bonetrousle tussle (Kasey)

The crimson skull. Skull, for the bones she used and created. Red for the blood she spilled. It wasn't the best name for a hero, but it was one she was going to use. If not forever, for now, while she could create her new heroic identity. She had tied her hair and hid it under a net as sh dawned a black wig. It had been pinned to her head, both in the normal sense, and that it had been stuck into her flesh. The pain she didn't mind, she had to keep her ruse as long as she could. She needed her boss to believe such a hero existed. She needed him to believe that she wasn't a liar.

Her body had been covered, head to toe in black leather. Her face hidden behind a mask that was born from her face and shaped to resemble that of her sibling, at least, some of his memorabilia. Kasey had come for only the reason to make a name for the hero she had conjured. Spotting a man, she had begun to make her approach. As she neared him, her feet hidden not within shoes, but wrapped in black bandages, she dug her feet onto the ground.

"I'll take you up on it!" She would call out to him, in a tone more serious than she had ever been. "Use your quirk, I won't hold back." She would say, setting her hands on her hips as she spoke to him. Whatever skills he had, she was sure it was nothing compared to what she had. After all, with two minds, she already outnumbered him. When he was ready, she would adopt a more traditional fighting stance, and she would ready for battle, unless he wanted to speak more.

Crimson Skull, it was a name she had borrowed from the depths of her mind. She knew not of where it had came from, only that it would be hers until the purpose was served. She had to create some fame with the same, a hero who hides with the night. Someone who may not had been a professional, but had done good to help the world, or at least Japan. Skull, for the bone she wore on her face, as well as the base of her power. Crimson for the blood she drank as she feasted upon the corpses of the dammed.

As he would set his head to bow to her, she would reply in the same manner, her eyes fixed on his stance, his posture, how she carried himself. She did not watch to see how he would fight. Oh no, Kasey wanted to understand what kind of man he was. Sometimes a conversation of fists, was much more educational than one with words. "Crimson Skull." she would answer him, "And fear not, pain and I are good friends."

It was no threat. She did not intend to hurt, or harm him. It was not a threat to give him a taste of death. No, it was a warning. A warning that this man was going to dance with the devil, and something far for evil that the demon lived within. The only thing fear could fear, was a girl who longed for death. As his body would begin to glow, Kasey would cross her arms, her fingers spread apart as she kept her palms a few inches away from her skin. Tracing her own arms, she would begin to pull and stretch her bone. The movement of her hands was theatrical, and useless. It served no purpose for her, but would give all onlookers the idea of how she may have used her quirk. From both of her arms, she would begin to pierce her own flesh, something no larger than the width of a ballpoint pen on both of her arms, as she held into her swords of bone. As she pulled them, she set the ends of them into the ground, watching as the man shaped his scythe. It seemed he too could mend weapons, at a cost that did not harm him. She frowned at the thought, her brows narrowing at how other people were blessed with such quirks. Why was she cursed to have a double edged blade? But at her downfall, her edges were sharper and more refined than anyone else could have been.

As he lunged at her, she remained still. She did not flinch, nor was she left to not react. She chose not to move, to allow him the first move. She would allow his blade to pass through her, her own body would remain still as a statue as it cut and tore her outfit. As it would rip the fabric, little spikes and needles of her bone would pin and hold her attire to keep it from falling, all while looking at the man in front of her.

"My turn." She would say, his weapon seeming to cut her like a hot knife through butter. She did not wince at the pain, she had no reason to. After all, it was not like she had pulled her own eye from her socket, or had her fingers broken and removed just the week before. No, if this was the best he could do, he deserved to die. Her right knee would shoot upwards towards him the back of his scythe facing her as it passed though. She would strike the man, only to have her face crash upon his own in the form of a headbutt. Thankfully for him, her horns were hidden, burrowed behind the mask that was made of her face. The bone of it hardened, stiffed to that of copper, one that would be sure to show him the great and vast difference between them. After all, why would anyone fear death, when they themselves, could not die?

Friends were less than family. Family were those she held closest to her heart. Her family was small, for the family she was birthed to was cruel and separated her from her own blood kin. But the family she found, the one she called her own, was strong, it was all she needed to survive. It was wrong to love your family in that special way, it was only right when you loved your friends, the people you weren't related to. She had learned that in a book. The most painful thing she could imagine, was losing her family. The idea of having them torn away from her, or having herself torn from them was unsettling. It was one of the few things she feared. But to feel a blade cut through her, to feel hammers smash and shatter her fingers, to have her limbs ripped from her body, or her eyes picked from her skull, was nothing new to her. No, it still pained her, but she had grown used to it. Much like how someone can grow used to heartbreak. It didn't lessen the pain, it just gave them a better sense of it, something they had grown accustomed to. Something they learned to expect. If it had really cut her skin, her flesh, then it was surely a wound she could still recover from, given time. Why would she have to spend energy to waste on trying to dodge? She knew better.

As the head of his scythe pressed into the ground, his body would be thrown backwards as he distanced himself from her. She lifted the swords that remained in her hands. She would spin counter clockwise as she gained momentum to strike the man. She did not ready herself, or her body to protect herself from the hits. She found no purpose, no use in it. She was prepared to attack, and to attack alone. As her body spun, her face twisted to keep sight of the man, only leaving him for a moment, to find that his hands carried a bow, and no longer the staff and blade. As she looked once more, nearing him, she found him a bit further away. Was he running, fleeing from her? No, his quirk couldn't hurt her, not in the way the others could. He was weak, a pawn compared to her. She was no king piece of importance, or a queen of versatility, but she was a knight. She was perhaps the most important piece on the board. A piece that could ignore others, moving behind and in front of them at the same time.

