Title: The Sweetness of a Fight
Word Count: Open – 894
Rating: Teenish, maybe even M-ish?
Disclaimer: I own nothing. The cow does.
Characters: Scar, Kimblee
Summary: He knew his job was complete.
Warnings: I love doing what if stories, okay? This is Pre-manga, but it could really be for the 1st anime as well. It’s Scar and Kimblee. Those two should never be mixed together. Ever. Why? Because they cause me to write this. Blood. Um…fighting. The kind I’ve been thinking about because of The Kite Runner. Thankies to sakurablossom26 for the title.
The scarred man looked down at his opponent with emotionless eyes. The man on the floor looked so sadistic, so content at the destruction he had caused. Even as he lay on the ground, he smiled that wicked, sick smile and laughed maniacally. It made the scarred man want to vomit.
What the man with long black hair and yellow eyes had done in Ishval had always haunted the scarred man. He killed his family, his home; he took away what was his. The scarred man vowed to kill that mad man the next time he saw him. However, the next time would not be what he expected.
The ground rumbled as the man named Kimblee stood and slammed his hands on it, making it explode, and flinging the earth to the scarred man to hinder his movements. But the scarred man would not let him win so easily and dodged as best he could. He felt satisfied, smug even, to see some surprise spring up in Kimblee’s face when he saw him. He couldn’t have believed he was so easy to kill, like a lion’s prey. He made sure to stun him, but his arm was enough to do that. The tattooed arm. Kimblee had seen it before. That man with glasses, the one that defended the scarred man had arms like those. His lips curled up into a devilish grin. He would finish that arm a second time. And the rest of his body. After all, there were always chances for everything.
The battle seemed very…enjoyable to him. He came very close to blowing up a part of the scarred man’s hand, but only managed to destroy the floor he stood on. He kept liking the fight as it culminated and felt pleasure as he fought and damaged everything in his path. The scarred man felt some pleasure as well, even if it made him feel cruel like his opponent. But how could he not? He had managed to grab Kimblee’s arm, even if he did slither out of his grasp. If only he held still for a few seconds, then he could unleash his wrath on him. However, even Kimblee knew he had to be careful. The scarred man was his creation and could easily sense that he wanted to take out his anger on him. He, who had scarred him.
Kimblee was able to harm him once again. He was able to grab the scarred man’s leg and with a clap of his hands, the skin exploded. The bones that made up that leg, the blood that flowed through the arteries and veins, the ligaments and tendons that held together the bones and muscles, and the tanned skin that protected everything became a rain of gore. The scarred man witnessed the obliteration of his leg and saw Kimblee’s satisfaction. The pleasure in seeing the contents of his leg fly and scatter in the air, coming down on them to remind him that he had messed up. To Kimblee, this destruction of human flesh and fertile earth was so amusing, so sweet and delightful. So much that the scarred man could even depict that all that turned the sick man on. His nose wrinkled in disgust.
He knelt with his remaining knee and halted himself from falling by placing his hands on the ground. Then, the unexpected came. His disgust was let out as everything rushed from his stomach and exited from his mouth. He heaved. What was he to do? Kimblee was laughing wildly as his opponent’s pelvic area bled, and he knew that that was the loveliest sight he had seen to date. He knew that that blood that was beginning to pool around the scarred man was a sight to see. That it was so sweet and candy-like. And he had to do it again.
He punched the scarred man on the chin and knocked him down, making him land on his back. The scarred man didn’t know whether to feel regretful for not bringing backup, or grateful for not having someone see him die at the hands of this…animal. Kimblee grabbed his other leg and gave him the chance to have the blood hit both their faces. The scarred man wondered how his blood would travel so far to reach his face, but gave up on the thought as his drowsiness gave him an idea. No…a realization.
Kimblee’s destruction would be his demise, though. With the broken earth, he did not count on slipping as he stepped back to see his work. Yes, he knew his work was complete. Almost. He still needed those arms. But the scarred man saw the expression of shock as Kimblee slipped. He got lucky. As Kimblee fell forward, the scarred man reached for his face and made sure his entire hand was wrapped around his head. That tipped his delight. It made him feel satisfied to watch as the mad man’s cranium shattered at his touch. He had done it. He had killed him. He had been able to live and witness the blood from that man’s head spew out like a broken faucet. How his eyes turned white and how his black hair mixed with the redness of his blood. His crimson blood. That brought the scarred man pleasure. Yes, he had done it. Revenge was sweet. Very sweet indeed.