w/e

[Jack London]

In kind of a shitty mood. Just want a quick battle; no abilities, no weaponry, absolutely nothing outside human capabilities. Strictly melee.

You don't need a template, just let me know if you want to participate and I'll begin shortly. Lets keep this 1 on 1.

[Azanulbizare]

w/e .

[Shadows Fall]

Uh. . . . even if you hate me, wanna just battle anyway? It's all right if you say no.

[Jack London]

( I don't hate. )

"Sorry, kid."

Upon the utterance of the apathetic apology, a fist slammed into the jaw of a man, shattering it almost instantly and causing him to hit the floor, drinking his own blood, unable to get up. Most of his body had been beaten and rendered completely usless, as he laid there, slowly dying. If he could have yelled in pain, he might have, but his lack of strength did not allow him. All that could be heard was a poor attempt at a moan, which sounded nothing more or less than the whimper of a defeated wolf.

The man who had commited the terrible deed turned on his heel and walked off, the boots he wore almost echoing throughout the alley way, with every step he took. He had a muscular build, with expressionless gray eyes and dirty blonde hair that was smoothly pushed back. A black sleevless shirt adorned his upper body, with a pair of old and torn jeans, held up by a simple looking belt. His face bore no expression of anger nor sorrow, but one that was made when the soul was disgusted by the shell and the mortal life.

Larsen.

Not once did he look back or show any sign of slowing down as he made his way to the otherside of the alleyway. He lifted his right hand and looked at the blood upon his knuckles, lazily wiping them on his jeans. The mindless and repetitive concept of society drove him somewhat mad. Slowly his hatred for the human race grew and so he simply began to exterminate them. The system is a corrupt pile of trash and for years he sought to bring it down. He had made numerous protests, riots, and written books to express his mind to it. All to no avail.

Larsen hated himself, though, for involving his loved ones. Some had died for his own reckless acts. The meaning of life slowly began to lose itself from his mind as he had wandered aimlessly throughout the past few months, running from those that sought to kill him for a bounty. Eventually, he had convinced himself that life had no meaning. Night after night, he would mutter in his sleep 'kill me,' only to destroy another attempt to take his life. He wanted death to come, but he wouldn't allow it to. The contradiction confused even himself, but clarity strangly seemed right before him.

Several hours had passed and night had come upon him as he sat beside the shore, behind an abandoned warehouse. He could feel the blood of his victims closing in on him and he knew that his death was inevitable. Still, he made it his mission to go down with a fight. Unlike some people, he didn't need to drag out this usless life. Immortality isn't given, it is earned. And he had obtained it through his writing. His gray eyes gazed at the shore, feeling a sudden longing to cast himself into the tides.

[Shadows Fall]

(Funny. I didn't think you would say yes to battling me. Anyway. . . good luck, I suppose.)

Nightfall had finally came, befalling upon the shore along with the warehouse and everything else.

"Larsen, Larsen, Larsen. . . ,"

A rather gruff voice echoed about the shoreline, coming from behind the man who sat beside it. In order to conceal its identity for the time being, the person who had spoken decided to stay within the shadows casted by the abandoned warehouse by simply leaning against it. "Don't you ever grow tired of killing innocent victims out of random?" questioned the being who then stepped out of the shadows and thus, finally revealing itself.

Standing there at about 5"10, the figure wore a gray sweater underneath a black vest which was purposely unzipped. The hood covered its shaved head, along with its set of ruby-red eyes. The figure also wore dark blue jeans, having a few tears mostly around the kneecap portions while donning a pair of black sneakers, the laces being gray along with the soles. Just by looking at its physique, it was clear that the figure's gender was a male, turning out to be Alex Mercer. However, he kept his right hand behind his back and looked almost as if he were holding an object.

When Mercer had brought out his right hand, there in his hand was a tattered book. The book even had Larsen's name on it but was in somewhat of a rotting condition, though, still being able to be read. The pages themselves were even ripped a bit, some of them appearing to be ripped out by hand. Alex gazed down at the novel, his lips curling into a smirk as his eyes skimmed through the various sentences.

