been unobscured, they would have seen a readied glare sharp enough to pierce the armour of a tank as he surveyed his next prey, four pieces of meat, four rolls of blank canvas to paint a truly magical picture upon. They began to stalk towards him, ever so slowly, placing one foot in front of the other... and but for a moment there was a lull in noise, the rhythmic pounding of feet becoming almost... vacant from the room. Six feet between them, no less, no more.

And then the assassin leaped, words spilling from his mouth as blood prepared to spill from the bodies of those orgy-goers. "Bear witness to my science, and pay heed as it will be the last thing you'll ever see!" Having propelled himself into the air like an acrobat, the synchronised lunges of his unworthy 'adversaries' skimmed the air below his feet, and he landed but moments later, left hand on the throat of the left, right hand clutching the face of the right.

Then... then he activated the alchemy.

The right-hand man dropped to his knees, shouting, writhing, shrieking as pain rattled throughout his body, as if someone had set fire to every single nerve ending in his face... and the feeling was spreading, rippling, shooting throughout his limbs intermittently. He began to sweat like a pig as, involuntarily, his limbs jolted and shook, the man rolling on the tiled ground exceptionally violently, bubbles of vomit and bile appearing at his mouth. Absolutely and totally stunned by pain which was present one moment and vacant the next, he was... well, Ayden considered him to be an obstacle cleared. He would be in this state for a good couple of hours.

As for the man on the left, bearing the fire poker, the debacle had been nowhere near as interesting. Making a few blunt impressions by crunching his digits, the man began to somewhat lose use of his limbs as his body seized up, his windpipe violently being crushed. The metal rod hit the floor with a clang, and in a fury, the woman lunged for Ayden, but he simply through himself backwards, enthralled by the reactions of this poor soul as he was slowly strangled.

Finally, Ayden activated his alchemy. Once more, the respiratory effect shook the man's body, but in moments, the choking intensified, and as the Blackskull Alchemist released the throat of his prey, he began to lose all will over his muscles and turned into a lifeless, motionless wreck, his last noises a set of throaty, hacking sobs.

Next, the woman. Ayden's vision centered, and he dove aside another thrust from a badly-fashioned shiv, apparently made from a piece of smashed glass. The woman's hand was bleeding fairly badly for utilising the 'weapon' in the way she did. He made a 'hmph' noise, apparently getting bored of repetition. It was almost like a rhapsody that was boring and repetitive, a build-up without a crescendo. Ayden was beginning to lose interest.

And when he lost interest... he made sure the piece became enthused with his own little touch. He drew a second revolver, chromed and engraved like its brother, brandishing it and leaping behind what would undoubtedly be the woman's last attack. He pulled back the hammer of the hand cannon and smashed the woman's jaw with it, blood spattering the nearby staircase as she yowled in pain. A soft hand to her back broke her fall, her assailant apparently moving into some sort of masochistic dancing pose, 'a waltz of death', as he would call it.

The final sight of her life was that sick, maniacal grin of the madman who raised the barrel of a .44 magnum revolver to her face, placed the barrel at her bloody teeth, and fired a round, her pitiful death squeal being cut off as the first shot of the assault rang out throughout the manor. Ayden looked up as the blood freely flowed from the remains of her head like a river, his hand quivering like a conductor would, this orchestra of death simply... beautiful. For a moment, his eyes flicked to the ceiling, exploring through his periphery, wondering just where this Ballzini would be. Undoubtedly, he would have heard that.

He locked his vision on the grey-haired man as he dropped the nude, bloody form of the dead woman, letting her lifeless corpse fall to the floor before he kicked it aside idly, gaze locked with his the entire time. Not wasting any more time as his would-be assailant closed in, his clammy hands lost their grip around the pathetic thing he thought would be a good weapon, and he sprinted towards Ballzini's sanctum, sprayed with the blood of his mutilated comrades, as an almost ecstatic laugh echoed out behind him.

Ayden half-considered firing a barrage off at the man's back - he knew he'd hit him, it was a guarantee - but... it was a waste of ammunition, and he didn't have time to deal with these rats. Returning to the dual stairs and wiping some more blood from his hands as it began to well up from the lacerations of the two dead and two unconscious - one with pain, the other with shock - behind him, hearing a few final twitches from the latter group, Ayden saw... well... the foyer had long since been vacated.

