[Ghouligan]

Antoine has many talents, most importantly punching and getting punched. Those talents landed him a job at Bernie’s Burgers as a security guard. The boss, Bernard, was doing everything to help Antoine acclimate to Japan. Including going through the proper channels to get a work visa. Paperwork this, petition approval that — boring! It was headache after headache despite his protests.

He had no intention of staying in Japan. He was here to find his brother and tell him of their late father. Afterward, he’d leave the country, no questions asked. Everything up to that point was a matter of convenience. A job was a meal and a paycheck. But resisting proved a hassle. And Bernard was quick to distract Antonine with another opportunity.

The boss saw talents in him that were beyond the average security guard. With Bernie’s Burgers acting as a front for his real business, Bernard sought to test how valuable an asset Antoine was.

“Don’t be nervous.” Thanks to the benefit of his literal, silver tongue, he spoke to Antoine in Español. “You’ll do great.”

“I’m not nervous,” While Antoine was grateful to speak his native language, he still found the sentiment off-putting. “I’m—”

“You’ve gotta make sure our friend here stays nice and safe.” Bernard patted his colleague on the back, wrapping his arm around their shoulders. “They’ve got a big ol’ target on ‘em. I’m not keen on losing my best friend. You know we started our businesses on the same day?”

“Bernard.” The man shook Bernard’s arm off. “Too touchy, no touchy.”

“Fine, Red.” Bernard dusted off his suit. “I’ll leave you in Ant’s safe, strong arms.”

Bernard left.

Antoine looked at their base. It was an abandoned warehouse. It looked unlived in and unused. If that were the case, then strangers were unlikely to find them. Similarly, neither would police. Which would be annoying if they needed their help.

“If someone’s after you, wouldn’t that make us sitting ducks?” Antoine paused. “Right. Japanese.”

---

Chernobog

[Chernobog]

In my hand is the gun I hold

Locked and loaded, I'm coming for you

I'm

heading out, running

fast as I can

and even now I see

that you're shaking too

Trapped in a room that's never been warm, I stretched out my hand frozen

cold to the core

In a different life - perhaps a better life - he rejected the job as soon as it came to his table. No sooner would the words "assassinate a motherfucker" have left his employers lips than Lev would have either thrown the man out of his office, or turned him to dust and swept him up with little regard afterwards. That would have been it. He would be out on a paycheck, but funds were still coming in as eager as ever from his ever-generous benefactors. He could miss one check without serious consequence.

... But it was a decently sized check, and it involved another particular organization as far as he knew. Not one that his had ever crossed paths with, of course, but an organization all the same; the specifics of who the greater leaders were and what exactly these people were doing were ignored by Lev, had they been brought up, on account of him not giving a single solidified fuck.

Kill each other, He thought, make me do less work in the long haul.

One admittedly tense negotiation later, and here he is. Lev's in that nice black suit with a signature owl mask covering his features, and he has plenty of time.

Odds are that the target has security. If he doesn't, easy. If he does, then that's another body to the count. He notes, hopping from one rooftop to the next. It's admittedly more than a little tedious to travel this way, especially given his own lackluster physical abilities at times, but it's easier and less noticeable than traveling by car.

It's a matter of convenience. Maybe one day, he won't have to do this at all. Get high enough in the Lily, and - rather than being a pushed domino - he'll be the pusher.

The matter of finding his target is a semi-issue. A few locations were given, but the first - some warehouse who-knows-where - is the one he's decided to check first. Maybe he'll get lucky and they'll already be there, and his job will be short and simple.

Alternatively, he may be wasting valuable time.

Either way, he's getting paid.

Soon enough, the warehouse comes into view, and... he can't really tell if it's occupied or not. Credit where it's due, he'll give the target points for finding perhaps the most ordinary looking warehouse in Japan.

Lev lowers himself on the rooftop, eyeing the building. It'll take a bit of time to note the entrances and exits, but a few moments of observation have never killed anyone.

Besides, He scoffs in his mind. It's not like that bastard has anywhere else to be.

Ghouligan | music | staking out

MADE BY VEL OF GS + ADOX 2.0

[Ghouligan]

“How about English?” Antoine tried again.

Red responded with a blank stare before pulling out his phone. He walked off to the side of the warehouse and sat on the most comfortable box available. Draped across it was a wool blanket. Nestling into his seat, he continued to ignore Antoine.