"The last time was with a saw. Surely you can do better." She spoke as arrows were fired at her, her feet kicking up to instinctively move them from her, only to be reminded that they did not harm her, only hurt her. Each of them setting in the sole of her shoes, stuck in her feet, only to give her a sensation of pain, rather than causing a wound outright. Both blades were parallel to each other, as they would be to the ground as they spun at the man in a counter clockwise motion. As it passed, either missing or hitting him, she would follow up, each of her arms moving independently from each other. Both of them would strike downwards, passing back up afterwards to prepare for the next. She didn't expect him to get hit, or much less hurt, but it would continue to give him little time to react and think.

His quirk couldn't stop her. But hers would stop his beating heart.

Blood, the fluid that had became her name. Blood was the single thing that was a sign of her power, that it was in use. He took another step back, creating a new gap between them. She expected it, or something of it. He needed to get her from a distance or rather, just couldn't let her get close. She knew his knowledge, as well as experience had to be greater than hers, with weapons at least. If his power was set on weapons that caused pain, but no physical wounds, there had to be something she could do to change her own fate of cat and mouse. She wasn't going to chase him forever.

As the weapon in his hands begun to change, she was ready to change as well. She brought both of her hands together, both swords pressed to each other, a sound of their impact, only to be met with needles that emerged from her palms, unseen to the man. The fragments would touch and mold to the bone blades to once again be reshaped and molded. They would fuse into one object, no thicker than a half dollar coin, but the length the combined height of the swords. Kasey held onto her new staff as she let it spin and dance in her hands, only to fall through her fingers, allowing it to slide from her, leaving a foot from it's base to hold onto. If he was going to use some new object to strike her with, he needed to first get close enough to use it.

"You haven't killed anyone with these weapons, have you?" she spoke, extending her new weapon towards the man's face, his forehead specifically. She intended to hit him, pushing him further. If his scythe had gone past her blades before, as well as her skin, then it would be no different with his staff. He could shoot all the arrows he wanted until he ran out, or could no longer pull the string to shoot them forward. It was a game of endurance, and Kasey had learned to play this game years ago. The question was, could he break her? With his new weapon, could he really land a strike?

Lives. They were all meaningless in the grand scheme of things.

Lives were lost every day, every night. Some fought for freedom of countries, and some fought for freedom for themselves. Some fought for others, other died for themselves. Lives, were all expendable, only missed when they had relevance to someone else's life. Once you lost something that benefited you, made you feel good or did what you wanted, you missed them. Love was the belief that if you died for a singular being, you would have lived your life to its greatest extent. Life, did not exist, without death. Death always watched over you. Death awaited to claim the gifts Life had created for him. Each one something he would cherish. And sometimes, Death would allow them to live again, returning them back to their maker, Life. But were the two of them blessed with the idea of reincarnation? Could any of them really come back from death? Or perhaps, was one of them Death Himself? Or in this case, Herself.

Kasey's quirk ran on the supply of her calories. Burning energy stored in fat and her body to grow and reshape her bone. She had played a careful game to not show her hand, and she was going to keep it that way. If he had really been a fool, she would have killed him moments ago, but that was not fit for a hero. But having him bleed out, having him injured and pained, was just a cost of battle. The cost of entering a duel with quirks. He released his weapon, only for it to grow off course. As his grip changed, so did hers. She pulled the staff into itself, cutting the length in half, reshaping it, making it grow soft and weak as she released it. He would grab the limp noodle of the weapon, something not even fit to be a whip. As his left hand would be drawn to strike her head, she would not change his course. Her mask would extend over the top of her skull, protecting her, creating a full helm that was growing to be as dense and strong as what could be a metal.

"That depends, would you tell on me?" As his fist would strike her helm, she would press on the ground to headbutt his hand, throwing more weight at him. Her hands would begin to bleed as her knuckles would grow enlarged and exposed. As he made contact, her right fist would swing upwards, upon the bottom of his chin, like any boxer's uppercut. She was messy, untrained, but with enough television, she knew the basics of striking, if not tactics alone.

"I wonder how long your heart will beat when it leaves your body." She said it under her breath, but it was meant for him. And soon, her fists would meet his face. But how much of a beating could he take?

It wasn't like she was going to run out of energy any time soon. After all, The human body does have a lot of nutritional value.

As he was thrown back, from her palm another blade would weave out from behind her skin, braiding itself before bonding to each other and fusing into a solid and strong piece of bone, another sword. A replication of a katana, grip and all. The feeling and cushyness of cloth around the grip, but it was nothing more than softened bone. She reached out with her blade with a single hand, a smile on her face as she lifted it into the sky, a blade to crash down on the man to end his life, to kill him once and for all. To end this pointless battle. She was going to end him.

"I surrender, you win."

She dropped the blade, her stance growing lax and lazy as the sword would fall to the ground. The heavy end of the blade would sink below, swinging the blade around to set the tip of it into the dirt. People from all around would run to him, to aid him during their little spar, their display of power.

"Names are unimportant." she would tell him, a man she never met before this day, but a man who had entertained her for the time being. "You may call me what you want. But I'm just an Army of Bones." An alias she had used for far too long, perhaps longer than Crimson Skull. A title, that would follow her longer than the pro hero with a similar name.

He would request a final, or a second meeting, be it with weapons, or something to get a meal over. "If you look hard enough, you can easily reach me." she would tell him, leaving the bits of bone and blood all over the field. A few of the personnel would come up to her and ask if she was alright, but she would smile and wave them away. She was more than fine. She felt alive.

It was a thrill, to kill.