Chapter Text
Niragi
Niragi Suguru sat up in his bed, grunting as he stretched out his aching limbs, still heavy with sleep. Breathing in deeply, Nigari caught the faint scent of whiskey and blood mixed in with the overwhelming stench of sex that permeated his room. He could have easily waved his gun around and swapped rooms with one of the various other residents of his shitty apartment complex; they were all terrified of him and his slick black rifle that was glued to his side always. But, he loved the mixture of grime and gore floating in the air around him, he felt at home with it; not to mention the perks of having a lockable door. Anytime Niragi felt so pent up with anger that he could barely breathe, he could just grab a random slut and shut her in his room until he was done with her, whether she liked it or not. Sometimes it helped. Sometimes he still had to go pick off a few traitors to stop the itch. Cracking his neck, Niragi ripped the sheets, still sticky with sweat from the night before, off of his body and padded into the bathroom, glad to notice that last night’s slut had already made her escape in the wee hours of the morning. He really hated waking up to a stranger in his bed, even worse when they had clearly tried to cuddle him during the night. Niragi couldn’t stand those ones, he was brash and violent, taking what he wanted and giving nothing back, he had no idea why the stupid whores he brought back would ever think he’d want to touch them after the act. It was always the ugly ones, the vulnerable ones.
He leaned his long, tattooed arm, against the cracked countertop of the bathroom sink, and took in his appearance. His dark, soulless eyes, outlined by deep bags, stared back at him through the glass, as his slick black hair hung down his face. Fingering a red line that had been cut into his chin the night before, he watched the drop of dark red slide down and pool on his collarbone. Niragi was satisfied that all his other cuts and bruises from the fight were hidden well enough under his leopard print button-up; he liked how they looked on him, but he didn’t want to give anyone the impression that someone had gotten the best of him. They hadn’t, of course. Though he was thin, and used to the comfortable weight of a gun on his hip keeping any threats far away, he enjoyed the brutal violence of a bare knuckle fight, and he had won. Licking the dried blood from his cracked lip, Niragi gelled his hair into his signature slicked-back bun, and went to exit the room. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror beside his bedroom door, Niragi smirked, enjoying the way his numerous piercings and scrapes added to the image he had adopted for himself. He, upon entering Borderlands, had shed the skin of his past self like a chameleon and molted into the predator that he now considered himself. If he couldn’t solve a problem with intimidation, he would happily solve it by planting a bullet in someone’s brain. Suguru was more himself than he had ever been allowed to be in the real world.
He spat a ball of blood and saliva onto the ground, annoyed at being pulled away from morning patrol the day before. Niragi needed to get his hands dirty, it had been too long. Him and Last Boss liked picking off stragglers doing the walk of shame and forcing them to lick their shoes, or fight each other for the militants’ amusement. Maybe even put a bullet in someone's brain, if they were feeling particularly energetic. It was just his outlet. And, it was his favorite way to start his morning. Last Boss, whose real name was Takatora Samura, a bald man covered from head to toe in thick line tattoos, who loved his samurai sword almost as much as he hated women, was the closest to what Niragi would consider a ‘friend’ in Borderlands. Though neither man had mentioned what their lives before their acceptance here had been like, each seemed to recognize the molted form of the other. To call it friendship was a bit of a stretch, but they had, at the very least, an understanding.
Niragi was violent, almost untamed, but in living in the brutal, post-apocalyptic society that was Borderlands, he was free to unleash all of his urges without care. The Borderlands was a small island country west of Japan, a place where the criminal underworld ran things, and corruption was rooted deep into the veins of every industry. It was lawless; it was perfect. It was one of the most prosperous places in the world, if you were willing to piss on your morals, that was. And Niragi was more than willing. Suguru had not always lived there, however. He had been raised in one of the low income districts of mainland Japan, but he recognized no trace of his past in the man he was today. He had grown up in a shabby, run-down apartment block on the outskirts of Osaka, living with his passive mother who barely got out of bed to feed herself, much less to stop the regular beatings his father would dish out on her son. But even that paled in comparison to what he had faced at the hands of his peers. He was slammed against the school lockers, hit with baseball bats, forced to eat piss soaked rice, and much worse for years and years. He slammed his hand against the thick concrete pillar of the complex, smashing the memories back down to where he had left them, festering inside of him, all those years ago. He was different now, he was feared . And he made sure to plant a bullet between the eyes of any naive boy who reminded him of the sniveling kid that he was before. That was as close to mercy as he would ever get.
