A Dangerous Night Out [Yusaku]

The blades of his wings raised, he was ready to give a lasting injury to the third person waiting for his doom. None of them were smart enough to run for their life, or he was just too shocking and fast at dealing with them, who knows. He didn’t think about that at all. He just wanted to get rid of the scum, and head back home, possibly.

He never expected another party to join them in the alley.

At first, he thought this person was wearing a robotic body-suit, and he was already half-tempted to seek out the creator and order armor for himself to use. But then as he watched the subtle movements and listened to the voice, he had to realize something else was behind it all. Although the limbs were all there to match humanoid anatomy, with the exception of an extra tail attached, the turns of the joints and the sizes were not matching up to make this appearance an armor. Samael had to wonder who this guest was, but not this moment. Not in this state of mind. If it was any other, day, he would ask questions, wonder who this boy was, but right now, he was nothing more than annoyance.

“Do you even know what you are doing?” He talked with a clear accent, European, but hard to pinpoint exactly. It was obvious that the winged quirker wasn’t a native Japanese citizen. Straightening his back, he raised himself to his full height, tilting his chin up and pulling the lines of his bent wings toward the sky as much as he could, to appear bigger. While standing in the alley, facing toward its exit, he was unable to spread his wings fully without turning his body, but the massive size was still noticeable. Citylights flickered over the matte surface of the blades growing from under the feathers as they shivered in anticipation. “Do you even know what scum you are letting to run, fiúcska?” He let his foreign tongue slip into his words, calling the wannabe hero simply a little boy. The third scumbag was already out of the alley, running without another word for the robotic cat, without sparing another glance for his gang mates. The person ran with his tail between his legs, and it was even questionable if he took the hero’s advice to call for help or not.

He looked down at the boy from behind his mask, and saw through his bravado to the bone. His young, filtered voice cracked when he started talking, and it was the perfect hint that he jumped into this situation without thinking of the consequences. He had a good heart. But he caught Samael in a bad day. “Believe me, I can perfectly see through this mask. I can see you trying to hide the shake in your voice as well.” His wings raised higher still, giving him more height over that strange metallic creature that opposed him. “...But really, what are you?” Even through the horrible mood he was experiencing, he couldn’t help but wonder out loud, not even trying to soften the fact he said what instead of who, when asking for the boy’s identity.

Samael was not a fan of useless bravado, and even though he found the enthusiasm and bravery of this robotic creature endearing, he had a job to do. As soon as he saw this gang causing trouble in this alley, he knew he was here for a reason this night.

Without a comment to the boy’s defensive provocation, Samael angled his torso to the side, spread his wings, and smashed them toward the ground for the sole purpose of kicking up wind strong enough to possibly unbalance his opponent. Even if the boy’s body was too sturdy to knock over, he might get confused from the suddenness of the action. Without any battle experience, people couldn’t react fast enough in unknown situations. He assumed it was the same with this little wannabe hero, who jumped into the scene out of nowhere.

Right as he kicked up the wind, hurling the dust of the alley toward the boy, he flapped his wings twice again to raise himself into the air. He attempted a simple maneuver in the alley that was just a little stuffy for his enormous wings to function properly. Keeping his body angled sideways to give his wings enough room, he fling himself through the air, making a flip above the boy to get behind him. He wasn’t about to land an attack though. He had no reason to hurt someone who willingly jumped between a scumbag and himself. Oh no. He would dodge the boy, get past him, and head right for the escaped gang member that little robocat wanted to save. Past the alley’s exit, there was a wider street, although still empty and quiet at this time of the early night. The runaway scumbag was still visible, as he seemed to have some trouble running with shaking legs.

Now, would the boy let him go for the last of the kill, glad for the fact he was spared of a meaningless fight, or would be chase the winged villain and initiate an attack himself?

At the simple mention of a God, Samael growled, low behind his mask, audibly angered by the mere accusation of it. “Do you think scum like them will get what they deserve if you hand them in? Such naivety!” Oh no, the police, the government could do nothing to punish guys like these. They will just say it was someone else’s fault, that they didn’t want to hurt anyone, it was a misunderstanding. At most, they will get a few weeks of jail time before they can roam free again and commit their atrocities. Oh no, Samael didn’t trust the law at all. Didn’t trust the people that ran the government at all. Scum like this needed to be killed to put an end to their actions before it was too late. If no one else had the guts to do it, he will gladly carry the burden.