“Guess not.” Antoine frowned. He leaned against the wall as he surveyed the area. He took note of the exits before glancing down at the briefcase he placed on the ground. “Should’ve brought some cards instead.”

Boredom.

There was nothing to do.

If anything, it was a good sign.

But good times never last. Do they?


“Someone’s here.” Red piped up. He scrolled through his phone, rapidly changing through screens. Once Antoine approached, he saw there were cameras.

“You speak English?!” Antoine said.

“They’re coming for me.”

“You. Speak. English.”

“Y-yes…” Red nervously repositioned himself, looking to obstruct the assassin’s line of sight with Antoine’s body.

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“I didn’t want to talk to you.”

“Why not?!”

“I was scared.”

Oh.

“It’s fine.” Antoine settled down. “We’ll be fine. I’ll protect you, okay?”

“O-okay…”

“Now, where is he?”

---

Chernobog

[Chernobog]

In my hand is the gun I hold

Locked and loaded, I'm coming for you

I'm

heading out, running

fast as I can

and even now I see

that you're shaking too

Trapped in a room that's never been warm, I stretched out my hand frozen

cold to the core

If he had a coin for every time an assassination plan would ultimately wind up involving himself, an idiot, and a likely smarter than average but still idiot idiot, he'd have two coins. It wasn't a lot. It was, however, odd that it had happened twice in his professional career. Suppose the first time made sense, all things considered; being new to the field, his first job had been a bit of a mess, and dealing with the pair of absolute dumbasses he had been assigned to kill hadn't made it any better.

This time, though, he managed to have the vaguest of hopes that things would be different. That maybe he could be quick and precise about this. Kill the man, possibly kill his bodyguard if he truly had one, then leave. Easy money.

Something warned him that it likely wouldn't be that simple but, well. When you were as confident as Lev Fyodorov, you had the unique tendency to ignore that little voice of warning in favor of chasing after the faster solutions.

The way he saw it, there were a few different ways to go about this. He could be loud and immediately bust in, but there were two issues with that plan: 1.) if someone was in there, then he'd give himself away and immediately be vulnerable for attack... and 2) if no one was in there, then it'd be unneeded property damage for the owner.

Mind, the owner was probably just as much a sack of shit as the target - and possibly as much of one as Lev himself - but still. Best to not inconvenience the uninvolved whenever he can help it.

The other way he could go about it was to head onto the roof and look for a way in from there. If someone was inside, though, and they heard him, he'd have a one way ticket to the ground below.

A third way... was ruled out as he continued to keep an eye on the warehouse. Huh. He squinted behind his mask, vaguely able to make out the familiar shape of... what was that, a camera? Oh. They had cameras up. Of course they would have cameras up.

He groaned under his breath.

"Alright," He grumbled to himself. "Let's start there."

He started moving. One rooftop to another once again, snatching any pieces of loose stone or roofing that he could. Ammunition would be plentiful if a fight broke out but, when going into a possibly volatile situation, it was best to be safe rather than sorry. After a few collections, he had himself a nice collection of snow-like ash orbiting around his hands as a gathering of small needle-like projectiles.

The flick of his wrist sent one such needle straight into one of the cameras. As he moved, another needle struck a secondary camera. He'd keep moving, noting the blindspots created, but getting rid of the cameras one by one in the meantime.

Can't risk being on film. Gonna have to search the place afterwards for its security database... He rolled his eyes under his mask. Of course this wasn't going to be easy.

... Some part of him, though, did delight in the idea of taking out camera after camera. If there were people inside, were they afraid? Had they already spotted him, and were now dealing with the reality of their visibility being reduced more with every passing moment?

Did they know that a beast was on their doorstep, or were they still oblivious?

The anticipation made his heart roar in his ears. Even if the search wound up being a complete dud and his target wasn't actually there, he could at least feel a spark of joy at being a boogeyman, if only for a few moments.

Ghouligan | music | destroying cameras

MADE BY VEL OF GS + ADOX 2.0

[Ghouligan]

“It’s an alien!” Red jumped as he caught a glimpse of its features. He turned desperately to Antoine as it became a silhouette. “They’ve finally invaded. They’ve come for my genius!”

“It’s an owl,” Antoine said. “The mask. It’s an owl.”

One by one the feeds disappeared. The words ‘no connection’ popped up on each screen as they switched through the remaining cameras. Red’s shaking fingers stopped switching through them as panic set in. He was a deer in headlights. Antoine took over, remembering the outside of the warehouse and calculating which camera would be targeted last.