* * *
Niragi cracked his neck, readjusting the strap of his semi-automatic rifle on his shoulder, and he sat in the uncomfortable wooden chair of the boardroom. It was harder to focus on the bullshit Danma was spewing than usual, with his mind already drifting towards more important tasks. Such as picturing what the female executives might look like under their clothes, or what he would like to do to them if the ‘don’t rape, kill, or torture the top brass’ rule wasn’t harshly enforced. He sneered, rolling his tongue piercing dramatically as his eyes burned a hole into the clock, ticking away irritatingly on the wall above Danma’s head. As much as the ravenette enjoyed his job working for the organization, suffering through the monotony of these strategy meetings was a cross he did not like to bear.
“As much as I know everyone hates teamwork , this could be a fruitful alliance for our ‘company’. And, perhaps, some of our executives could do with a little collaboration. A ‘brains and brawn’ approach, so to speak.” Danma shot a pointed look across the table at Niragi. The sniper set his jaw, finally finding a reason to focus on the discussion at hand.
“What exactly do you mean by that, eh?” He spit out.
Across the room, the broad-shouldered Aguni crossed his arms, warning Suguru to stifle his outbursts. The militant still found it laughable that his superior felt the need to listen to Danma at all, the man was both incredibly stupid and inept at combat, his authority meant nothing to Niragi.
Danma stretched his arms wide, a forced smile plastered onto his face. “Well, I simply mean that this may be beneficial to us in more ways than one. If we pair our top Spade with their top Diamond, there may be hopes of a friendship between our two parties. And besides, doesn’t it sound fun?” Niragi was resisting the urge to throw himself across the table and strangle the boisterous man, though he enjoyed the fact that their gang’s charismatic leader (one who prided himself on his all-encompassing knowledge) still had no idea that Niragi was, to the contrary, a Diamond.
A begrudging murmur of assent was heard around the table, as none of the executives cared enough to disagree with Hatter (the none too affectionate name that they called him behind the scenes), especially if the failed task only resulted in Niragi’s reprimand.
“Look, you want me to blow the heads off some Clubs, I'll do it. Happily . But I'm not fuckin’ gossiping and braiding hair with one of Mira’s grunts, so tough luck.” He hissed out, tapping his thin, pale fingers against the solid oak of the tabletop in agitation.
“It will be hard not to, what with that sparkling personality of yours, and all.” An amused Ann replied, adjusting her glasses. Niragi scowled. Real fuckin’ comedian, she is. If only the rule wasn't in place, would teach her to laugh at him again.
Danma pursed his lips, not making much effort to hide his disapproval. “Alright, alright. We’re a family here, no more arguing.” Niragi resisted the urge to stick the sniper rifle into his own mouth at the leader’s words.
“So, Niragi, be back here tomorrow morning for the briefing, which Aguni will lead. You too, Last Boss. We will likely begin the mission in two days time. Meeting adjourned.”
At least, the sharpshooter observed, Aguni seemed just as displeased at having to discuss the idiotic peace-play mission as Niragi was to participate in it.