The man chuckled with glee once more, sheathing his revolver and raising his hands, a maniacal grin swept upon his face the entire time. "Flee, flee then!" His hand went to his temple, and he wiped a few specks of blood from there, too, the smile becoming more and more subtle, before he uttered the final words of his shout. "Flee from the majesty of the Blackskull Alchemist and the horror that is the science he willingly uses in battle!"

That little speech over, his hands fell to his side, and he continued up the right-most set of stairs - the less bloody of the two. It was time to see what other surprises Ballzini had prepared for him in this building, which would surely become a news article in the coming week, with a headline warning of an abundance of mutilated bodies and pools of blood enough to fill the crater that remained of South City.

Camera feeds had shown that the majority of these important officials... vital to Ballzini's plan to run a mob monopoly all over Amestris, had been snuffed out to death by this weirdo girl-man, Ballzini couldn't tell. He had to squint. His eyesight wasn't that great. This person, to Ballzini, is wondering who the Hell sent him. Perhaps by the Frolencio family? No no, they are too small in funding... someone else must've sent him.

But for the most part, there were now a new threat to Ayden -- the men armed in riot gear had set up a blockade to Ballzini's private office which is a couple of corridors ahead in a straight path. And steel sets of walls would enclose behind Ayden,having constrained his pathways behind him as it limited his places of movements.

The riot gear wearing mooks were armed with shotguns, bullet resistant armor such as a helmet, vest and gauntlets, and bulletproof riot shields in front of each lines clumped together as if it was a phalanx of olden times. Firing in barrages in a rather methodical mannerism. One can already tell these were in fact former riot police officers from the way they had kept their aim on Ayden the entire time, and one even had a flamethrower ready as a corridor was leading to only two ways now a wall had restricted the ability to move back.

Through the lines of riot guards that were in fact separate from another several feet symmetrically. In a sense, it has been shown, Ballzini is taking the hitman seriously now that he released those men. Each reloading at a systematic pace so that fire can be kept up, a single flamethrower man assigned to each rows as now, Ballzini is to far as to even burn down his own house to take out the alchemist.

He didn't care about anything but his life, he even whispered to his advisors to prepare his escape helicopter, leaving his chair aside as he took an elevator and let the Aerugese take command at his office.

Each Kunoichi stripping within Ballzini's office as to wear their traditional ninja gear and adorn themselves with various bladed weaponry, blending with their surroundings rather well despite their voluptuous and well endowed curvaceous bodies used more for seduction than combat. Invisible to the eyes as their exotic Kunoichi training had afforded them.

And lastly, at the entrance to Ballzini's office, were two guards in suits and shades. Nothing seemed remarkable to them, they were in fact, calm, despite being informed of an alchemist's arrival. Yet their calmness was at most, nothing more than what they had thought was afforded -- the alchemical runes enchanted across their bodies... although one can see it did not resemble Amestrian alchemy. Rather Alkahestry.

Xingese.

Ballzini must've gotten bodyguards from various places, to have feared for his own security, that his outside guard could not match up to Ayden, that these mooks were sent to answer the prevailing question of putting an end to the hitman advancing through the rich scarlet carpet embroiled with golden lacing, as room doors side-to side at the walls were closed by metallic walls that contradict the rich red flow that outfit the walls, they were for the most part, guest rooms and some were kitchens, inaccessible. A stupid move by the mobster as it had betrayed he indeed was in the room up ahead, having escaped through his private elevator to go to the rooftops as his helicopter was slowly prepping up.

An even stupider move was not to place a steel wall to come up and block his own room, rather just lock it conventionally.

Someone that dumb does not deserve to live as Ballzini, makes one wonder how he got this mansion and richness without dying despite his security measures... or a fatal flawed one of it.

Marching. Steps, synchronised. Lots of them. Ayden grinned that trademark sick grin of his. This would be fun. Oh, this would be fun.

There were gaps between the two corridors, almost like windows. Windows... in a fortress? No. More like just flaws unaccounted for. And flaws... flaws could be manipulated. Left to one such as Ayden, flaws would be manipulated. He heard the steel walls slam to the ground with a simultaneous clang behind him, before making a 'hmph' noise. Expected. He hadn't planned for it exactly, but, eh, he could improvise. All the great actors could, and this would be his debut piece...