He focused solely on the escapee as he partially considered the hero’s bravery simple bravado. Once he jumped past Yusaku he slowed down just enough to conserve energy in case he needed to fly for longer later. He landed and intended to chase his opponent with leaps instead of staying fully in the air for the same reason, even though flight would have been definitely faster, but that seemed to be one of his mistakes in his current situation.

Little robocat wasn’t joking when he said he wanted to stop him from harming anyone further. A black blur jumped in front of him, and out of reflex, his wings moved forward to stop his leap, stopping himself in mid-air and hopping back down on solid ground. The very ends of his feathers nearly brushed the boy, but once he gained his distance again, his wings settled behind him, only half-spread to a measly four meter span. “Do not misunderstand. I don’t want to fight, neither do I want to hurt you.” He raised his head up again, as if showing confidence and dominance. “I only want to hurt them, the scum of this Earth.” His wings spread just a little wider, just a little higher, showing all the various equipped blades and metallic-looking plates that were there for attacking and defending as well.

“I don’t need to explain myself to a little fledgling I met by chance.” His wings moved, spreading wide and flapping to raise himself into the air again. He intended to chase after the runaway still, doing his best to ignore the robotic cat that wanted to get in his way. Such a boy won’t do much harm if he can’t reach him in the air. He didn’t imagine that robot body to have any kind of repulsor technology or rockets to fly, or he wouldn’t have dropped from above like a piece of rock and crack the concrete when he arrived at the scene.

And so, Samael flew, some meters above the ground and above Yusaku, even though his target already turned a corner. No matter. No one could escape from a quirker that had deadly bladed wings to help his speed and give him the view of a bird. In a chase, Samael played the role of the predator.

He was focused forward, only forward, keenly watching the corner where he saw the criminal disappear. There is still time. He can catch up to him and draw his blood so he will never have the chance to succumb to the filth of his soul ever again. Such people needed to be wiped from the surface of Earth, and if no one else would, Samael was willing to get rid of the useless trash.

A lamppost suddenly appearing in his vision surprised him to halt momentarily, and that short hesitation was just enough to cause him a hit. The metal edge of the post collided against his chest, knocking the wind out of his lungs. The misfortune didn’t stop, as with the same movement, he was knocked back down onto the ground, pressed into the dirt, the sudden smash making it even harder to keep breathing. His wings flailed under him, kicking up dust into the air to get him upright again, but he was still trying to get back his bearings, first and foremost.

What the hell was that.

Rolling onto his side to raise himself into a crouching position, still coughing from trying to get the much needed oxygen back into his system, he glared at the only other person in the alley through his mask. That little mechanical scum. Samael saw the robot with the pole in hand, and growled lowly.

“You little rascal.” He spat, raising his wings behind him, angling it so that the blades were pointing forward, toward his opponent. “I had no business with you, yet you stuck your little nose into this.” The lights glinted on the matte surface of his metallic feathers as one wing pierced against the side of a building in annoyance, drilling sliced holes into them to make sure the robot understood they weren’t for show. Samael would rip holes into the body of this little annoyance unless he had the durability of a military tank. He would cut him to pieces. He would get rid of him for making him even angrier than what he started out with.

“I had a shitty day and you aren’t making it any easier, little thing.” But man, as annoyingly pushy as this guy was, he didn’t want to actually hurt him. He wanted to deal with those that he could witness being lowly and detestable. This guy was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. But well. Such was luck. A powerful flap of his wings was enough to boost his jump forward as he rushed at his young opponent. One wing was ready to stab at the weak spots, at the joints of the robocat’s right arm with a force that would be able to damage the surface of stone. He looked mechanical, this suit of armor, and Samael figured that the easiest way for damage is to aim where the joints should have been. Samael was ready to jump to the side and away from a possible counterattack, ready to use his wings and freedom of movement to his advantage. He would not let his opponent grab him, especially not his wings, but he was determined to get one attack in before raising himself up and slightly back to gain distance again.

His plan was to attack the boy, cut into his shoulder, to his elbow, to his knees. To cut anywhere through the armor he was wearing, to make him unable to move any of his limbs, to stop him from stopping him. If he bled out, it was no concern of him at this point. The boy had nothing to do with his anger or with the people he attacked. Samael intended to leave him here, and to let him off without any injuries. He really didn’t care about him.

But that pole to the chest wasn’t something he could forget. Now he won’t be able to leave the guy without making him bleed. He won’t be able to follow that last thug anymore, so this little rascal will have to do. He was not yet aware that this little hero was unable to bleed...

His rush was, in his mind, effective. Attacking the joints was completely logical when faced with an armor that hides and protects a body. So his rush would have ended the first part of a fight even without him being willing to continue. And if he injured this boy, his miasma would take care of him for a minute as well.