* * *
Chishiya
The soles of his pristine white trackshoes slapped against the slick cobblestones of the street as the boy attempted to keep his balance in the harsh rain. Chishiya Shuntarou hated to exert himself any more than was necessary, but at the moment, as he dashed through alleyway after alleyway in an attempt to escape the hot pursuit of the guards, he begrudgingly acknowledged that the necessary time was upon him. Sighing to himself, Chishiya ducked behind a nearby low income housing block, gripping his soft palms onto the underbelly of a rusted pipe, and began to climb. He could no longer hear the shouts, and annoyed huffs of the remarkably overweight (considering their line of work) policemen who had been on his heels only moments prior. Knowing it was a fool's game to give up at the first sign of an ‘all clear’, Shuntarou continued to scale the rundown building; built of little more than scrap metal and cheap concrete, until he could find purchase on its uppermost ledge. Manoeuvring his lithe body over the fence which covered the edges of the building’s rooftop, Chishiya crouched down, letting the shadows swallow him, waiting with his ears perked up for any sign of his pursuers. Setting the stopwatch on his wrist to alert him in exactly ten minutes, the blonde boy got to work cleaning the mud and scuff marks from off of his shoes, scrunching up his nose in distaste at the sight. Chishiya did not enjoy this part of his job in the slightest. Sure, this petty theft hobby of his (if stealing from Councilman Hwang’s personal storage facility was considered ‘petty’ theft) was sufficiently entertaining to him, the toll it took on his clean, white clothing annoyed him to no end.
Finally satisfied with the state of his sneakers, Chishiya pulled the thin, gold-plated dagger out of his pocket; fingering the intricate handle of the item as he mentally assessed its value. The knife was heavier than most of its kind, even ones made of a similar gold, and its blade was rumoured to cut through skin like a ghost, with the sufferer able to walk a mile before realizing all the blood had been spirited from their body with a few painless cuts. Determining the knife’s value was a pointless task, as the man suspected he would be adding the blade to his personal collection instead of slinking around the black markets of the Pit looking for a suitable buyer. He wouldn’t be able to sell it for the amount of coin it was worth, anyways; not without Mira’s contacts, and it would be more of a burden than not should a well-meaning citizen to report his newest ‘find’ to the watch. He preferred to keep such ‘side activities’ to himself. Not to mention, he didn’t need the gang leader knowing of his particular skill set. Chishiya always played his cards close to his chest. She was a ruthless sort of woman, and would exploit whatever abilities she discovered amongst her men. Though Mira was aware of Chishiya’s status as a Diamond, she knew not the level of his score.
Feeling the silent pulse of his alarm, the man stood. His badly-dyed strands of hair blew in the wind as he began to make his way back to his housing block by way of the roofs. He sometimes wondered why more people did not choose to leap between the tiles far off from the ground; it was not dangerous if one was sure footed enough and knew the routes well, and besides, he liked feeling like the criminals and lowlifes scuttling around below him were nothing more than ants, easily squashed beneath his feet. Which, he considered, they might as well be should they be matched against his superior intelligence. Chishiya Shuntarou was a confident man.
* * *
Niragi
Borderlands was an ugly place, with thick black smog enveloping its port city, a lingering scent of gunpowder and tobacco in the air, and poverty plainly visible around every corner. There were windows lining the main streets that glowed red, and sometimes blue, at night to advertise the sex they sold within; gambling dens, bars, and brothels at every turn; and an ever-present sense of despair in its people. No one but Niragi would ever find it beautiful. But, as he finished his rounds with Last Boss, and headed to the dingy, rundown bar that many of the Beach’s members frequented, Suguru could not help but love his city. Every hapless single mother whoring herself out for spare change, or disgusting drunk begging for space in a hostel; he bathed in their misery. He had been miserable once, too, but how could he take pity on one of those lowlifes when he had made something of himself? He had never been like them. They had no desire to be anything else than a lost soul cowering to those above them. They deserved what came to them.