"You have quite a powerful way with words. . ." said the hooded man who then closed the book shut, grabbing a hold of it with his left hand now and tore it in half with ease due to its condition. "But these words have no meaning to me or anyone whatsoever." he added while tossing the bits and shreds of the book off to the side, a breeze picking them up and blowing towards Larsen's direction. "Ain't it sad to see your own work going to waste just like that? Hell, I sure would feel pretty pissed if that were to happen to me, don't you think so?"

[Jack London]

"Larsen, Larsen, Larsen; don't you ever get tired of killing innocent victims out of random?"

He heard an unfamiliar voice coming from behind him. Larsen felt nothing of it, as though he had half expected somebody to come. He slowly stood upright, flexing his fingers as both his hands were balled into fists and then relaxed. His body turned to look at the source of the sound, at first seeing nothing more than a darkened figured, but the figure soon stood, illuminated by moonlight. The man's red eyes were the first thing he noticed about them. He had never seen something such as that before. It made him wonder if they were natural.

The unknown man stood about the same height as he, perhaps a tad taller. Larsen's eyes wandered and caught a glimpse of the man's right hand, being hidden behind his back. His muscles tensed slightly, being ready for anything, but he was caught by surprise when the man revealed what it was. It was one of his own novels, however, it was in a terrible condition. The man began to read some of the ripped pages, of whatever sentances were left intact and still readable. He is obviously some sort of lunatic, Larsen figured, although he couldn't help but ask.

Was he any better?

"You have quite a powerful way with words, but these words have no meaning to me or anyone whatsoever." The man said to him, quite mockingly, as he tore the book completely in half, letting some of the shreds be carried by the wind and into his direction. The fragments of his own words and sentances brushed against his expressionless face as he stared at the man, still refusing to reply. This man seemed to have a deeper purpose to taunt him, but he didn't want to overestimate him either.

"Ain't it sad to see your own work going to waste just like that? Hell, I sure would feel pretty pissed if that were to happen to me, don't you think so?" The man asked, maintaining a mocking tone.

Yes, it definately seemed as though this one had something personal against him, although he know not who it was. Larsen figured that he had probably killed a friend of his or a family member. A shame; simply another looking for revenge. He felt no real pity toward him. He was only curious as to what drove this creature to his cynical barrier. His eyes drifted toward the ground, a ripped piece of paper was slowly being dragged by the wind, coming from the book of his, stating: 'Life is nothing more than a mold. Partially is molded by ourselves and partially by others, but as we age, the mold hardens and slowly becomes harder to shape...'

His own words lingered in his mind for a moment, before it had been completely blown away and into the distance-- a fragment of a lost soul, waiting to be put back together again. A soul could not be put to waste. This man's attempt to destroy his immortality was futile. Larsen is a God, and he would remain as such as long as there is but a small bit of ash left of his memory. The mold had been done long ago. His gray eyes lifted themselves again, meeting the red ones that sought to kill him.

"You got a name, kid?" Larsen asked, still apathetic in his tone, although the reference to 'kid' gave that condensending air to it. It was a habit he had, to treat everybody lower than himself. However, this man was, in fact, lower than himself, for after his death, life would cease. He was mortal just as anybody else and he would be forgotten, just like everybody else. The God, however, would remain. Larsen was as sure as this as one would be sure that the sky was blue.

"So, are you here for the bounty, or what?"

[Shadows Fall]

Alex continued to keep his eyes on Larsen, the moon's source of light illuminating on his eyes and made them glistened more than they were doing now. He brought both arms up to his chest, crossing them as he expected the man to speak but saw that what he had done had no effect on him. "Guy's light a rock I see. No problem though. . . he'll crack eventually." thought Mercer who then finally heard a response from Larsen.

"You got a name, kid?"

Ah yes, the typical asking of the name. Something Alex had expected the man to ask.

"Alex." he said blandly. "But I prefer that you should call me by my last name, Mercer just like everyone else." Alex added afterwards, the grin that was etched on his face now widening upon hearing Larsen's next question.

