Ghost of Thiefs Past (White Reaper Vs Ronnin)

A Few Days Ago

Ben Castleton sat in his apartment looking through a stack of files. They were police records that he had obtained with an inside man on the force. Records of crimes comitted by those with superhuman abilities. A good deal of them had never been caught. That was typical of metahuman crimes. Too many of them were left unsolved and the criminal scum often got away solely because of their abilities. Nobody seemed able to police them, to bring them to Justice. That was his job. Instead of bringing them to Justice however, he brought Justice to them in the form of slashing blades. They had forfeited their right to a fair trial and a prison sentance the moment they abused their God-given abilities. For them there would be only death.

He turned back to his current file. He had been looking back on a case three years ago. Pair of meta's had trashed a store and tried to rob the place. The owner had managed to blast one of filth with a shotgun but seemed to have been killed by the other. Study of the girl's corpse had revealed her to be a shapeshifting meta who had been suspected of several thefts beforehand. Of the other, the one that got away, nothing was known about him. It was likely that he was still alive today. In fact, Ben thought it very likely. For one of his other files told him of a recent "hero" who had something in common with his mystery murderer. After all, how many people would use R-shaped shurikens?

 Ben picked up an evidence bag and held it close to his mangled face. A small bloodstained shuriken was in it. it had taken him quite a bit of manipulation and blackmail to get this. The shuriken resembled a small metal R. It had once been sharp but time had blunted it's edge. It had been found in the shopkeeper's throat. The police had already dusted it for prints but there had been none. However, Ben had access to a few techniques that the police did not.

He opened the evidence bag and placed the shuriken in the palm of his hand. The bloodstains were old yes, but the blood had come from the jugular. The memories from blood taken from the jugular were strong. Only by consuming the heart or brain could one get more vivid memories. It was likely there was still some vestige of memory.

He held it up to his mouth and licked it, drawing his tongue along the dark mark that would have appeared as red to anyone but him. The familiar tingling told him it had worked and he sat back as he received faint dying images of the man's last moments.

Firing shotgun...girl/theif hit...Oh God...didn't mean to hurt her...Only wanted to scare...Other one...Turn around...see his face...blackness

Ben spat as the fuzzy chain of memories concluded. He picked up the file about the new "hero". There was a picture of the young man. He compared it to the memory of the face that had killed the shopkeeper. If one accounted for three years of growth, then they were clearly the same person. He felt disappointed. He had hoped that it could've been someone else using similar weapons to this 'Ronnin' but it was clearly not the case. Ronnin had taken the life of an innocent. And was now regarded by the general public as a hero.

That must stop now. Ronnin had a debt. A debt to the shopkeeper, to society and to God Himself. And that debt was being called in.

As the Bible said, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a bruise for a bruise, a wound for a wound...and a life for a life.

He pulled out a skull mask out from a drawer in the desk and placed it over his face. It looked like it was time for a little trip to the City of the Angels. Ben Castleton had started this investigation, the White Reaper would finish it.


Present

He had heard of returning to the scene of the crime but this seemed a little...odd. Returning after three years to the day? There had to be something more to this. He stayed silent on top of the rooftop and waited as his prey placed a rose next to the building. It almost seemed as if he was in mourning. Could he possibly be in remorse over the death of the shopkeeper?

He heard his words. No. He was grieving for the girl he had been with. The girl who was undoubtedly screaming in the fires of Hell at this very moment. It was a waste of a good rose, putting it in memory of a filthy slut like her. He waited until Ronnin had gotten onto his motorbike and left before jumping down into the alleyway. He could've attacked him then and there but he didn't. He seemed guilty about the death of his companion, who had seemed to have been the human equivalent of a sea slug. He wanted it to rub it in, to make him suffer about it.

He picked up the rose. Such a sweet thing, in rememberance of those gone. It had been until Ronnin had defiled it by his mere touch. He tucked it into his long white cloak. Time to go.