The city was run mainly by four different organizations; there was the Beach (run by Hatter), the Queen’s Card (Mira’s gang, which was named after the woman’s chain of brothels), Brüskoff (led by one of the city’s law officials, himself, Kuzuryu), and the Clubs (the most irritating of the bunch). Each sect had a makeup of members with different skill sets; with Spades members most suited to violence and physical strength, Diamonds to intelligence and manipulation, Hearts to emotion and deceit, and Clubs to teamwork. Upon entering Borderlands, citizens of both a legal and illegal nature, were given a test to determine which category they fell into, as well as their level of skill in each. It had been no surprise to Niragi when he all but failed his Clubs test, as he had never been one to let his fate fall into the hands of another. The government did this to better assess the working roles each citizen was best suited to, and if a person so chose, they could disclose their scores to the City Board to be fitted with a job. Niragi thought it a foolish decision, as who would ever come to Borderlands in the hopes of securing a good, law-abiding career? It was absurd. The city was entirely gang territory, and everyone from the ‘titans of industry’ to the councilmen, themselves, was in the pockets of one sect or another.
The Pit, Borderlands’ darkest recess, was an area of the city not far from the glittering nightlife hub that was the Ports. However, as Niragi’s organization held a majority control of the area; it was basically the Beach’s playground to do with as they pleased. And there was a lot that Niragi pleased to do. Tonight, though, he would have to begrudgingly pass on the string of doe-eyed brothel girls he had to break in, in favor of formulating just what the fuck he was going to do about working with one of Mira’s men. He didn’t give a shit one way or the other about what happened to Hatter and the Beach, as long as he was able to do whatever he felt like under the nose of the law, he was satisfied. Suguru had no attachment to his organization, except maybe Aguni, as the man had brought him in, back before he had much of anything to market himself with. Back when he was little more than dirty beggar with a few pounds of muscle on his skinny form. But, if it really came down to it, Niragi would sell the older man out in a heartbeat. Gratitude, and personal debt, didn’t get anyone far in this world. It made you weak.
“Nikka, rocks.” Samura motioned at the bartender, a pudgy, weathered man with a gruff voice.
“Ye know iss the same whiskey put inta’ all three taps, right? Gonna pay more fer tha’ same shit?” The bartender grunted.
Last Boss’s eye twitched.
“I’m not dealin’ with Aguni if we have to find another bartender for this dump.” Niragi muttered, knowing the tattooed male was always seconds away from cutting someone open for the smallest slight. Not that he minded, Niragi wasn’t much different after all. Samura hissed, lowly, but his hands fell away from his samurai sword. The bartender slid two dirty glasses full of murky, brown liquid towards the men, grumpily bowing before he thumped away. Even the most useless idiots in the Pit knew to show some modicum of respect for the militants.
“Two fuckin’ patrols Hatter’s fucked up this week, and know i gotta miss my fight for some fuckin’ team building with one of Mira’s Diamonds? Fuckin’ bullshit .” Niragi spat out, snatching his glass from off of the counter and downing it in one gulp. He felt the warmth coating his throat as the thick amber liquid slid down his esophagus.
“One day, I will cut Hatter open and peel his skin back. I will see the black blood in his veins. One day..” Last Boss replied, head tilting as he fingered the spots of dirt on his glass. Niragi ignored it, Takatora was always saying some weird shit like that. Niragi couldn’t deny he thought the exact same kinds of things as his counterpart, even acted them out on some unsuspecting girls when he got the chance, but he didn’t say it aloud. Not to anyone who he intended to let live after, that was. And besides, he wouldn’t be opposed to letting the knife-wielding man have his way with Danma. Gods know how that little faggot wipes his own ass, much less runs a gang. He thought to himself.
“Good fuckin’ luck, Samura. Try and get it done before tomorrow, eh?”
But, Last Boss already had his eyes set on the group of women who had just entered the pub. They had to be tourists, if the sparkling eyeliner and obnoxious giggles were anything to go by. Not to mention, women from Borderlands knew to make themselves scarce in the Pit by nightfall. Samura’s beady, black eyes roamed unabashedly over the curves in their pale, delicate skin, which currently escaped their notice.
“‘Guni needs us early tomorrow so make it quick.” Niragi lazily said, eyes catching Last Boss as he quietly slid his blade out of its compartment on his side.
