damned_institute | NIGHTSHIFT 28: M31-M40 HALLWAY

The kick landed, nailing him in the forehead and shoving him across the floor. Momentarily concussed, Caim grabbed his forehead and struggled to his feet, glaring at Farfarello out of his one good eye. He may have been injured, but he could hear every word said.

He had a sword. His skills with a sword had always been his pride, his strength, the one thing that kept him alive and proud. If he had something now, Farfarello wouldn't have stood a chance. Not for half a minute.

Caim bared his teeth and considered whether or not to throw himself at Farfarello again. Then again, this man was vicious; fighting him head-on had proved problematic. Escaping was an option, but Caim refused to run ... yet.

The chair ...

Caim darted to the side and snatched up the chair that Farfarello had previously hurled at his own head and threw it, going for the desk he was closest to. He would use it as a weapon, or possibly a barrier - whichever one became more useful.

Swords could be taken away. Weapons were as dangerous to the wielder as to the opponent, if you came to rely on them too much. Farfarello smiled again at Caim's obvious loss of temper, batting the chair away from his face with the back of one forearm. The chair hit hard enough to bruise the bone, no doubt, but being airborne it lacked the leverage to snap the radius or ulna. Splinters lodged in Farfarello's skin, but none hit the tender underside of his arm or the major veins and arteries located there, so Farfarello was unconcerned.

As Caim sprinted for the desk, Farfarello moved to the side and leapt up onto the railed footboard of the bed closest to that desk, perching on it easily. Caim would benefit little by hiding behind the desk, with Farfarello having the high ground, so the man could either take the fight up a level by getting on the desk himself, or use the desk itself as a weapon. Farfarello was prepared for either, and had finally drawn the box cutter, having weapons in or on both hands now.

Damn! This bastard was faster than any opponent Caim had faced in a long while. No sense in trying to duck behind the desk anymore and use it as a moving shield. Instead, Caim's eye darted from the claws bound to the back of Farfarello's hand to the small but lethal knife in his other and finally back down to the desk. He paused for a few seconds, then ducked down, seized one of the handles of the desk drawer, and pulled.

The drawer came out, caught, and then splintered free. Caim swung up with it, attmpting to nail Farfarello in the crotch and at least make him bleed. Clearly, this man felt no pain; given that Caim did, he was at a severe disadvantage. His other hand went for another drawer, attempting to snap it free as well if the first failed to hit its mark.

Caim's strike was low, in more ways than one--because it was aimed at the lower half of his body, Farfarello was able to jump over it, knees tucked up against his chest as he did. High jumps and descending strikes were among the things he was best at, after all. The ceiling was fairly low, so he was careful to curl in on himself to avoid hitting his head as he leapt, landing lightly on the desk itself.

Balancing on the ball of one foot, Farfarello spun and aimed a vicious roundhouse kick at Caim's head, all of his weight and the momentum of the turn thrown into the kick. A strike like that could break a man's neck if it hit just right, but Farfarello assumed Caim would be able to dodge it at least enough to prevent that--such a quick end to this would be terribly dull.

Farfarello's leap startled Caim - it was so high, and then to land without snapping the desk in two with the power he used to land ... he dragged his mind away from any sense of surprise and back to the present. He knew something would happen - something bad - so he brought up the second broken drawer and leaned back just as Farfarello's leg rocketed through the air in front of him. It hit the drawer and shattered it.

A chance! Caim leapt as Farfarello was on the tail end of his kick and tried to ram the original broken drawer into the closest leg. If he couldn't rip out something critical, he could at least make him buckle and slip. And that was when Caim would crush his head.

More splinters lodged in Farfarello's heel, but he ignored these as much as he had the ones in his arm. Caim was clearly learning, though, as his next strike aimed to take out one of Farfarello's legs, limiting his mobility. Farfarello launched himself into a back flip, the drawer hitting him in the shin hard, drawing blood, but he managed to land on his feet on the bed.

The lack of springs in the mattress meant Farfarello couldn't use the slight bounce to push back into another flip, and he had to settle for dropping into a crouch where he landed. His leg was bleeding, and he could tell the bone was bruised as well. The bruised limbs would eventually swell, stiffen up and slow him down, even if they didn't hurt, so it was time to end this fight. He'd allow Caim to tackle him, if he tried to do so, as this would get Caim within range of claws and boxcutter both.