His surprise was that much bigger when what he thought to be an armor opened up completely, to reveal that nothing was inside. Samael’s shock was enough for a moment of hesitation, which caused his demise. He was engulfed by the metallic plates that were so unlike his own blades equipped on his wings. He struggled, lashed out. He expected the armor to squeeze the breath out of him, to crash his lungs, to crash his bones, his whole body. He would have none of it! His wings spread wide and flapped around, but they failed to lift his body weighted by the extra armor. He fell back on the ground, but his wings continued to struggle, dragging his body uselessly from one side to another as he tried to fly but couldn’t. He was stranded, shackled by a sentient armor, and Samael was consumed by frustration. His mask was knocked off of him just as the helmet closed on his face. He cared little about that now. Black markings were already snaking on his body, appearing from under his skin to cover his face, upper torso and arms when he tried to use the power in his wings, but failed.

His body, already covered by the armor, collided against the wall of a building nearby, and he grunted in frustration. “Engedj el! Azonnal!” He realized the language he used would not have any use, so he continued on in Japanese. “Get off me! What the hell are you?! You are just controlling a powersuit remotely, aren’t you?” He struggled some more, leaning his shoulder against the wall, trying to open up and move his arms, but being unable to. “I will do whatever the hell I want!” His wings would move again, but the plates that opened up on the back of the armor were holding them down, so he couldn’t move them freely. He still tried, and he could feel the edge of the plates grazing against his own blades, his feathers, his flesh. He wanted these restrictions gone.

He wanted them gone!

Gone!

In his struggle, in desperation, his wings curled inward, the blades would scratch against the armor that held him down and prohibited him from soaring high, to move wherever he wanted. This thing was shackling him to the ground, and it was yet not enough to calm him down.

“Release me!” He yelled, and his yell was followed by frustrated shouts when Samael smashed his shoulder, his whole body against the wall. “Get it off me!”

He would continue this crazed rampage for minutes before he would feel fatigue from the useless frustration and shouting. By that time, his struggles would bring them back to the smaller alleyway, probably away from curious eyes that would look out to check on the ruckus outside. Samael was still standing, and still talking, though he was obviously exhausted. “A francba. You rascal. What do you want?”

This boy was an annoyance, to say the least. But Samael was tired, so so tired, and realized after slowly being drained of energy that trying to force his way out of the armor he was trapped into was useless. He only grunted when he first heard the boy’s voice from the inner speakers talking directly to his ear, and shook his head. This little rascal. He was a tricky little thing, and it hurt his pride that he was bested so easily. He lost his good judgment in his crazed fury, and ten minutes of rampage was needed for him to get it all back.

For heaven’s sake, he was so tired. So tired that he was swearing to heaven, which couldn’t be any less uncharacteristic for him.

When the squeeze and the rigidity of the armor grew uncomfortable, he could feel the locks being removed as he was finally allowed to move. Before anything else, he spread his wings out as much as he could, feeling them move without a problem. That already made relief rush through him. His wings were his everything. If they were damaged or restrained, he felt like his life energy itself was siphoned out of him. He did not intend to fly away, even though the flapping movements of the feathery wings might have proven otherwise. He knew that with this kind of weight on him, he won’t be able to take flight. But the movement. The movement calmed him down, and even this little rascal would be able to notice that.

“You are one annoying little brat.” He breathed out with the faintest of a dishonest smile. Now that he could put a name to the... face, he would be able to think of this thing as more than a robot or a boy simply. He was still slightly bent forward, breathing hard, heart thrumming in his chest while he listened, wings moving in turn. The armor itself, huh. That is one really unusual thing, even for mutations. Samael knew a few things about those, being one of the firsts, given his age. Society did not take to quirkers kindly, especially not mutations. “Not like I have any other choice but to listen.” He was talking into his ear, in the end. He can’t even put a hand there to tune him out.

The alleyway they stood at was empty by now, blood drying on its ground. The two bodies of the thugs Samael attacked were nowhere to be found. He supposed they were either still living when he left them, or someone came to gather them up in the few moments he was busy with the roboboy. Yusaku. Right. He could care less.

He wasn’t yet aware of the fact Yusaku was able to see his face. He assumed his sight would only work outward for whatever reason. He really wasn’t knowledgeable with higher technology, which was exactly the reason why he left anything like that to Kyoko. Thinking of it, she also had a computer inside her body, so really, a talking, living suit of armor shouldn’t be too hard to imagine.