“Stay here,” Antoine ran off to his briefcase, grabbing it before sneaking out of the warehouse. “I won’t let him inside.”

It was a matter of timing.

Antoine didn’t know how he was dealing with the cameras. By running out into the open, he’d be making himself a target to a killer he knew nothing of. Instead, he’d wait for his opportunity. And without Red or cameras to look at him, he didn’t have to compromise his alter ego.

There.

Some kind of needle flew threw the air, targeting the camera. With his pool stick in hand, he launched a billiard ball to intercept it. Tracing the angle of the attack, he saw the assassin in all his glory. And if the assassin were to do the same, he’d look into the eyes of a demon — a skull mask with red markings.

But the sound of the camera being destroyed would draw his eyes away from the enemy and back to the roof. Right through the six-ball, huh?

“Before I kill you,” Antoine said in English. “What’s your name?”

---

Chernobog

[Chernobog]

In my hand is the gun I hold

Locked and loaded, I'm coming for you

I'm

heading out, running

fast as I can

and even now I see

that you're shaking too

Trapped in a room that's never been warm, I stretched out my hand frozen

cold to the core

Tonight really was his lucky night. His first guess on hiding spots had been right and, as a result, here a treat for the evening was: A man in a mask with too much confidence and far too much appreciation for the unholy. Oh, and he could shoot poolballs. Wait. What?

Lev's thoughts dropped their prose. For a brief moment, only one phrase existed in his mind: 'What the fuck?'

Quirks were odd things. They came in all shapes and sizes, and could conjure up all sorts of unique effects. Hell, to deny the fact that Quirks could do some of the weirdest possible things was to deny reality itself. For every Quirk that could destroy city blocks, there was another that simply shot wrinkled up paper around or bent spoons. But poolballs? That? Really?

His gaze shot to the mostly-expected-but-still-unexpected party. That demon mask... He wouldn't have minded starting a collection around it. A nice bunch of masks worn by the arrogant and overconfident. Lords knew that his own would be right at the center of them, but that was beyond the point.

"Oh. You speak English. How coincidental." Lev's voice was heavily accented, his slavic heritage all the clearer. He had tried and failed to train himself out of it for a time, in fact - but it was always going to be there. Damning, but still a part of him.

He quietly kept a note of how much ash he had left. Not enough to make a halberd. Barely enough to make a shield in the event of another ball coming his way. He'd have to get more somehow, and something told him that the demon wouldn't let him collect stone and pebbles while they bantered.

Right. Buying time, then.

"You tell me yours first. Oh, and do let me know where you got your mask. It looks halfway decent."

Ghouligan | chernobog | staking out

MADE BY VEL OF GS + ADOX 2.0

[Ghouligan]

They speak English. Antoine lifted another billiard ball, the yellow, striped nine. If his assumptions were correct, the assassin’s abilities were limited to the material that orbited his hands. Now, was the material generated or manipulated? And to what extent could they control it? Range, finesse, etc.

As Antoine released the ball into the air, it stood completely still. There was so much friction on its surface the ball was immovable by the forces of gravity. By targeting the ball instead of the air around it, he could manipulate it at a distance. The plan was to circumvent the defense options used by the assassin.

If necessary, Antoine will ricochet the ball off the air. It will rebound in such a way, multiple times if need be, to target the assassin’s head. Even if the attempt fails, it’ll give him information. The inverse is also true. In exchange, Antoine was giving up information.

The risk was worth it.

He slammed the pool stick against the ball with such precision the recently immobile object shot at speeds physically impossible. Only the slightest amount of friction was applied to its side to keep it on course.

“In Hell.” He spat.

He never wanted this bastard’s name.

---

Chernobog

[Chernobog]

In my hand is the gun I hold

Locked and loaded, I'm coming for you

I'm

heading out, running

fast as I can

and even now I see

that you're shaking too

Trapped in a room that's never been warm, I stretched out my hand frozen

cold to the core

Oh how hilarious the overconfident were. Here this man was, wearing a demon mask and using a common game as his weapon, and what did he have the gall to do? He had the gall - the sheer audacity, really - to reject the offer for conversation! Why, if Lev had actually given a damn about having an extended dialogue with the son of a bitch, he would no doubt have been incredibly disappointed.

Thankfully, it seemed neither were truly interested in talking. If the other had seen through his attempt to buy time or was simply never honest about their question regarding names, Lev didn't know. Frankly, he didn't care.

And then the idiot said that.