Caim watched with some satisfaction as now Farfarello dodged an attack, landing with a sickening stillness on the bed. He threw down the broken drawer and gripped the still mostly-together one in both hands. There was an opportunity here for him to charge at this bastard and tear him to shreds, but given what had happened the last few times he'd charged ... he was less than willing to do it now.

Instead, he took a step back and away, watching Farfarello darkly. This fight could potentially go on forever. If he didn't get his hands on a decent weapon - a drawer wasn't going to cut it - his advantage would be lost. Still, Farfarello's legs looked to be in poor shape. If Caim kept up his barrage, the bastard would slow down eventually; hell, he might have already started to.

Deciding to take an advantage when he probably had it, Caim lunged at the bed - and as he did so, hurled the drawer at Farfarello's head. Avoid that! I'll get you when you move.

Farfarello let himself fall backwards onto the mattress, the drawer clipping his forehead as it whipped past him. Blood trickled down Farfarello's face, but he didn't feel as though he was concussed. Good thing, that, since Caim was finally putting up a decent fight.

He made no effort to dodge Caim's lunge, however, only shifted slightly so that the man wouldn't land on his already-broken ribs and possibly drive them into his lung. Come on, you dumb fuck, get close, and overconfident.

The drawer hit and Farfarello fell (or was it the other way around?) and Caim grinned then, smirked like he was a demon out of hell. He flung himself onto the collapsed body on the bed. Certainly this would be a poor move in most situations, but Caim genuinely believed that Farfarello was momentarily stunned. The knife, the claws -- Caim lunged out his hands to try and rip them away, thinking Farfarello couldn't fight back for the moment. He didn't necessarily want to reclaim them for his own, although the knife would be useful for ending this fight now.

How little he truly knew.

Farfarello smiled faintly, though Caim's weight forced the air out of his lungs and left him winded. He didn't need air to do what he planned, though--he only had to move very slightly to benefit from Caim's ill-advised tackle.

Twisting his right wrist subtly, Farfarello turned the box cutter so that Caim's lunging hand was coming down at the point of the blade rather than the handle. He let Caim grab at the claws, as they were quite well secured anyway, and just folded his fingers around Caim's a moment later, gripping his hand and digging the claws in.

With both of Caim's hands thus occupied, Farfarello snapped his head forward, not going for the more predictable headbutt, but instead aiming to fasten his teeth on Caim's throat.

The knife cut into his palm; the claws dug into his skin. Caim realized too late that he was dealing with a true demon and found his hands trapped. Farfarello's smirk, the deadly gleam in his eyes, the sudden, almost-invisible gleam of teeth - Caim was reminded of the battles on the field, the demons and sycophants he cut down in countless numbers. But they fought with blades and magic, and he had a sword, and he rode on her back.

Something had gone very wrong.

As Farfarello lunged up to take a bite out of his throat, Caim lurched back, ripping his hand out of the knife with a silent cry of pain. His other hand was still firmly caught in Farfarello's, so he took advantage of what he had and tried to slam his newly-freed and bloody fist into Farfarello's face. Curling his hand into a fist was excruciating, but he couldn't let the pain stop him. He had to get away - had to get a weapon --

Farfarello took the punch, feeling his cheekbone breaking under the force of Caim's fist. His smile faded on that side of his face, not so much because he was less pleased but because the break damaged the mucles there.

But if Caim had one hand free, so did Farfarello. He drove the knife towards Caim's torso, aiming for the soft, unprotected tissue just below the ribs, the blade angled in and up so that, if the strike was successful, the knife would be driven into Caim's lung.

Meanwhile, Farfarello twisted the hand still grasping Caim's, reaching for the tendons on the back of his opponent's hand. If he could sever even one of those, both of Caim's hands would have somewhat reduced mobility.

Yes, his punch broke Farfarello's cheekbone. The face shattered, and Caim's inner vision imagined it crumpling into the skull, leaving a vast, dark hole of blood and bone and tissue. He grinned with the very thought, drawing his hand back for another blow.