He caught glance of perhaps six rows of five men, in full riot gear, clutching shotguns. They were moving fast, and keeping formation, protecting almost every angle. These men were not simple mooks. They were professionals. The grin lessened to a cocky, smug smirk. Ayden realised Ballzini had underestimated him, and now he'd upped the ante. Well, in this situation, some would fold, some would call the bet...

...but, no. He'd raise it.


Making calculations rapidly in his head, he realised they were using some sort of variation of the phalanx formation. The only areas they hadn't protected were their feet, and they were fairly weak to any sort of aerial assault. Hands going to his jacket once more, he ignored the strap from his satchel; that... wouldn't do. He was going to have to get a little more precise, a little more lethal.

His fingers brushed against glass. Straps of phials, six each on two small bandoliers; so twelve in total. What were they? Clear liquids, perhaps some sort of wonder drug? Perhaps nitroglycerine, or another similar explosive? A ray of light pierced the musky darkness surrounding the assassin as he stepped forwards, dusting off his right hand on his coat as the left clutched this strap, pulling it from his chest with a tug.

The liquid inside... a dark crimson. No more than one hundred millilitres in each different container, which were simple, with a few engravings, glass, and seemed to be sealed, probably alchemically. Perhaps once cheap test tubes of sorts. Ayden quietly drew two phials in sequence from the bandolier, before strapping it back on quickly, and slipping them into his trouser pockets, light refracting from the Talons too. He grinned. Perhaps he'd get to use them yet if Ballzini had another line of defense.

But it mattered not. The unruly horde approached, and the shimmer of industrial, heatproof steel revealed that the less-armoured man in the middle had a tank strapped to his back. What was it? Oxygen... no. Another flash, this time green. Ayden put two and two together, and made a presumption this man was some sort of heavy weapons expert. A flamethrower. That was going to be... interesting.

As the first row spilled around the corner, Ayden realised it was time to stop playing around and get precise. Well, more of the latter than the former. It was always playtime for him on a hit! "Evening, gentlemen!" He said. Two rows. His right hand flicked to his thigh. Bare, tattooed fingers brushed once more against metal. Although... less curved this time. More square, but... it'd be just as helpful as the revolvers and the Children.

"You do know something, right?" Three rows. He needed to wait a little more, but taking aim couldn't hurt. He knew they'd get closer before they dropped the shields for the shotguns. At this range, they'd just mark the walls, and he was sure Ballzini wouldn't appreciate that. So... he unleashed a newer member of his arsenal. The Hunter. String hung from the back-end of the chamber, a reel of it, infact; it appeared to be single-shot, pneumatic... and it fired a barbed spear. A harpoon pistol.

He grinned, and aimed at the first man, hoping that inside that ugly navy helmet, his brow began to wet with sweat. Butterflies began to flutter in his stomach, his lungs churned and his heart tightened, his eyes flooding with fear. The assassin's vision flicked to the corner. Four rows. The flamethrower guy was in that one. Hm. He turned back to the man after a moment, before zooming out, raising his arms, weapon and all, proclaiming the phrase with a sense of grandiose carried alongside.

"You can't spell slaughter without laughter!" Almost as soon as it was said, the fifth row appeared; now. Now, it was game time. Giggling hysterically like a madman, his wrist flicked back to the aim he'd secured, but at the last second, his hand jolted upwards, and he pulled the trigger; the harpoon flew off and hit the ceiling, some wooden and a little stone debris flying out and raining down upon the heads of the second and third rows below. The reel was well and truly taut; Ayden tugged on it a few times to make sure, before flicking a switch on the side, where the safety would be on most weapons, and hitting the trigger again.

Pulling his knees up to his chest as he felt himself being pulled towards the dug-in projectile, Ayden, still cackling, used his free left hand to dive back into his pocket and pull out the first phial, clenching his hand around it but for a moment as the transmutation circle glowed that signature blue, the sun and moon symbols at the center barely visible above the glass.

But a moment later, he unfurled his fingers, and released the phial; and for a moment all time seemed to dull as the thing dropped through the air, falling oh so gracefully, the last of the alchemic discharge crackling away around it and dissipating. Ten, fifteen of the thirty heads turned towards it, questions swimming through their minds. 'Who is this man?' 'What is this phial?' 'Why is he hanging from the ceiling?' 'Should we shoot?'