Lev was not a person who laughed frequently. The most anyone ever got out of him was a stronger exhale through his nose. The fact that the other's comment got an audible chuckle out of Lev was a sign enough - to those who may have been familiar with the owl, wherever they were - that one of two things were going to happen.

1. This man was going to die, or

2. This man was going get someone else killed, and then die.

"In Hell?" Lev huffed. "You watch too much-"

Something flashed in the corner of his vision. A projectile. A sharp one? No. It must've been another ball. His attention on the man's quip had cost him valuable reaction time.

Too fast- Lev braced.

CLONK!

The ball slammed into his mask. Lev stumbled back, immediately reaching for the side of the building. The paneling he gripped was loose; not fully attached, not anymore.

"... Alright." Black flame sparked around his digits, then around the panel. In an instant, it was nothing but ash - a collection of which quickly shaped itself into a pair of thin knife-like projectiles. "Perish."

Lev threw one arm forward. In the same motion, one weapon went flying towards the demon. The other went towards the warehouse itself. Putting ash in it would sacrifice that gained ammunition but, to that end, it'd also put ash in there for later.

Let's see what you've got.

Ghouligan | music | throwing hands (its actually knives)

MADE BY VEL OF GS + ADOX 2.0

[Ghouligan]

The billiard ball struck the assassin.

Antoine was taken aback, too. He didn’t expect a direct hit. He hadn’t even used his quirk to give himself an opening. If the tool was still in his belt, then he’d save it when the time was right. If they were truly distracted by his commentary, then he’d have to annoy them further.

The assassin grabbed something on the side of the building. Whatever it was had been incinerated by a black flame, only to turn into volatile ash in the form of a blade. Two had been thrown, one towards him and the other toward the warehouse. The man required resources to create and manipulate this substance. Unfortunately, resources were plentiful if walls and the like were viable options. But there were gaps.

After formulating a plan, there was one last test. Could he immobilize the knife? Antoine reached out in front of him, increasing the friction of the air before him. The air would mimic a solid, creating a barrier that most could not move past.

But there have been exceptions.

As the blade came into contact with the barrier, it stopped. Sort of. It moved at extremely slow speeds but it was still moving. To an outside observer, they may have thought him successful in stopping the projectile only for it to continue on its warpath a second later. A vital second, however. It was the time he needed to avoid the attack.

A scream.

Red. Antoine looked at the warehouse. Their cover had been blown but doubly so. Any bluffs about the target’s location would fall flat. Shit.

A tactical retreat. He disappeared into the shadows taking an avenue only accessible by himself.

Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead.

---

Chernobog

[Chernobog]

In my hand is the gun I hold

Locked and loaded, I'm coming for you

I'm

heading out, running

fast as I can

and even now I see

that you're shaking too

Trapped in a room that's never been warm, I stretched out my hand frozen

cold to the core

Lev ran on arrogance and spite, and in this moment - head still pounding from the brief collision between his mask and the gods-be-damned pool ball of all things - it was more so spite than anything else. The target was going to die. If the demon didn't watch his steps, he'd be joining the idiot in the grave. Hell, even if he did watch his step, now there was a defined temptation to find a way to grab the bastard and watch him blow away on the wind.

Lev forced himself to take a deep breath. Anger would get him nowhere. Aggression, however, would get him everywhere.

The warehouse was still his goal, and the scream inside of it... Perfect.

He hurried to find a way down from the roof. A fire-escape took him closer to the ground, and a small leap put him right where he wanted to be. His knees ached a bit from the impact; he was more durable than most, sure, but jumping from a fire-escape was still a decent fall - and, to his credit, he was still nursing a fresh headache.

One easy job, that's all I wanted. He thought to himself. I suppose that really is too much to ask.

He started towards the warehouse, snatching bits of stone and rock as he ran. Each one was turned to ash, which then started wrapping around his wrists. Keeping them in view to keep them spinning, Lev quickly made his way towards the warehouse doors. The demon had vanished somewhere, possibly running away, but... No, he seemed too arrogant to do that. Sure, seeing black flame was scary for some, but idiots had the unfortunate habit of being brave about things that could kill them.

Mind, he didn't like assuming. It never tended to work out for him. But to that end... No, it'd be too easy to deal with the target and not encounter the demon again.

He adjusted his mask as he ran. Too much focus on the future could detract from the present, and he could not afford that right now.

Let's see what the dead-man-walking really looks like.