* * *
Chishiya
Chishiya Shuntarou had many disdainful qualities about him, but he liked to think that his (albeit, apathetic) career in pediatric medicine at least made up for some of it. He had not been thrilled at the residency position he had been granted in Borderlands, knowing it was one last spiteful act from his parents, (with them assuring him haphazardly that his place in the Chishiya Corp. would remain for him after he served his residency here) but he also didn’t really mind either way. What Chishiya had not expected, however, was that Borderlands had no need for highly-qualified, highly-trained surgeons in their main city, not when they could use him as an extremely intelligent underling in their criminal underworld. He couldn’t say he regretted his assignment in the city, though, as the amoral place was perfectly suited to his disposition. There were not many things that interested Chishiya, as he was not one for gambling, drugs, or prostitutes; but he was content to a degree with the power that his superior status here gave him. He was, to his knowledge, the highest scoring Diamonds specialist in the city, and Shuntarou felt that this was an accurate measurement of human importance. While he had been trained basically his entire life to be a medical professional, he could not say that the strategizing and scheming of life as an executive was less fulfilling. At least the problems had more creative solutions. He, like with his Diamonds score, did not care to mention his medical background, though somehow Mira knew. She had gotten him to operate on a good number of high-ranking guards in the past. But all together, it was..fine. He was just so incredibly bored. Bored with the people around him, bored with the city, bored with his meaningless missions for Mira. So fucking bored. The only times that he ever felt even a spark of excitement in the useless blank page that was his life was when he got to get his hands (or his mind) dirty, when he found something actually complicated. And, he certainly did not expect having to work with some low-rank Spade to be challenging in the least. So, no, he was not really looking forward to his new assignment.
“Come on Chi, help me find something to wear.” A tall girl with long brown dreadlocks and a bikini top said, tossing a discarded shirt towards where he was laying on her threadbare couch. Raising his eyebrow, Chishiya picked up the piece of offending clothing, careful not to disrupt his position as he felt that to be a waste of his valuable energy.
“Kuina, I really don’t know why you think I would be of any help to you. Or why you want to impress those Beach men at all.” The woman gave him a once-over before sighing, and going back to rifling through her closet.
“You’re right, I don’t know why I asked. It’s not like you take that stupid jacket off anyways.”
Chishiya scoffed. “It’s practical.”
Kuina mocked putting a gun in her mouth and pulling the trigger. He rolled his eyes, hands in his pockets. Why were people always so dramatic over such frivolous things? A shirt was a shirt, it had one use. And the use of a shirt could easily be replaced by a jacket, if the wearer so chose. Sure, he preferred his things to be white or grey (clinical), but that was the extent of it.
“God, you’re like an alien sometimes Chi. Just help me pick something out, that’s what best friends do .” He didn’t know why she insisted on calling him her ‘best friend’. Chishiya didn’t have friends, he preferred his own company, he just liked it that way.
It had been like that since childhood; when the other kids his age had picked up on his oddities, and they had realized that bullying him never got them their desired reaction, they had simply left him to his own devices. His parents also, had never much attempted to form any kind of meaningful relationship with their son; with the rare times they were even home only culminating in one or two awkward family dinners before they slipped away again. Chishiya had always been on his own, and while he knew that had he been like everyone else he probably would have felt sad or angry over it, he was not like everyone else. He was like no one else. Shuntarou would much rather live the remainder of his life as a hermit than waste his breath on people of such low intelligence.
“What do you think? Is this cute?” Kuina asked, holding up a bright red shirt to her chest as she turned side to side in the mirror. Chishiya shrugged.
“It’s a shirt.”
The girl mimicked bashing her head into the wall. “Wow, you really know how to make a girl swoon.”
His mouth quirked up a millimetre. “Yes, I've been told it’s my strong suit.”
Kuina, at least, was somewhat tolerable. In short increments. Once and awhile, she almost made him laugh, and that was an acceptable enough reason to excuse her overbearing presence for the time being.
* * *
Niragi
“Councilman Hwang and Councilman Choi were both hit last night, in their private vaults-”
“Ours?” Aguni gruffly asked.
Danma shook his head, brows furrowed in a rare look of uncertainty. “No. My contacts in the Night’s Watch say there is no signature, no sign of any sect work that they’ve seen before.”