He had forgotten about the knife.

It came up and pierced him, going through the flimsy cloth of his shirt and the fragile bindings of his body - through skin and flesh and finally through into his body. Caim's mouth opened again in a silent howl of pain as the blade drove in further, and he desperately tried to wrench his body back and away - but his other hand was still caught, and the claws were driving further and further into him, scissoring and sawing.

Caim quickly threw himself to the side, off the bed and off of Farfarello. The knife didn't hit its mark, but now Caim was on his back on the floor, head cracking against the solid ground painfully. And his entrapped hand ... by falling, he had twisted his arm back, forcing the claws deeper into the back of his hand. Things were breaking and tearing, and it was painful - more painful than he'd thought something so small would be.

Finally getting enough breath back to do so, Farfarello loosed a mad, mocking laugh. Blood flowed over both his hands, and the coppery reek of it filled the air. So close, so close--he almost had Caim that time.

Letting go of Caim's hand, finally, Farfarello swung his legs over the side of the bed, stomping one booted foot down towards the stunned man's throat. From a seated position he couldn't stomp hard enough to crush Caim's windpipe, but he could certainly make it harder for him to breathe for a few minutes.

Still unable to get away because of the pain in his abdomen and the crack to his head, Caim tried to wrench away when a foot - a boot - came down on his neck hard. He choked immediately and struggled to wrench it off with both badly injured hands. While it didn't snap his windpipe right away, it hurt like all hell, and he couldn't breathe at all.

Damn you, demon! he snarled in his mind, trying and failing to rip himself out from under the painful catch. He lunged, bucked, fought, tried to force that foot off him - but the bleeding and exertion was sapping his strength, and the lack of air wasn't helping the situation any.

Pushing himself to his feet, Farfarello removed his boot from Caim's neck, but only for long enough to aim another kick at Caim's head. He was definitely starting to feel the effects of his own injuries, so he needed to either incapacitate Caim for long enough to get him immobilised, or kill him quickly. Killing him quickly was such a waste, though, and definitely a last resort. "You're an interesting guy, Caim. We could have had a lot of fun. But then you had to go and try to fuck with my shit. So I guess only one of us gets to have fun, now."

The second blow to his head effectively dazed Caim. Already seeing spots because of the lack of air, now he could barely see straight at all - and yet still he struggled to roll onto his stomach, to get to his hands and knees and manage to get upright to fight back again.

No matter how badly you are injured, get up. No matter how much it hurts, stand and fight. If you cannot stand, stand anyway. If your legs are gone, drag yourself. Always fight - never fall.

It was hard to push himself up because of the pain in his hands - one of them wouldn't even open properly. Damn it, what had happened to him?!

It was good that Caim was so stubborn, and so tough. It meant he'd last through quite a bit, and that made Farfarello very happy, indeed.

While Caim was still dazed, Farfarello grabbed him by the hair and dragged him up onto his bed. They'd made quite a mess of Roland's, with their earlier struggle, but the main reason Farfarello chose his own bed now was that there were still some torn strips from the sheet lying on it, which was perfect for what he intended.

Caim's flailing, while ineffective, did manage to connect with Farfarello's body a few times, leaving him with several more bruises.

Once he had Caim up on the bed, Farfarello aimed a punch at the man's head, hoping to stun him for a little longer. He just needed a few more minutes.

And a few more minutes he would have. Though Caim's head was clearing and he knew he'd landed a few hits, and the pain of being dragged by his hair had only helped clear his mind, he didn't see the second punch coming and fell back with it.

When his ankles suddenly flared up in pain, Caim managed to get a look at what was happening. Although he was still too incoherent to get a proper hit off, his fists still swung out in a desperate attempt to force Farfarello, who was moving back toward his head, away from him. He heard cracks, heard those sickening crunches of bone ...

... but it brought him no joy.

Tying Caim's ankles to the foot of the bed went well enough, though Farfarello had to make the bonds a little tighter than he would have liked. Caim would lose feeling in his feet sooner or later, and that was no fun for Farfarello at all. He wanted Caim in pain, not numb. But at least this way, if Caim broke free, he still wouldn't be able to get far, with his feet unfeeling and useless.

