[Final Warrior]

The smell of Death was in the air. Again. It was always there. It was like it followed me.

The towering man stood at least a head taller than the rest of the crowd. At least, it seemed so. Sunglasses covered his eyes, even in the night. In the darkness that he walked in, every moment of his waking life.

And Sorrow. Sorrow was always there. Every face reminds me of her. Everything was something she once loved.

Dressed in black to match the night, pale and mechanical. He walked down the streets, devoid of feeling, nonchalant. He walked, on and on, even as the crowd thinned out, as the streets emptied, as the noise dimmed and faded, as the lights went out. He walked, on and on.

Let the Devil take me. I've nothing left but my sword. Let whatever God out there strike me down for not protecting her.

And, still going, he walked into the arms of a demon. His demon. Red-eyed and raving, insane and violent, bloodthirsty with a knack for pain. All rolled up into one innocent little package. A little girl in a dark pink blouse, with a blood-red scruchy holding her hair out of her face. A little girl with a talent for killing.

Not again. Not her, not again!

"Hello."

She was so innocent, no one would have thought that the Devil hid behind her smile. So cute no one thought that God's wrath was balled up into her. If an Angel's Damnation came in mortal form, it was her.

"So we meet again?"

What do you want?

"I want what you want. I want you to die."

How can you read my thoughts? How do you know what I want? Why do you want to give me what I want?"

"I can read you thoughts because I can read your face. I know what you want because it is what I want. I'll give you what you want because I can."

Her hand behind her back, she tilted her head and gave him the sweetest smile. A smile that could melt hearts. A smile that would have frozen his blood if his blood wasn't already frozen. Her hand came out from behind her back and she held a pistol in his face. It would have been comical, a little girl holding a gun almost as big as her arm, aiming at a man easily three times her height.

"Good-bye, Raphael."

It happened in slow-motion. Eight pounds of pressure being applied in a swift second, as he watched in exaggerated slow speed. A second in ten, ten in a minute. He could see the blood rushing from under her finger as the pressure increased. 6 pounds... 7... 8. In that exact nanosecond, he whipped around, dodging the metal slug. A sword came out from almost nowhere, blazing fast. Whipping around, his arm shooting out, seemingly exaggerated and stretched out a mile. It came back like a whip, slicing into the little Devil-girl like lightning if lightning carried an edge. But she wasn't there. There was only a red mist.

BOOM.

The report of the pistol reached his ears. Movement that broke the speed of sound. Raphael high-kicked out to the side, away from his sword. All he caught was the breeze.

BOOM.

Excruciating pain in his leg. Left leg. Damaged. Bleeding. Blood didn't matter, did it? He looked down. There was a gaping hole in his thigh. Spinning, Raphael pivoted on his right leg, threw his blade out.

BOOM.

And collapsed. His right knee was blown out. Spinning on his back, Raphael reached out with skin-covered, metal arms. All he caught was the wind.

Click.

"Good-bye, Raphael."

Good-bye, little Hate. Someday I'll see you when I'm awake.

BOOM.
______________

And then he awoke. On the ground. Bleeding. Thigh and knee. Cut on the head. But he was alive. His programming told him he was. He was laying there, in the middle of the street, early dawn. Bleeding. But how?

BOOM.

Construction machinery. That's why the street was empty. He looked around. Debris all over the ground. Some rocks had blood on them.

A dream...

He rose, dusted himself off. He'd get a leatherworker to mend his pants later. He walked off into the sunrise, but stopped abruptly.

But mechanical minds don't dream.

((I might elaborate later, or leave it like this. I have to go to bed now...))