Shining green eyes were blown wide upon the reveal of who Yusaku was. He wasn’t sure to be impressed by the boy’s openness, or pity him for being naïve enough to reveal such information about himself. He opted to stay on middle ground for now, until he knew more. Luckily, the boy seemed to be willing to share. Maybe he can get something out of this.

“There is really no need to prove anything to me.” He said straightening his body to a fully standing position now that he caught his breath. “You have no reason to. But really.” He raised a hand to look at the armor around it. “This is unbelievable. I didn’t know anything like this was possible.” His interest was caught, and so, he was listening. He was still bloodthirsty, ready to jump at a thug any moment, but being confined by this armor was a problem. Something that will need to be solved soon. “If it is any consolation, you do not sound dead to me. So long as you have your soul...”

“So enjoy my cat paws and ears and tail for the time being.”

“Ugh.” Was his immediate response, because only one thing was worse than being trapped in armor: being trapped in an armor that looked like a cat. “I am not willing enough to learn to purr anytime soon.” The little sarcastic jab slipped out against better judgment, but there was no way to take it back anymore.

“You say you aren’t about to hurt me?” He allowed himself a bitter laugh. “What do you consider “hurting”, little one? I am restricted by you, my freedom taken, which is worse than any kind of physical pain you could ever inflict on me.” He nearly spat the words, snarled, which made it obvious that despite not trashing and heaving anymore, he was nowhere as calm as Yusaku wanted him to be. Drained and exhausted, he would still hold onto grudge, no matter where that originated from. But his anger wasn’t directed at Yusaku, still. Those idiots who dared to play him for a fool were the source of all his misery.

There was a momentary, stunned pause when his wings were mentioned.

Cool, huh?

He quieted down into contemplation.

“These cool wings scratched up your little paintwork pretty badly, didn’t they? Are you an M, or what?” His teasing was used to mask wonder. Talking about mask... he glanced back at the secluded street and the abandoned mask he left there when the robotic opponent unpredictably opened up before him. That was such an amateur move, although, all things considered, the mask normally wouldn’t be knocked off him so easily. This was a special case. But the boy was logical, which was not surprising from a soul trapped in a mechanical body with binary thought process.

He tried to walk, and found it being as easy as if he was doing it without a sentient armor on. Surprisingly. He walked slowly and deliberately toward the street, movements careful. While reaching down, he kept listening to Yusaku talking, because really, what else could he do with this armor on that he couldn’t just pry off of himself so easily. He could continue to scratch him with his blades and smash him against the concrete, but there was no point in continuing to do that right now.

“You should not try to be a psychologist on top of a sentient armor, little Yu.” he used the boy’s given name shortened on purpose. In his country, there was no custom of using the family name with people he met first, and on top of that, his people were notorious about shortening even the given name further to appear with more familiarity. On an official business, he would be more formal, of course. Now was not the time for that. He twirled his black mask between his fingers. “I don’t really care what they think. Play the victims, scream all they like, I could care less. I just wanted to punish them. Make them bleed. Or what, haven’t you noticed? I am a bloodthirsty murderer.” He teased with a little smile, hiding behind easy lies that are more likely to be believed in a situation as this one. He was not about to go into details concerning his reasons. He was just here to kill people, kill time. It was enough if this little mechanical boy only knew that much. “I am the worst of the worse, and that is how it is.” He nearly snorted at the mention of broken legs. Really. Some justice-driven individuals were worse than he himself, so it seemed.

As his wings were mentioned again, Miha deliberately spread them wide in demonstration, then pulling them around to experimentally scrape at Yusaku’s chest piece with one of the blades, feathers fully visible for both of them. “To all hell, you sound worse than a therapist. Discrimination, abuse, bullying? Honestly.” He scraped at the armor on his left arm this time, his voice turning lower, nearly to a purr. “Do I look like someone to be bullied? Really now. I must have given a bad impression.” Just as an experiment, he nudged one of his blades into the joint around Yusaku’s right elbow to see if the material would give. It didn’t seem like he had much care about injuring himself in the process, but the movement was so slow and deliberate that rather than an attack, it was more akin to torture.

“You aren’t really good boy, are you, Yu? Otherwise, you wouldn’t like wings like this, nor would you be okay with implying to torture others if you think they deserve it.” His voice was still a low purr, a murmur, as if he was talking into the ears of a dear beloved. To a person with a living body, it would be enough to send a pleasurable shiver down their spine. “Your justice seems to be twisted.” He hummed to himself, and walked back toward the more secluded part of the alley. “You can call me Samael when my mask is on. You have not earned to know any other name yet though. Now, tell me. How exactly did you die and end up in this body?”