The Next Day

Ronnin was at school. He knew this because he had followed the boy from a distance before heading back to his house. Ronnin apparently lived with an old man, who stayed home. He needed the house to set his trap. The old man must first be removed. He walked up to the house and knocked on the door. It opened slightly but as soon as the old man saw a white cloaked skull faced figure standing there, he closed it quickly.

Not quick enough. The Reaper swept forward, holding the door open with one hand and taking hold of the old man's windpipe with the other. He leapt inside the house and slammed the old man against a wall. He was wheezing, clearly trying to speak but was unable thanks to the Reaper's crushing grip on his windpipe.

"Urk..ghaargh"

"Save your breath old man," the Reaper whispered and the man paled from the fear-inducing effects of the Reaper's proximity.

"Those who harbour murderers are little better then murderers themselves. Consider yourself lucky I don't kill you right now."

The old man still was trying to talk, perhaps to point out the contradiction in the Reaper's sentence. More likely to scream. He was dropped with a fist to the gut and was quickly bound and gagged. The Reaper searched the house until he found a suitable closet. He bundled the tied up oldster in there, where nobody could see or hear him.

He shut the door again and settled down inside the house. All one had to do was wait for the murderer to come home. He fingered the rose before absent-mindedly placing it his mouth, chewing it up and spitting it on the floor in a lump of phlegm.

Let him come.

He would find that both justice and death were inescapable.

The Reaper waited for his prey to return home. Ronnin was later than expected but that didn't change anything. In fact, it improved things. The longer Ronnin waited, the lower the sun slipped in the sky and the less sunlight there was. Thanks to his vampire genes, sunlight, while it didn't hurt him, did weaken him. Because of this, he had pulled the curtains of the particular room he was hiding in and it was thankfully dark. It would not be long before the sun went down altogether and his powers reached their maximum.

He stood passive and patiently, waiting.

He heard a noise. Because of his partial deafness, it sounded far off and muted.

"Taiji-sensei I'm home." 

"Sorry I'm late, the arcade had a Beta test of the new king of fighters game."

Ronnin was home. He stood and waited until the door opened. In came the murderer himself, Ronnin. He recognised the face from the dying memories of the shopkeeper. Underneath the mask, his face twisted into a grimace.

"Funny I didn't see a pale horse outside anywhere, nor did I see Hell following anyone."

The Reaper's only response to the boy's confident jibes was to pull out one of his extendable scythes. With a schhth! it expended to it was nearly full length. To expand it longer would make it too big to swing well in the room.

"Now I know it has to be to early for trick or treating, cause it not even October yet."

Ronnin circled infront of him. He drummed his fingers on the handle of his scythe as he said,

"Hold your tongue, boy, lest it be ripped out."

His Aura was diminished by the fading sunlight but he concentrated what remained at the boy, sending specters of fear his way.

His foe dropped down to some sort of martial art stance. This one knew his stuff. The Reaper had no knowledge of martial arts, preferring to let his split-second intuition guide him in a fight. They were a lot harder to predict. The Reaper looked into his greenish eyes. Those were the eyes of a murderer. One that needed to be put down.

"Look I don't now what you want but it's really a bad time for me. Just tell me nothing is wrong with Taiji-san and were he is. And I'll forget that you had just made the mistake, that you did."

The Reaper gave a low chuckle that chilled the base of the spine.

"The old man? Don't worry about him. He will be fine. However, I cannot say the same thing about you. I am not the one who has made the mistake here boy. You will learn that-"

He broke off in mid-sentance in hope of catching his enemy by surprise as he sprang from his relaxed yet alert stance and thrust his scythe forward in an attempt to knock the wind out of his foe by jabbing him in the mid-section with part of the handle. He then swung it around in several tight twisting loops designed to disembowel the boy in front of him before finishing by twisting the scythe around in a blur and stabbing foward with the butt with all his strength behind it.

He flung himself backwards in a in a flip in the hope of avoiding any of the boy's retaliating strikes. That is, if the boy was still alive.

