Crow's Legacy

Mayhem

Deadman Wonderland; Crow's Legacy

Mayhem

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"In the blue corner we have returning champion Crow," the stage lights focused on the bulky man far to the left side of the cage, "and in the red corner, our aspiring whelp, Parrot!" And then they snapped over to the equally burly boy to the far right. Both participants squinted.

The announcer continued with his monotonous announcement as the two Deadmen sized one another up. Crow didn't seem at all nervous or anxious, well, that was obvious since he once dominated the Carnival Corpse. Parrot had an air of confidence about him, highlighted by his win streak over the past few months; five consecutive matches won, without missing a beat.

"Big man's back in the game now, 'uh?" Parrot chirped, thumbs grazing his forearms and drawing blood with a bare flick. He had the kind of face which Crow wanted to mop the floor with; very narrow, very cocky, always wearing an expression of supremacy. His eyes were white, too, and with bushy caramel hair mixed with that peach flesh, made him very feminine-like.

Crow licked his lips, cracking each knuckle individually. "You can say that." he said nonchalantly, left hand gliding over the scar tissue on his abdomen. The wound didn't hurt anymore. It didn't sting as though it would burst open. "I'm out of ah, practice, I guess," he stepped forward as the announcer's voice faded, fingers twitching slightly. "I've heard a lot about you, Parrot. Live up to your hype."

The cocky man snorted in response, hands clasped together in patient abundance.

"Deadmen, FIGHT!"

Parrot threw his arms back and blood sprang from the wounds on his forearms, accompanied by hexagons. Crow knew of his opponent's Branch beforehand; through the grapevine he heard that it was just about as fast as his own.

We'll see about that, he smiled, arms casually laced behind his back. A shadow descended upon the calm bird, several in fact. He eased his eyes upward and the smile grew.

"Eat shit!" Ah, that wasn't very nice of Parrot to say. He'd need to get that mouth of his cleaned out…though Crow preferred to see it lobbed off that pretty little face of his.

Squares fell from above. Yes, squares; however, they were simply a facade for his Branch's hidden qualities.

The veteran Deadman stepped aside, dancing around the four or so massive crimson squares that tried to squash him flat. Child's play, really.

"C'mon kid," he said, icky mahogany trailing from Crow's index finger, "you can do better than this." Moments later, the squares were sliced to bits. Amidst Parrot's surprise, the former champion darted straight through the crimson mist, his target obvious.

"Oh hell no!" yelled Parrot, hexagons spinning to life on his fingertips. Bite-sized squares sprang from his fingers and zip-lined towards Crow, half in the air and the other half traveling closer to the ground.

The other man laughed a carefree laugh, tilting his head to the side in amusement.

"You didn't hear me."

He crouched mid-sprint and hopped through the point between the squares, scythe-like blades emerging from his elbows and wrists.

"Tch, doesn't matter, asshole." Parrot muttered, grinding his fingers into the hexagons. Bloody squares changed into multi-layered cylinders that responded to the movement of their objective, sliding downwards and upwards to ultimately collide with each other.

Riiiiiiight. That was special quality number one of Parrot's Branch; shape manipulation and trajectory alteration, on-the-fly. It was nothing Crow couldn't handle, though in midair it would prove to be a challenge.

Twisting his arm in an awkward way and funneling himself into a spin, he released several more blades from beneath his fingernails and along the back of his arms, each connecting with a corresponding cylinder as they extended.

When he landed mere meters away from Parrot, knee bent and arms covered with his Branch, hell, it didn't take a fuckin' rocket scientist to know that he was done for.

"Night night, you yappy little bird."

Gore bathed the bird cage. Mucky crimson feathered the bars and base, staining the beautiful cherry blossom tree with sin and death.

At the edge of the carnage stood the victor with his spoils. One bare foot rested atop the Parrot's head, moving it back and forth, back and forth, forth and back. The rest of his body lay elsewhere in the cage; some bits were scattered here and there below the cherry blossom tree; others weren't even in the damn cage to begin with.

"And the victor is…Crow!"

A festive uproar from the faceless watchers reached his ears, and with a grin he raised his arms into the air.

This was his Wonderland, and the other birdies better damn well understand it!