But as he moved up to work on Caim's wrists, the bastard managed to get in one good shot. Farfarello felt his broken ribs give way completely, and then one of his lungs was pierced, promptly deflating. Suddenly reduced to half the air he'd been able to get before, Farfarello coughed up a bit of blood, then chuckled ruefully. "Good shot. Bit too late, though."

Sitting down hard on Caim's chest, Farfarello planted one foot on the man's left forearm, pinning it to the bed. This left both of his own hands free to deal with Caim's right. Of course, he had to lean in to do so, which was a really bad position for his damaged lung, but it was that or leave Caim free enough to do more damage. Not much of a choice, really.

[OOC: A couple notes for anyone watching--this has all been approved by Caim-mun, and things are going to get really icky, from here on out.]

His chest creaked and he swore he heard a crack as Farfarello planted himself on already-bruised ribs and the slice from earlier. The foot came down hard on his left arm, and Caim hissed, eye opening as the pain dragged him out of his incoherency.

He wasn't dead yet. He was in pain, but he wasn't dead. The fight was over and he had lost. How? Why? Why hadn't Farfarello killed him? Did he mean to drag it out? That was the only thing he could be doing. He was leaning over now, siezing Caim's right arm even as Caim struggled to lurch up and away, to free himself by upsetting Farfarello even the slightest bit.

If he had known what was bound to come, he would have bitten his tongue off right then.

Much as he would like to be making mocking comments at the moment, Farfarello needed all of his limited air supply to keep his strength up enough to manage the thrashing man beneath him. Caim was quite a bit more heavily muscled than he was, so even with Caim's legs bound it was no easy task to do the same to his wrist.

Not an easy task, but not an impossible one either, and eventually Farfarello managed to wind Caim's right wrist in fabric and bind it firmly to the head of the bed. Three limbs down, one to go, and then Farfarello could rest for a few moments, let his heart rate slow, make things easier on his one working lung.

No. Now Caim could confirm it - death beyond death was going to happen. Still he struggled, trying to get Farfarello off him, even though he was down to one free hand that was brutally held against the bed. And Farfarello was going for that one now, to tie it down.

Caim pulled hard at the bindings, desperate to break them - they weren't even ropes! - and snapped his teeth wildly at Farfarello. He had very little left he could do, tied down like this.

The lack of proper ropes was unfortunate. Farfarello had used up the entire rest of his bedsheet in order to get enough cloth wound around each of Caim's limbs to make up for the relative lack of strength in the individual layers of fabric.

Caim's left arm was, ironically, the toughest of his limbs to get tied up. Caim had the strength of desperation now, and Farfarello was weaker than he'd been before his lung was so rudely collapsed. Fortunately, he had the benefits of position and freedom on his side, and he was eventually able to get Caim's last free limb bound.

Wheezing, blood-tinged spittle staining his lips, Farfarello sat back on Caim's chest, resting. The fight had taken a lot out of him, and he needed to recover a little bit of energy now, while he could. Wouldn't do at all to pass out before he'd had his fun.

When he finally had his pulse down to within 20 bpm of his usual resting rate of 45*, Farfarello found he at last had enough air in his working lung to waste some on speaking. "You put up a damn good fight, you know. One of the toughest I've had against a human like me. I respect that. Not enough to spare you, of course, but I respect it nonetheless."

[* - Athletes and others who do regular, prolonged cardiovascular exercise have a significantly lower resting heart rate than the average person.]

Respect? Caim spat at Farfarello and yanked hard at the bindings around his arms. Every part of him ached, and he could feel the soreness in his wrists and ankles double every time tried to free himself. Whatever Farfarello had done, he had bound him completely without rope. How mere cloth could be so strong ... maybe if he really pulled, he could tear it. Even the slightest rip could be manipulated into a hole, and he might be able to free himself before any fatal blows were landed.

That boy ... that boy would come back. Wasn't this his room? Maybe not. Maybe he was waiting for Farfarello somewhere. If it took long enough, maybe he would come back, find out what was happening, end this before it reached the inevitable conclusion ... or at least, Caim thought bitterly, still trying to wrench himself free, he would know what kind of a monster he was supposedly standing by.

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