Unfortunately... time's impact hit all too hard as the key phrase from Ayden, his eyes burning with a fiery essence of psychopathy, the shimmering blue irises glistening from light refracted two or three times from various pieces of the men's equipment.

"Boom." It was quiet enough to whisper, but his smile lit up with malice, creeping further up the sides of his face as the phial began to glow, and spurts of crazed laughter were almost forcefully spat forth from between those cursed lips as the men stared up, raising their weapons to take aim and fire, the shields and any method of defending themselves subsequently dropped to the ground.

The glow intensified as they pumped their shotguns; another mistake. He could've been almost filled with holes if they were ready to fire. Instead, just as the shells rolled onto the floor, all congregating together around the landing site of the phial, now burning with a flame-like white-orange, Ayden's secret weapon hit the floor and smashed.

And the contents detonated.

The assassin himself pulled himself up to the ceiling with all his strength, trembling as he had to crunch ridiculously hard to turn himself into a small, flat shape, pressing against the top of the room to avoid being incinerated by the flames of the explosion. It was devastating, and once the sound was vacant, his ears still rung for a good few seconds... however... he was prepared. He knew the procedure; they didn't.

He rolled his body back out, and detached the spear, rope and all, from the Hunter, pushing it back into the holster as he landed, the back side of his coat just charred. That was... a good one! Probably the best he'd seen in weeks! Letting out another giggle, he realised the flamethrower guy was still alive, trembling as he got to his feet, despite his comrades not being so.

Laughing insanely, as he did, Ayden locked gazes with the man - or, well, his eye slats - as he raised to his full stance, perhaps stunned by the concussive effects of the explosion if he'd endured the sheer heat. "I guess you could almost call that..." He leapt up until he was exactly face-to-face with the mobster mook, before just murmuring the final word, an ax-crazy smile set upon his face. "...bloody..."

"Ya' fukken-" The rest of the sentence was obscured by the sound of gases hissing into the machine as the flamethrower-wielder slammed one of the valves, and Ayden saw his fingers reach for the trigger. The assassin threw himself to the floor, and for the second time, curled up into a ball as the fire just skimmed over him, rolling out of the way as quickly as possibly, skirting around to the man's back. The smell of fabric smoke was clearly distinct against the burnt flesh in the air. Ayden growled; the man had scorched his cloak. It was somewhat fire-retardant, but... that would not go unpunished.

Before he could spin around, Ayden grasped one of the Talons of Despair from his two straps, separating it from its five identical siblings. Engraved with the Pain Alchemy circle, it was almost as if the knife - usually weighted for throwing, but it did the trick - knew where to aim, as the assassin dived and slashed at the back of the kneecap of the 'soldato', shearing through flesh, vein, and tendon alike. The flamethrower clanged to the floor; the pain from the still-glowing transmutation array, coupled with the weight, and the effect of a sheared tendon all forced the man to the ground, shrieking as both the sensitivity of the area and the manipulation of the nervous system worked hand-in-hand to induce a mind-numbingly powerful feeling of searing flesh bubbling across the man's body.

Having whetted the blade once already, Ayden, with a look of bloody glee swept across his face, dove once more, hearing the Talon calling to him and WISHING to taste this man's crimson once more. Ayden... well... "I can't help but oblige you, friend," He muttered, before rolling the man around with his boot, stamping on his chest, forcing the wind out of his lungs, and staring his would-be adversary down, looking into those pleading, fearful eyes as he tore the mask from his face. He tried to say something but the pain and the fear combined were too much. He just closed his eyes and prayed to his god.

And moments later, bone cracked, blood sprayed, and brain matter sheared as the throwing knife found its target. Ayden withdrew it from his victim, licked the blade clean once more - apparently a rite of his - and sheathed it, turning back down the corridor, hot with the warmth of thirty now-vacant men having marched down it but a minute ago.

Next stop was Ballzini's inner sanctum.

Ballzini. Despicable man, mobster hated by many. His ability to get away like a cockroach and squirm away with very little court actions has made him nearly the most untouchable man in all of Amestris due to his ability to shift the jury's verdicts to his favor as to declare him not guilty. Witnesses suddenly disappear and evidence aren't around as Ballzini is king of the court.