Ghouligan| music | heading towards the warehouse with red in it

MADE BY VEL OF GS + ADOX 2.0

[Ghouligan]

He’s alive.

The target is injured but alive. Their arm had made contact with the ash. If his wound hadn’t immediately cauterized, he would have died from the blood loss within minutes. Even now, it was a miracle he hadn’t gone unconscious due to shock. His wails will give away his position, but they will serve as bait to the assassin. He cannot be silenced. And even if he were, it’d waste the opportunity presented to Antoine.

He hid behind one of the boxes. It was the size of a small person, and ducking behind it provided ample cover. More importantly, the ground underneath was a moment away from being frictionless. When Chernobog entered, Red’s screams would lead his line of sight away from Antoine’s position. The assassin would see his target in all their glory — a dull, injured man whose only defining feature was their ginger hair — then they would feel the wooden crate slam into their back.

From there, Antoine would reposition, adjusting for the assassin’s inevitable response. With their ability, he needed to avoid getting hit at all costs. The target must be kept away, too.

---

Chernobog

[Chernobog]

In my hand is the gun I hold

Locked and loaded, I'm coming for you

I'm

heading out, running

fast as I can

and even now I see

that you're shaking too

Trapped in a room that's never been warm, I stretched out my hand frozen

cold to the core

It wasn't often that he pitied the people he had to kill. Usually, after all, if someone else wanted them dead... then there was a good enough reason. Maybe they shorted someone a few grand or, even worse, maybe they hurt someone near and dear to his employer. The exact specifics were never fully asked about in certain cases - mainly those were pay was decent - and, as such, Lev hadn't pondered too much about why his employer would want the shrieking man dead.

Hearing that scream, though, gave him a few ideas about why someone might want him turned to ash in the wind.

Frankly, he should have covered his bases. He should have made sure that he was alone. By now, however, annoyance was starting to claim him. First the devil, then the hit on the head, now a shrieking man who wasn't worth the ground he sat on. Hell, he was probably worth less than that. Safe to say that he was eager, moving quickly, and - had he gotten his way - soon to be finished with this little task.

Ash swirled around his digits. A bolt of it flew forward, right towards his target. As long as he kept his gaze up, that would be it. Right through the target's throat. Sure, he could be saved with fast enough medical action, but the demon didn't strike him as the sort to have a healing quirk - unless the migraine Lev was currently nursing was actually just a side-effect of some unknown illness being cured, that was.

Case and point, that should have been it.

And then a fucking box hit him. A straight up crate. It broke against his back, sending the assassin forward and - for a moment - reeling. He muttered a series of foreign curses that would've made the spirit of his mother pale.

"You are getting annoying, demon," He spat, forcing himself to straighten up. The flung ash had fallen short of its mark, but he still had plenty, and it was still in his view. With the twitch of his finger, the ash was up again, zipping back towards him and worming together with the other collected pieces to form a tightly knit hand-axe. His weapon of choice never failed him. While that was in one hand, the other moved to snatch an actual and proper axe from his belt.

"I can still make this a peaceful and painless death for you two," The assassin cautioned. "If you throw another goddamn box or ball at me, however, I will make it hurt."

Ghouligan | music | homicide has never been so appealing to him

MADE BY VEL OF GS + ADOX 2.0

[Ghouligan]

The crate crashed against the assassin, the wood falling to pieces on the ground. It’d be more ammunition in the long run but it revealed a truth about the assassin.

He’s frail.

If Antoine were in his shoes then he would have noticed the crate and blocked it. Even without his quirk, it would have been child’s play. Furthermore, he wouldn’t have flinched from contact. Although, that was an old truth. He was still in the process of healing from his most recent confrontation in the Caribbean. The old him would have endured. The new him would have buckled, too.

All in all, there were a few physical advantages he had over the assassin. Unfortunately, it was compensated for by how destructive their quirk was. Even more dangerous was the man’s proficiency with it. Not only could he create ash from anything flammable — and let’s hope it’s just flammable — he could manipulate it as well as conjure constructs. His reliance on his quirk is what gave Antoine as much information as he had. But even with all the information at his disposal, he was at a disadvantage. Antoine could not kill this man as he was.

But there was one hope.

Antoine tosses three balls into the air — the four, the five, and the seven. They slowly descend as he takes aim with his pool stick. In front of it is a floating cut ball. The trick he had saved earlier would make or break this exchange. All he had was bait and the element of surprise.

