Blood-Soaked Flag: Andferne vs. Espada

                The streets were crowded. They were always crowded on days like today. Something was happening at the United Nations building; something big enough that all of New York was out on the streets waving dollar store American flags in a mad fervour.  In this particular case that something was the best shot at peace in the Middle East, for the North American soldiers to come home, and for the US to save as much face as possible. A representative of Al Qaeda, Shireek Al Raman, was meeting the Ambassadors of the world to begin negotiations for peace. The future looked so bright. Of course, there were always people blinded by that light, people who would rather live in darkness. It was, in fact, one of these people who was trying to ensure that peace was never found.

Senator Jonathon Morris was a veteran of the Vietnam War. In his campaign for office he actually stood on the street and kissed babies. The people loved him. This blind admiration was exactly why no one would ever guess that he would be behind a bomb going off at the peace conference, especially in the presence of a terrorist group. The man had connections that went as high up as connections can go, and to the lowest depths of the underworld imaginable.

                It was for none of these reasons that Espada now perched on the rooftop of the UN building, looking down at the gathered people. Senator Morris had played a key role in Project: Pierce, the group that had made the Spaniard into what he now was: a cold-blooded killing machine. That, and the time he spent traveling had changed him, perhaps even reawakening something that had only barely lived; a glimmer of humanity, maybe? Whatever this thing was, it compelled him to stop the bomb from being detonated, or, rather from being detonated at that point in time. Diego had plans for the device.

                It was almost certain the American’s would dispatch some special ops or another to try and stop him, which is why Espada came prepared. Not taking his eyes from the crowd for a moment, he ran down a mental checklist of his equipment.

His body armour blended in with the stone structure perfectly, making him virtually invisible to the spectators below. At the base of each of his wrist a small pneumatic grappling hook was attached, with a collapsible crossbow on his right forearm. His signature desert eagles were slung on either side of his thighs from the same belt that housed his fifteen throwing knives, along with a small bundle of quarrels and several additional rounds for his firearms. A pouch at his side contained a variety of explosive devices, most of them no bigger than an olive. The assassin’s signature blade lay across his back, with the Vibracks Blade just beneath it. Finally, his left glove had been outfitted with an EMP capable of making any mechanical or electrical device useless, but it only had enough juice for one good sized pulse, so it was imperative that he save it for when it was absolutely necessary.

                The collective cheers of the congregation of people below him rose to a crescendo. Whatever was going to happen would happen very soon.

                The sound of the applause from below shook the windows of the surrounding buildings. The festivities were finally getting underway, so now was the time to watch for any sign of activity. This politician planned on killing hundreds of people so that he could keep in power, or to acquire a large monetary sum, or maybe because he had some prejudice or other. It didn’t matter the reason, because this man had made one mistake that was coming back to haunt him ahead of the rest, and nothing would prevent Diego from extracting the revenge that he was due.

                Espada knew he was no longer alone even before the muscular figure several feet away had hit the rooftop. To turned to face his opponent, and for the first time in god knows how long his neutral features showed a hint of surprise. He had read files on the warrior posed before him. The “peak of humanity”, was what documents called him, though the newspapers were much more to the point simply providing the label of “hero”. Nothing could be truer. This powerful man had proved himself against overwhelming odds on countless occasions. A man who placed honour, justice, duty, and loyalty above all else and who would die for what he believed in. For a man such as this to be here now meant only one thing; the conspiracy reached higher and farther into the catacombs of this country’s political system then Diego had ever dreamed.

                “I’m going to give you this one chance to forget about whatever it is you are thinking of doing here. We don’t have to do this the hard way.” The light gleamed off of his visor and shield, both at the ready. Though most of his face was obscured, Diego could still tell that the hero was busy analyzing every aspect of the environment in which they now stood, from the geometry of the surrounding buildings to the minutest movements he made.

                From down on the stage one could easily hear someone speaking into the microphone. It was some author, a speaker on the importance of world peace, one taking full advantage of his fifteen minutes of fame to make himself known at this world-changing event. A rare smile stretched across the Spaniard’s thin lips. There was more time then he had initially thought, time enough to give The Star Spangled hero a worthy battle. Without a moment’s hesitation, Diego reached for the Desert Eagles at his side, withdrew them from their holsters, and released the ammunition cartridges. They fell to the concrete roof with a clatter, soon followed by the guns themselves. He repeated this with the SMG’s he carried, and then dropped the tiny bag of explosives.

                “You and I both know that the other will never blink.” His steely eyes turned to the red and gold visor, fixing them with a glare that could pierced through one’s soul. “You are a true warrior and have my respect. I will give you only my best. But tell me, Patriota, do you really know what is at stake here? For that matter, do you know who I am?” Without warning, his muscles barely even flexing, Espada threw himself towards Andferne. Somersaulting through the air and onto the stone rooftop not two feet away from his enemy, Diego aimed a deadly Capoeira kick at the hero’s knee. Making full use of his momentum, the Spaniard threw himself backwards, landing on the tips of his fingers and aiming a second, potentially devastating blow the powerful jaw just above him. Flipping back out of Andferne’s immediate swing radius, bouncing on the balls of his feet in preparation to evade a counter-attack, his right hand flew to his sword handle, ready to draw it at a moment’s notice. “Shall we dance, then?”