Having a grasp over the markets, and having consolidated his power as the top mob boss in Amestris, became even political. With backing from several important officials in the government, both, civilian and military, now were snuffed out. His personal army in his mansion, nothing but 1/3rd of it, were wiped out. The rest are out there enforcing his rule and keeping mini-branches out there. But in his moments of highest glory, it was all destroyed, snuffed out. His mobster empire collapsed effectively.

All undone by a single man, it has been said that those with the best of intentions need not fear those with the best, but the one with the worst of intentions, for they do not know of their intent and it is subject to change. Such is true is the case of this scenario, where Ballzini even left his model of a wife behind at the office to leave. To run away. The recent death of the Chief of the Security Corps of Central and a new one replacing him meant that he no longer had protection under the form of Security Forces.

At this point, the helicopter's engines were revving up, but had some malfunctions that Ballzini had urgently boarded within his personal compartment within the aircraft. Urging desperately for the men to fix up the engines as quick as possible. The explosion was no sign of relief for him, no, he has a vibe this man WILL come after him, and that his best chance out is to get away. So desperate to leave that he even left his young wife among the Aerugese Kunoichi.

She was hidden under the desk, whimpering with fear as her fellow women, no, they weren't fellows, they were killers, trained everyone of them loyal to the coin and power. Bracing their Wakizashi's as they were in fact hidden very well, not sloppily, but among the shadows. Despite the fact their garments, rather the sleeveless shortened Kimonos were white, it was odd they hadn't been giving a noticeable glint from their uniforms.

Some were prowling at corners, others were on the ceiling, and a few around the door way, and even some camouflaging with the decor of the room, behind the couch and whatnot. Their smaller framed forms making it more capable of pulling such a thing off.

That when Ayden would pop up, they would in a swift flurry of speed, attack as to disarm his weapons as well as aim to completely restrain him in a mechanical simultaneous teamwork, assuming him a killer in his 40's, and with a pimple addled face and a bulbous nose due to Ballzini's "exaggerated" description of him. Bracing their weapons as their presence was not noted.

The only sound within the room was the whimpering of the wife, and the dimming elevator's engine that is slowly fading from life -- it was a sign that there wasn't much time, and Ballzini had in fact disconnected the power supply. Meaning that it will be limited before the secret elevator's engine would completely die out, and wouldn't function anymore within this room, behind the opened up book case rather.

This room, to the unassuming eye, is filled with a helpless woman, rather than several armed and highly trained Kunoichi mercenaries, hidden too well to boot as well with not a single firearm on them, but traditional bladed weapons intent on making use of melee attacks.

This was Ballzini's inner sanctum, and final stop before going to the upper levels as to stop Ballzini, and destroy his helicopter. No doubt he would start the helicopter up by then, and attempt to kill Ayden through the manner of using the helicopter's weapons as to shoot him up, rather than escape. A prideful and foolish act despite an opportunity to get away... that is IF Ayden had went up in time to catch Ballzini's helicopter flying and he spotted him.

The whirring of an elevator moving up through the building. Ayden felt the ground vibrate ever-so-slightly beneath his feet. The promptness of his pace began to increase, becoming more and more brisk with every step. He needed to get into that room, find a way to get up there - Ballzini would have probably locked down the elevator, or prohibited him in some way from following, and even if he hadn't, it was best to plan for the worst - and kill the man. This was proving more long-winded than he'd expected.

Granted, fun, but... still... in this line of business, time was money.

Raising his right foot ever so slightly as he neared the door, with an emotionally devoid look slapped across his face, at the last moment, he kicked the leg up entirely, and rolled into it, the boot slamming into the door, indenting, and sending it off his hinges, where it collapsed onto the tiled marble ground with a thud.

Within moments, he heard a pitiful scream, followed by a mixture of whimpering and weeping. Was this... no... an innocent, set amidst this scene of carnage? Ha! Absolutely beautiful. Raising his tanto, having unsheathed them once more, he flipped the blades into reverse-grip and began to home in on the noise, happily ready to set aside some of his time to work his magic on yet another blank canvas... oh, the things he'd do-

Footsteps. Rapid. Two sets, from opposite sides. Padded, converging fast. His expression straightened and his vision narrowed like a hawk as he ducked below the swoop of scythe-like wakizashi cleaving through the area where his head had been but a moment ago. As the mystery assailants readied themselves for a second strike, Ayden flipped the tanto up to block; but on both sides, he miscalculated and was but a split-second too late. The cold metal grazed almost identically on both hands, the blades of the warriors having tasted blood. Ayden growled, angered by the smell of his own blood being let upon this battlefield. He leapt back from the desk to survey his attackers.