The trio fell into place. Antoine slammed his pool stick which slammed the cue ball which slammed the three billiard balls in three different directions. The four went to the left, the five directly for the assassin, and the seven to the left. There’s a disparity of friction between them. Slight enough to find gaps in the assassin’s defense.

The five was a distraction that would open the four to a trick shot. It would bounce against the air, its own surface acting as a wall against it. Then, if the assassin were to block this attack, he’d be met with the same trick a fraction of a second after with the seven. But that, too, would be misdirection. The seven would angle downward and aim to ‘uppercut’ the man after hitting the ground below him.

“Run.” Antoine barked.

Red complied. He made a break for the exit, whimpering and all.

---

Chernobog

[Chernobog]

In my hand is the gun I hold

Locked and loaded, I'm coming for you

I'm

heading out, running

fast as I can

and even now I see

that you're shaking too

Trapped in a room that's never been warm, I stretched out my hand frozen

cold to the core

He was not so proud as to deny credit where it was due. Lev knew this about himself and, as such, he was willing to award the demon a point for having his wits about him; quick-thinking was winning this fight, whereas unfamiliarity with Japan and her ever-rambunctious population was what was making Lev lose. He insisted upon this line of thought as his attention whirled towards the first sound he heard, that little click of a stick against familiar spheres. He knew what Quirks in his homeland could do. He knew what a few here and there beyond it could do. Japan was new. This, he assured himself, was a test run.

The same trick? Lev thought, immediately clocking one of the balls heading towards him. The one to his left was met with a rush of ash, his hand-axe dispersing itself to form a split-second shield. That took care of one problem. Then there was the other one headed right towards him.

You can't be serious. Part of him wanted to scoff. My ash might not block it forever, but I can still move-

A CLACK sounded.

And a throbbing pain rushed up from his jaw.

He stumbled back, ash swirling for a split-second. The split-second shield crumbled, whipping towards him a moment later. His head was throbbing. The target was moving. The demon had actually managed to catch him off guard with the same goddamn trick. God. He was grateful that no one he actually cared about was watching; had any of his associates seen this, oh, he would be fired. No, he would be killed. No, worse - he would be fired, kept alive, and turned into nothing shy of a living suitcase with one of their Quirks.

He snatched one of the balls as they clacked against the ground. Black flame wrapped around it. The target was moving. Screw the demon. Screw it all. The target needed to die. Everything else could fuck right off.

A nail of ash went through the air like a damned bolt. Right through the back of the head, then out the forehead was his aim.

"I am done with this." He snarled. His head whipped to the demon, or where he thought the bastard ought to have been. No words left him, but the unspoken decree was clear: I'm done with you.

Ghouligan | music | MANS PISSED

MADE BY VEL OF GS + ADOX 2.0

[Ghouligan]

Not as frail as I thought.

A grave miscalculation. One that would result in his client’s death. The seven was turned to ash and that very ash went sent flying through Red’s head. Antoine expected Red’s body to burst into Ash, too. And for that smoldering soot to bury him whole. But as Red plopped to the ground he was nothing more than a haunting reminder of Antoine’s failure. Perhaps he was innocent, perhaps he wasn’t. Dealings with Bernard were mysterious at best. He barely understood what he had signed up for. He barely understood the monster before him.

There was one objective now: survival. This wasn’t the first time he failed. And he felt set up by the looks of it. But no number of excuses could change the facts of the matter — he needed to get stronger. And dying here wasn’t how he’d do it.

For the entire battle, he kept his distance. He had used his projectiles, from balls to boxes, as a means to understand his opponent. And with Red’s sacrifice an opening appeared. A direct, counteroffensive that would enable his final gambit.

Antoine charged the assassin.

Only an idiot would see what he did and try to make contact with a man who could turn him into ash. But Antoine was betting it all on his lack of flesh. He was not flammable. He was a being of force. There were no feints, there were no tricks. A straightforward, left hook was the misdirection. Every attack he had done had a second or third step to find an opening. Without ash to protect himself, the assassin would block. Then, they’d look for a trick. When nothing came, he’d burn Antoine alive. Except he wouldn’t.

The assassin would find themselves immobile. Not because they couldn’t move but because there was nothing to grab on to. Antoine would slip through his fingers. The assassin would slip to the ground. And no matter how hard he tried he’d never find his footing.

Not until Antoine had been long gone. Not until his chain flashed red. And not until it broke under the strain of maintaining an impossible focus. All for the sake of staying alive.

All he had to do was make contact with this bastard.

---

Chernobog