They were suddenly surrounded by the audible voice of a man speaking into a microphone. His words preaching on about a new way in the world. About peace and prosperity, a way to end these wars and live in a world free. It was a well written and motivational speech which was causing many of the gathered news and media to erupt in cheers and applause. The man was setting the stage for a larger view of the world, not knowing of the epic war that was about to start above them as two determined men stared towards one another. Both filled with that determination, that spirit which drove them to who they are.

A small smile crept onto the strange man's face as he revealed his twin desert eagles. Just a heartbeat later the clips of the guns crashed onto the roof top. Quickly followed were the guns themselves and then a larger assault rifle across his back. Then a tiny black bag was also dropped, containing high powered explosives. The act of this immediately told Andy more about this stranger before him. The man had character, a type of courage and in his own measure a sense of honor. There was an uneasy pause of admiration towards this man from Andy, a moment of respect felt between the two.

The man then broke the silence between them. His voice hinting at his foreign accent. “You and I both know that the other will never blink. You are a true warrior and have my respect. I will give you only my best. But tell me, Patriota, do you really know what is at stake here? For that matter, do you know who I am?” His words were cold, almost absent of any emotion. It was apparent that this was a man on a mission, he had something that he wanted accomplished here today. Andy knew however that it dealt with the masses before. Most likely with Senator Jonathon Morris, who was the cause for it all. What the merc did not know however was what Andy did actually know. He was well aware of the corruption in the Senator, of the pay offs and double deals. But that in itself was not a right to murder the man in cold blood. Or to potentially harm dozens of others for that purpose. He would stand trial, not be assassinated.

In a flash of movement Esparda somersaulted towards Andy in an impressive display of agility and pose. His balance and agility perfected to an art form as he struck towards Andy with a sweeping Capoeira kick. The impact from the blow buckling Andy's knee and causing him to fall towards the ground. Quickly however he recovered into a diving roll and leaped back onto his feet to regain his balance. Like a rabid dog the Spaniard was still upon him, striking out once more with a devastating blow. But this time however it was to his chin. The blow connected solidly as his head sprung around violently. Blood gushing out of his lips as it splintered down the middle. Spinning in a circle and using the momentum of the force with him the Star Spangled Hero gained distance between the two. All the while keeping track of his targets.

Blood was dripping down his mouth as Andy reached up to brush it away. The mercenary already having a slender blade drawn and ready for the counter attack. Now the mans voice held confidence as he taunted on. “Shall we dance, then?” There was just a small smile on his face as Andy evaluated the surroundings once more. Though his wounds were real and his leg ached, it was all for a purpose. To carefully arrange the chess pieces so that one could strike out and take away the others weapons. It just took a quick glance down to reveal what was already known to Andy. Now down beside his feet were the mans weapons he had so easily discarded earlier. A fast kick send the SMG hurtling over the building and down into an alley way. Bending down he followed it up by tossing aside the guns into a trash heap below them, bullet clips and all.

"You came here prepared for something bigger. I won't let that happen. Today you will find our that Terrorism is not tolerated here in America. Today you get to face America's Justice face on." His words were stern and almost lecturing as he stared at the man. His gaze as if it would burn holes straight through his very soul and reveal him for what he really is. Now in his grasp for the small bag of explosives, one swift and sudden movement sent it flying high up into the sky. Just as the bag reached its apex of altitude a crimson blast fired off, chasing after it. Just seconds later the two connected, a huge BOOM blasting far above them as the forces ignited. The massive explosion filling the entire city block and causing the media frenzy below to stop. Security personnel were buzzing about below them like little bees as people ran for cover. Woman and children crying out in terror as they were ushered to safety far away from the roof top.

"Now it is just you and me." Again his words were solid and determined, as if filled with poison against the terror this man could bring. Dashing towards Esparda the Ice Dragon went into his own combination of blows. His shield was held firmly in his left hand as he approached, sending it out in a sweeping blow towards the Spaniards sword arm. The technique meant to clash against the blade and open his defensive stance. Quickly following that up in hopes that the opening however short lived was there. He spun into a spinning back kick. Thrusting with his hips just before it would impact for the added power. A snapping motion that would drop a steel door from its hinges. Leading in with his heel first for the most damaging portion of his boot.

The American was now set low into his own defensive stance. His powerful legs held sternly beneath him as he readied himself into that left forward stance. His shield held out in front of him and ready to combat against that deadly blade waiting to shred the red, white, and blue.