Two women. Aerugese. Kimono. Hair tied back, mouths obscured with pieces of cloth. Dual wakizashi. Kunoichi. Female ninja, assassins and bodyguards sticking to the shadows to obey the orders of their master. In this case, Ballzini. So he had left another line of defense... although these were more a delay. He knew it, and so did the assassin.

Hm. The mobster and the assassin. As Ayden raised his hands to his mouth and lapped up the shed blood, a grin began to creep across the sides of his mug as colour flushed back into it. He had left, and the psychopath had taken grasp; but, now, now, he had to keep the beast in check. After all, sating him to keep him chained was one of the most relieving feelings ever.

He'd have to make this quick. Flashing a smile and moving to the both of them in turn, he slowly sheathed his tanto; their sneak attacks wouldn't work again... but his... his...

Just as the last of the metal touched the final piece of the inner edge of the foot-long scabbard, the assassin's lightning-fast hands flicked to the throwing knives on his chest, grasping two, and holding them between his index and middle fingers on both hands, with but a touch enough to activate the Pain Alchemy engraved thereupon. With a flick of his wrists, he sent the two blades flying at the kunoichi; perhaps he'd get to see their battle prowess first-hand... if they could survive such a trivial attack as this.

It was nothing more than a spur of the moment, a slight miscalculation on the part of the Kunoichi that prevented them from performing a very clean and quick slaying of this interloper trespassing on the grounds of their employer. Those two? They were nothing but a minority in this room for the greater ones that lay, the greater ones that hide and are waiting for an opportunity to strike. A new moment of security than a heightened tension as to fight.

Though those two Kunoichi had in fact easily side-stepped the two knives without consideration of the deeper meaning behind them were there any. Trivial attacks. Both parting from one another in distinct separations. Farther. The innocent was whimpering in the back, scared from the fight that took place. A rip sounded from the throwing blade as it hit a shadowed corner and lodged there, as an abstract shaded shape floated to the ground, to the light to reveal the crimson of the shortened Kimono on the ground. A betrayal of the Kunoichi's positions there, and a hint there may be more prowling.

Though on the contrary the Aerugese had a sense of calm, they were not distressed, rather they had been direct, a motion not wasted, as if they knew what to do. That grin? To them, it was a message of some power, a mischievous nature they seek to belittle and destroy in testament to their own prowess. A clash of wills. A show of force on whom is the better one here.

They followed up by four knives flung at Ayden's collar in a somewhat wide spread, simultaneously sprinting towards him that in a moment, they were an inch away from the man. Seeking to penetrate him with their own bladed weaponry, one aiming for where his stomach, the other swinging in a wide arc underneath towards his legs.

Vicious attacks from but two Kunoichi in a room filled by them hiding from Ayden in the shadows, camouflaging themselves, without motion and observant.

They had passed the test. These were the elite. Ayden dove underneath a set of twin thrusts from the first, and once more grasped his throwing knives again, the engraved metal jammed firmly into the polished cedar of Ballzini's office, the smell of bodily fluids still lingering in the air, the assassin scrunching his nose in disgust. With a single tug of both hands, and the expulsion of a few small particulates of wood, Ayden grasped the throwing knives; except, this time, they were flicked around into a reverse-grip.

Small as they seemed to be, at close range, they were still intricate and deadly weapons, and he would make as best use of them as possible. Until the combat became so that he needed to gain the upper hand; and then, he would draw perhaps a pistol, or throw them with a higher velocity and sharper angle than the others. Needless to say, the battle would be over soon, he would deal with the woman beneath the desk, and stalk after the mobster who had ascended to presumably his last resort, some sort of escape route. Perhaps aerial?

It didn't matter. His trademark sick grin slapped across his face, the man dove in at the kunoichi, knives glowing with the blue alchemical discharge, giggle escalating to a chuckle, then in turn his own masterful yet maniacal chuckle. As the blade in his left hand blocked a downwards slash from a wakizashi, the right swept the lunge of a kunai upwards, throwing the dagger-length blade away, letting it clang against the floorboards as Ballzini's wife began a deathly shriek, emanating throughout the four corners of the room.