"So, are you here for the bounty, or what?" he had asked which made the hooded man take out a folded piece of paper from his left pocket, thus unfolding and looking down at its contents.

"Larsen. A man wanted for numerous protests and the spark of various riots that left many wounded and others dead. His location is unknown at this point but proceed with caution as he is known to be violent when confronted. Reward to those who bring him to custody, dead or alive but we prefer that he is brought back alive." Alex read before folding the wanted-ad and securing it back into his pocket, now turning his attention back on the man in front of him. "Will that answer your question?" he had asked rhetorically, now pacing back and forth while letting out a small chuckle. "I say, what you did to that guy back there really proves the violent bit in the ad. Though, I want to see what you're really capable of before cashing you in for my reward. But may I ask, does the deaths of some of your loved ones ring a bell?"

Now in laughter, Alex figured he had finally touched a nerve at this point. "Who did you think led them to their deaths? It was all just to see if the reports of their deaths would bring you out but I'm surprised that it didn't work. My, that just proves how cold and heartless you can be, no?"

[Jack London]

"Alex, but I prefer that you should call me by my last name, Mercer just like everyone else." Alex answered. It was amusing that he would tell him that he would prefer to be called another name, being that they were here to fight. Larsen didn't know whether this guy was either as arrogant as him, had a lot of nerve, or just plain stupid. However, a grin appeared upon the man's face, when the next question was asked, pulling out a piece of paper, reading what was on it word for word. Apparently, it was the ad that offered the reward for Larsen's capture.

"Will that answer your question?"

Larsen shrugged.

"I say, what you did to that guy back there really proves the violent bit in the ad. Though, I want to see what you're really capable of before cashing you in for my reward. But may I ask, does the deaths of some of your loved ones ring a bell?" Alex asked, beginning to laugh. The lunatic went on about how it was just a trap to lure him out, although it didn't work. He called him heartless for not falling for the trap, while he himself was trying to get to him by reminding him of such events.

Larsen had met quite a few different people, but it seemed as though this man had some sort of disorder. Ever since he had encounter him, all he had to do or say was only relevant in an attempt to put down his spirit. He didn't understand what he expected to get out of it. Did he expect him to fall on his knees crying? Regardless, unlike the other encounters, this one was actually giving him a show. The others were just right down to business-- you're ****en dead.

"To be honest, kid, your act is getting a tad old," Larsen replied, unmoved by his words. "Just let me know when you're ready, Alex; here are my rules. You get one free punch and then you die, got it?" He waited a moment and then turned to enjoy the scenary, looking toward the sea. "K', cool. Unless you plan to babble for the rest of the night, that's fine too, I'll just sit here then. I'm not here to be your buddy and have a conversation with you," he added, no longer facing him.

His rules with his murders were the same with just about everyone. Due to his arrogance, he felt as though nobody was worth to have his first hit. Instead, he let them have it, utterly destroying them afterwards. Although it put him at a disadvantage, not one has yet to utilize it correctly against him. It mattered little to him anyhow, so he waited.

[Shadows Fall]

"Just let me know when you're ready, Alex; here are my rules. You get one free punch and then you die, got it? K', cool. Unless you plan to babble for the rest of the night, that's fine too, I'll just sit here then. I'm not here to be your buddy and have a conversation with you," Larsen replied with which made Mercer's smirk grow wider than it already was.

All though not being paid any attention to, all Mercer had done was simply shrug while silently heading over to the direction of his new bounty. Instead of attacking from behind like anyone else would have done, the hooded man casually paced around Larsen and now stood in front of him. Kneeling down, he extended his right arm and actually patted the man right on his head.

"Such a gentleman," said Mercer. "Any faggot would actually believe that their opponent would take the offer." he added as he stopped and stood up straight, looking as if he were bored now. "Though, I prefer that you would take what you said and have the honor of striking me first." he said, now practically standing over Larsen and waited for him to hit him rather than having doing the first move himself.

"Well? Are you going to or not?"

[Jack London]

I no longer intend to finish this battle, sorry.