He seemingly ignored Yusaku’s threat of taking his wings away, and continued on with the scraping until his own nerves could feel the results. He growled lowly out of discomfort, feeling the scraping pain on his chest and left arm exactly where the armor was tested for damage. Reluctantly, his wings fell away from the armor, and settled at his back to rest, only moving occasionally to shake themselves of nerves and the want to fly.

“Oh, shut it with your idea of justice.” He murmured, temper hidden behind quiet and uninterested words. “I could care less why you want to be a hero. You are too young to understand why it is okay to kill. The system is wrong, and people who have done much worse things than me are still out there, living their comfortable little life. Do you think you are entitled to judge others because you want to be a hero? Please.” He almost laughed. This teenager was trying to prove his right, but oh, he was so wrong. So naïve and so passionate, but so, so wrong. But he had to halt, because some of the robot’s words were getting dangerous. Not for him, but for Yusaku.

“Careful.” He warned. “Tell the wrong person about how you want to help villains too, and they might shun you for it forever. Bad people are your enemies. You are not supposed to help them, you know.” Even as his wing was pushed away gently, much gentler than a metal paw should be able to, Yusaku’s words were backed up. He wished not to harm him anymore, but Samael could not trust the words. This boy was weird. Rather than a hero, he had the mentality of a vigilante instead. Hell, if torture was involved, maybe even a villain. “Have you heard the saying that the road to hell is paved with good intentions? Maybe you ought to remember that.” Seems like he was getting a bit too tired, giving advice to a wannabe hero of all people.

He almost snorted when Yusaku admitted it was a shame his wings were tainted by blood, although he ignored how it was told again that his wings were nice. “Oh my. Do not worry.” He pulled his wings forward again, to show that even though they were still red from blood, it was much paler compared to before. “My wings absorb the dirt over time, so in a few minutes, they will be pristine again.” Though he understood that wasn’t the actual root of the problem, he was having fun proving the kid wrong any time he could.

He could feel his arms moving forward as Yusaku raised his paws to the field of his vision, showing the scratches on the armored body. Samael nearly snorted. “Excuse me, mister nice guy. It is not my problem you are trying to be kind and not hurt me despite how I roughed you up.” He paused for a moment, contemplating how much a robot can truly read of him when he barely had a body language trapped in a sentient armor anyway. He tilted his head, then straightened up again, pulling his wings back to his back. He paced slowly in the abandoned alleyway like a caged beast once he was given freedom of movement. “It wasn’t a lie. I am not as good of a person as you think I am.” His voice raised just a bit, as if annoyed, unable to understand the boy. “Why do you think that anyway? Talking to a murderer so casually like this can already land you on the bad side of the law.” He looked at their reflection as well, seeing the black, accented armor with the white bladed wings walk around and looking back at him. It was a surreal feeling, seeing his wings on something that was unrecognizable for his mind.

“Hurray. I am not a crazy person, just a sly psychopath.” He laughed. “How exactly is that better?” He growled again. “You know what? Don’t answer that.” This is not working. No matter what he tells to this annoying kid, he is unable to get away so long as this boy was latched onto him like an armor. “I had a reason. So what? You have no business knowing my reasons.” He saw the glint in the display that showed Yusaku’s eyes, and while it made him wonder how expressive it can be, he also realized what the boy was looking at. Straightening up, he spread his wings again only as wide as the alleyway allowed him to do, which was, sadly, not much. His wings were too big for the alley, but it was still an attempt to boast his quirk and somewhat give a show for the boy. If he liked his wings, he would allow him to watch. The wiggling tail was the only stain on the picture, and he frowned, turning away.

Holding his abandoned mask in his hand – cat paw, actually, that was weird – he started walking towards the end of the alley, away from the blood stains, and away from where the other thug escaped to. “I am always this grumpy. Are you always this annoying?” Was a simple answer given when Yusaku asked again. He wasn’t about to tell him his reasons, no matter how much he asked. Even if he told his problems to someone it would certainly not be a UA student trapped in a cat-like armor. “I am not showing you where I live. But since you are not only a cat but a leech too, apparently, I’ll have you escort me part of the way. It doesn’t seem like you want to get off anytime soon.” He really shouldn’t continue to argue with a boy. Teenagers were the worst kinds of people to fall into the argument with, because they always wanted to be right, no matter what they were told. Yusaku seemed to be the same, and Samael was already too tired of dealing with him.