The assassin's eyes narrowed. That was the cue. When the scream ended, both Aerugese would lay dead at his feet.

And he would start his assault now, with the right-hand female. Now weaponless, she went to draw a wakizashi of her own, as Ayden threw himself at her, the knife scraping along her wrist, opening a deep slash, and essentially over-stimulating the nerve endings to the point that it felt like the wound was on some sort of invisible, undying flame. A small streak of blood spattered the wall nearby and a muffled shout rang throughout the room.

Ayden followed up with bringing the left knife inwards, too, the blade of that moving in a scything arc, opening a shallow gash on the stomach of the woman. This time, the groan of pain was drawn out longer, and beneath her veil, her eyes widened and her pupils thinned. Haggard breathing begun, symptomatic of the pain she'd just been dealt.

Her sister kunoichi began to dive inwards at the assassin, but it was too late. Ayden had raised his right hand for the final blow, using his knee to push her backwards into the wall with a brutal slam, before bringing the knife down and jamming it straight in her throat. A bloody spray hit the wall as she slid to the floor on her knees, before toppling to the right, the crimson warmth pooling around her, the last of her death throes a hand tapping spasmodically against the teak of the floor.

With a growl of bloodlust to counter the muffled screams of the singular kunoichi, having seen her comrade bear such a brutal death as that, Ayden grasped and withdrew his blade, allowing the spray to enter into full force before the lifeless pumpings of the dead woman ceased. Finally, however, he sheathed both on his chest as the wakizashi made yet another predictable slash, one that was easily avoided by a backwards jump.

She was angry. She was bereaved. Her sister had been slain by this madman. One she had known from near birth, the pair having brought up as Aerugese kunoichi together, since they were toddlers. But she knew that one would leave the place today. Perhaps it would be her, her heart was set on living. But she had shown her rage; and Ayden's cold, calculating movements would be the end of her; a gap opened in her attack patterns by, very simply, emotions and feelings, left her head open. And more specifically, her throat. With a thrusting movement, the assassin's hand shot outwards and found its mark; the jugular of the final of the kunoichi pair.

The transmutation circle glowed; the process went forth haltered by naught. The blade dropped to the floor. This was it. Her impending death. Her fate had been granted upon her. How long did she have to live? Two seconds? Twenty? Perhaps closer to a few minutes? The shock of knowing her death was closer than ever caused her to drop to her knees. And as the assassin walked past her, the mysterious process took its toll.

Her jugular vein exploded. A series of ugly gargles, accompanied by a fierce spraying sound as the combustion of the hydrogen molecules faded, leaving a disgusting rip in her throat, her head falling backwards, collected now by what could only be a faulty, jarred spinal cord. Perhaps she died immediately. Perhaps she was allowed to gargle and faded in and out of life for what seemed like eternity before finally death wrapped her in that traditional cold embrace.

It mattered not. Ayden's psychotic urges were simply sated by the sound of liquid splattering against the wooden floor. It was... it was beautiful. So artistic. Ayden had once been told by that wise Xingese alkahestrist that every person trained themselves in a single art, one they held higher than everything else. In that vein, his art was death; and this could perhaps be considered the first of many masterpieces.

And, as predicted, as the final screams of Ballzini's wife finished, both Aerugese lay dead, and he crouched by her hiding place, a grin as a bare hand went to cradle her face, mascara running, tears marring what had once been a beautiful face, smooth skin, perhaps thirty years ago, she had been beautiful; but now, in her last moments, she was a wreck. This was perhaps the worst way to go of all. Had Ayden had any imitation of a conscience, he now could see himself maybe even feeling... sorry for her.

Locking green eyes with her own dull blue, his smile arched, going beyond reassuring into the realms of sociopathic once more; and his cradling hand went to her throat, gripping it, tightening around it, as her hands rushed to his, a compressed, squashed scream barely able to leave the sanctum of her wide-open mouth. It was his creed, his rule. He left no survivors; just devastation in his wake. No witnesses. No way of being identified, save for the pattern that he killed.

