[The hitman's all but laughed response; a mirthless, almost angered sound. For months he'd pressed this man to duel - draw his sword and bleed him, once - and all those times he'd failed, refused. It'd left his pride in shambles then, but drove the younger mad with want; a need that grew as weeds, untamed. Nic, he smelled of blood and death, and all the scent alone was draw; as meat to wolves that hungered, starved.]
Now you'll fight me?
[But, every inch of sword revealed reveals what Kyoya can't hold back.
His eyes were almost dancing now.]
Looking like that?
[Like Hell the boy would turn it down. Instead, he's raised his weapons. Tensed.]
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Now you'll fight me?
[But, every inch of sword revealed reveals what Kyoya can't hold back.
His eyes were almost dancing now.]
Looking like that?
[Like Hell the boy would turn it down. Instead, he's raised his weapons. Tensed.]
Come on.