“It sounds like it’s not our fuckin’ problem. Unless you want us to start helpin’ out those fat idiots in the watch. Do you, Danma?” Niragi drawled, a not-so-hidden smirk spreading across his face at the barb.
“Niragi.” Aguni exhaled in annoyance, though the raven-haired boy did not miss the slight upturn of amusement in his lips.
Danma rearranged his face easily, back to playing the charmer. “Thank you, as always, Niragi for..lightening..the mood.”
Last Boss snickered, quickly covering it with a cough at Aguni’s sharp look.
“As I was saying, because of these two crimes of unknown origin, we will have to work a bit more underground than before. Though it doesn't concern us, per se, the work of these random criminals, there will be at least double the guards on patrol of the Pit for the next while, so we will have to be careful…”
Hatter trailed off at a sharp rapping against the door of the meeting room. The Beach’s main front, Takeru Corp., was sparsely operational during the day (and even less so at night), which left its massive office buildings that dotted the Borderlands skyline open for use by its real business. The only unfortunate caveat for this arrangement, however, was that Danma tended to address everyone as if they were proper business associates, like he did now.
“Ah, this must be our clients now. You two, open the doors.”
Two nameless guards, donning similar rifles to Niragi’s on their backs, hurriedly unlatched and dragged the heavy wooden doors open to let in the Beach’s guests.
There were only five people to enter, led by a slight woman with harshly cut black bangs, and the appearance of a Councilman’s wife. She might have been, as far as Niragi knew, considering the rumoured goings-on between Mira and Councilman Kuzuryu, not that he cared much for gossip. What was he, a girl?
Flanking her left and right sides were two burly-looking suited men, a tall dirty-looking girl with some kind of hippie-styled hair, and-
Sharp, feline eyes locked onto his, a small smirk tugging at the man’s features as he seemingly appraised Niragi to be a boring lowlife. The man was incredibly short and slight, with shockingly pale skin and a wisp of brown eyeliner around his large brown eyes. He wore cheap, grey, swimming trunks, and a crisply white adidas hoodie which was zipped halfway down his bare chest. The man caught Niragi’s glance and raised an eyebrow, provokingly, almost saying I’m so much better than you, so superior , with just a look.
Niragi Suguru had never immediately hated someone in the way that he immediately hated Chishiya. Something about the dangerously low-dipping neckline of his jacket, the casual way his hands sat in his pockets, or the unimpressed look that the man seemed to burn into the ravenette with his eyes, Niragi was itching to blow his head off.
Niragi scoffed, letting his tongue loll out of his mouth exaggeratedly as the others exchanged pleasantries. As Chishiya lazily slumped into the chair across from him, Suguru spoke.
“The fuck are you lookin’ at, eh?” He sneered, making a show of his disgust.
The blonde boy simply cocked his head to the side, smirking, and replied back in a slow (almost like he was explaining to a child) tone.
“Oh, I'm sorry, I was simply wondering why Danma lets his henchmen have a seat at the table. It’s quite charitable, don’t you think?”
“And I didn’t know Mira let her male prostitutes come along for a joyride. You must be a favorite.”
Chishiya raised an eyebrow, as Niragi’s eyes involuntarily fell back to the blonde’s jacket. After taking his seat, the hoodie had bulged open slightly due to the smaller man’s posture, revealing a sliver of pinkish-pale skin. Niragi wasn’t a fuckin’ faggot, okay? But it was clearly meant to be distracting. So attention-seeking. He thought to himself, rolling his eyes.
“Apologies for offending your delicate sensibilities.”
“Think you’re real fuckin’ clever don’t you?.”
Chishiya simply shrugged, hands never leaving his pockets. “But I am clever. I doubt you could really understand that, being superior to someone.” The way that he said it did more to raise Suguru's hackles than the words, themselves. Shuntaro spoke as if he was reading a school presentation, so absolutely sure that his observations were the truth. It infuriated Niragi.