And then, as he tightened his fingers around her neck, one movement, and the spinal cord cracked; she fell limp under his grip, and he dropped her, making no sound save for footsteps and the stretching of fabric as he once more rose to his feet, moving to the elevator shaft, slamming the buttons; they didn't light up. That was... shit. The Aerugese were a distraction. His fist slammed against the wall, the beast almost escaping; nearly, but not fully.

He allowed himself to suppress the inner urge of his psychotic being, before his fingers went to the crevices of the elevator doors, and muscles rippled as he pulled the doors open, against the will, the power of the hydraulics. Once he'd just opened a gap enough, he moved into the shaft; thinner that it had looked in the movies. A lot smaller.

Rubbing the back of his head, he released his grip and the doors slammed shut, Ayden making sure he still had all eight fingers and both thumbs before he leapt to the thick black metal cables, ascending as the elevator did. Every masterpiece, be it literary, musical, or artistic... required a certain level of improvisation, or so he thought.

The office had been consumed, devoid of any life save for a monstrous being of no empathy, of a very minuscule humanity. Only present there to allow him the option to carry on with his ways of destruction. Vices sated at the expense of others. In a sense, the alchemist that slew all was an enemy of all life the mansion held.

Blood flowed, soaking the scarlet carpet, dying it vermilion. The pained expression on all the corpses made a semblance of the inhumanity that transpired. The path of destruction that took place. Ballzini was hated mightily so. For such an extreme and drastic measure undertaken. A swathe of destruction as if the assassin was a force of nature itself.

What will stop this monster that climbed the wires like a spider? That clearly demonstrates a madness never shown in such proportion. To kill with a lack of empathy. To destroy even the lives of the innocent. Whatever lingered inside him is a beast, a creature of death and destruction. A horseman of war.

The Aerugese Kunoichi were shambles. A proud clan struck down and rendered extinct. A success made by them now brought by a failure of their mission. A first time too. One they will never remedy in their life for death claimed them. Their noble art squandered as their corpses lay grotesque. Vaguely even resembling a human save for what was left intact.

The Xingese Alkahestrists doomed to death. For their pursuit of their finer points of transmutation. Scientists of combat extinguished from life. A job their guts told them never to accept, given their honor, yet the descended into the sin of greed. They paid dearly for it. An equivalent exchange that took their life.

The many mercenaries, the guards that were wiped out. A small army in itself, were but those that worked under the clock. To give security, yet they had failed. It was never that they were never good, it was that they were merely too outclassed by an even better monster of battle. Their experiences in the crafts of warfare flattened by that of creative persuasion.

Together, they all make what remains of the mansion. That the game of the beast is clear. Ballzini is alone and he is desperate. Like a rabbit fleeing from the claws of a rabid and very deadly beast. A giant sniveling monster cackling like the Hyena. Mocking. Set hot on his trail like a bloodhound. Ayden Derocha.

That he was set towards the helipad on the roof.

The engines weren't started. Ballzini profusely sweating a waterfall. His breath hitched. Frightened truly for the first time in his life like never before. He was a mob boss, he always was ahead in his game yet...

"Q-quickly you goombas! I ain't payin' ya for nothing! QUICK! START THE ENGINE!" The fat man slid the nighthawk's door open as the rotors slowly spun. Gaining speed.

"START THE FUCKIN' ENGINES! START IT NOW! I DON'T CARE WHAT HAPPENS! I'LL PAY YOU ALL A BONUS IF YOU GET ME OUT OF HERE!"

In times of desperation, he waved his money. No amount of wealth had any value any more as much as his health. That the guards, those two that were to be left behind. Merely Ballzini's concubines given guns, to be called guards would be a joke. Shivering. One of them soiled her skirt.

In time, the helicopter soon hovered above the ground, gaining altitude. Ballzini himself sighed in relief. Thinking himself safe...

He did not know how close the monster was. His ignorance was his bliss. Temporarily.

Thoughts of Esparia riddled his head. Thinking he may have to start over there as a mob boss. That he truly should have a new beginning where nobody would send monsters like these after him. If anything, he never knew there was such a thing as dangerous as Ayden Derocha. Rather he had not known that he existed in the first place. Always deceived into thinking himself top of his game.

Until this brooding night rife with death itself. A grim reaper cometh. And he lay fumbling in ignorance. A confidence afforded by such. Underestimating ingenuity of a ferocious predator.