“You little shit-” Niragi jumped up angrily from the table, shoving his chair back and rounding the table, to the startled noises of the other executives who had (up until that point) been exchanging stiff pleasantries ("Ah, pleasant morning for you, Mira?" "Oh, yes it was. No traffic from the Academic District"). Pulling the smaller man out of his seat, Suguru shoved the sleek barrel of his sniper up to Chishiya’s chin, digging the object into his pale flesh in a way that he knew to be painful. Still, the blonde boy displayed no hints as to his discomfort, only raised his eyebrows. Slowly he lifted his palms into the air, but not in a true surrender, simply to mock the black-haired militant.
“Those ugly bug eyes of yours, it’s so condescending.” Niragi spit out at him.
“Niragi!” Aguni shouted, breaking the man out of his angry trance.
Before releasing the man, Niragi leaned in a fraction closer and whispered to him. “Watch your back, faggot.”
Grumbling under his breath, Suguru stomped back to his seat and faced the exasperated faces of his superiors. He was fuckin’ provoking me, let them tell me off.
Straightening his expression into a more placating one, as even Hatter knew the danger of Suguru off his leash, Danma spoke again. “Niragi, let's chat after, yes?”
Fuck you. Niragi scoffed, not bothering to look Hatter in the eyes as he spoke.
“But in the meantime, now that you are..more acquainted.. Chishiya Shuntarou, this is Niragi Suguru, our Spade who you will be working with for the duration of this mission.”
Niragi almost choked on his own breath, there was no fucking way.
Shooting a burning glare across the table, he was met with the blonde’s pleased smirk. In a moment of realization, Suguru saw that the man had been provoking him on purpose. And, judging by the pleased quirk of his lips, Niragi had played right into his hands. This 'Chishiya Shuntarou' had probably been goading him to make a fool of himself, for nothing other than the blonde's personal amusement. He was really going to kill him. The second he had the chance, Chishiya would not breathe another breath, and that was a promise.
Angry black eyes locked on slanted feline ones, and Niragi felt his skin begin to heat up, a tight feeling coiling in his lower abdomen. He felt moths fluttering their ugly brown wings in his stomach. His body was as physically repulsed by this man as his mind was. It was going to be a long week. Letting out a petulant huff, he willed himself to focus on Danma's voice, and not the blonde devil across from him.
"Now that all the..festivities..are out of the way," Danma started. "Let's get down to business."
* * *
Last Boss
Last Boss lived for the violent, animalistic facets of his mind and body which he was allowed to unleash in his work as a glorified contract killer. While he was technically an executive like his best friend, Niragi, he had no mind for the more logistical side of the organization. He just liked the killing, liked the pain. Samura had never turned down the opportunity to make someone hurt, bleed , but he certainly preferred to choose the victims by himself. It was a spiritual process for him, as close to the Gods as he would ever get in this lifetime. And sometimes, though he tried to control it, the Great Father above would lead him in the right direction. In these instances, regardless of the consequences, he had to do it.
But this time, when the Girl walked in, her long beautiful hair hitting against the dip in her waist as she walked, he had almost seen the Great Father himself. She would be his next, and he would take his time with her. He had never felt this way about his victims before, had never found them beautiful (apart from the way their skin split under his sharp blade), but this one would be special. Last Boss could tell.
He wasn’t sure why the Gods had shown her to him, why they hadn’t whispered in his ear this time about her filthy, defiling, sins and the punishment he must bestow upon her. She had just appeared like a light, and he now could think of nothing else. What did the Gods want him to do with her? He felt the bloodlust as usual (stronger than what he had felt for the others, even), but there was something else too. She would be a special offering. But he would have to bide his time, complete his earthly mission before he could indulge in his otherworldly one.
And he must, too, finish cleaning up his workspace as the blood from last night’s offering was becoming crusted to his kitchen table. He liked it messy, it helped him think. But for her, for her it must be untouched, pure.
Kuina. He hummed below his breath.
Kuina,
Kuina,
Kuina.
* * *