The Reaper watched in dismay as the boy ducked into the inside of his swing. That was the scythe's weakness. When the opponent was in the inside of the swing, all one could do was to hope to clobber them with the handle. This one was fast. The Reaper barely dodged his attack by his spur of the moment backflip. He didn't know why he had done that backflip. He didn't really have a reason. It was his Intuition, saving him once again.

He swung his scythe at his foe but was foiled as Ronnin brought his head down and dodged the potentially decapatating strike. Damn! It was still light out and he was slower than normal. That would all change however, very soon. There wasn't that much time left after all, until the sun went down. And then he would taste vengeance.

Ronnin took two steps back.

"Though your fighting skills looks to be sloppy, I’d hate to admit it but your reflexes are top notch."

He reached for an antique sword hanging on the wall.

"Ya know the great thing about Taiji-san, is all the weapons in this are kept up and can be used in real com…bat! I don’t know how and why you’re tracking me down… cause it’s obvious you’re not after Taiji-sensei… So what do you wont with a high school kid?"

Ronnin ran at him, swinging the sword. It was evidently well cared for and still sharp. This was shaping up to be more of a fight then he expected it to be. He threw his scythe to the side and pulled out his own sword. A scythe would not do well in a fight such as this. He swung his sword at Ronnin's own blade, hoping that in a clash between swords, the Reaper's superior strength would be enough to take the sword out of Ronnin's hands.

At the last second, Ronnin's sword changed hands and the Reaper's sword whistled through the empty air. That was not the attack though. A sudden instinct told the Reaper to step back NOW and recognising his Intuition, he did so. Even so, his shin was still clipped by his enemy's low kick, causing him to stumble back. During that time, Ronnin's fist came around at his temple. He jerked his head away, and the fist only barely grazed him. That and the sudden jerk was enough to momentarily throw him off balance. His foot tripped on one of the many ornaments that had been scattered on the ground by the fight and the Reaper crashed onto the ground.
Halfway through his fall, he regained composure and turned what might have been a painful landing to a graceful roll as he hit the ground. As he lay on the ground, he quickly pulled out a handful of crosses. Aside from their obvious religious value, their points and edges were sharpened, turning them into dangerous weapons. He flung them at Ronnin's face as he rolled backwards. Pushing off from the wall behind him, he went from a position on the ground to launching himself feet-first through the air.

He hit the ground next to Ronnin and wasted no time. He swung his fist in a haymaker at Ronnin's jaw while his other hammered towards his gut with great force. In a sudden flash of instinct, he suddenly ducked down and drove his foot up towards his opponent's crotch.

He picked up his sword and stepped back, holding it in a defensive position.

"What do I want with a high school kid? I don't have business with a high-school kid. I have business with a liar, thief and murderer. I guess that's you."

He watched in satisfaction as Ronnin keeled over in a most satisfying way. He held his sword up as he groaned around in a fetal position. He was in pain, there was no denying that.

"H-how.. do y-you... know.. who I u-use to be… and how d-did you… find out w-who I am?"

"It was no easy task. I admit that. I've been looking into old metahuman crimes, hoping to find the little fishes who slipped through Justice's Net. You're particular murder was easily traced when I dug a little deeper and found that the weapon was one of your fancy little shurikens. After that, it took only one phonecall to find out who still used those weapons. The man I spoke to knew you. Knew you and liked you. You were a part of his team and he liked you but he liked me more. After all, family comes before friends. That's something that he and I have always known."

He raised his sword, preparing to thrust it into the prostrate body lying on the floor. It was aimed at his belly. Belly wounds were painful and not instantly fatal. It might take Ronnin a long and painful time to die if he stuck it in the right spot.

"But enough of the chitchat. Time to make you squeal like the filthy pig that you are."

He brought the blade down. It hit the ground. Moments before the sword would have gutted him, Ronnin disappeared with a pop of displaced air. What! He must have teleported. Where the hell is he now? He hoped that the range of the teleporter wasn't far. In seeming answer to his prayer, he heard the sound of a motorbike starting. He was only just outside the house. The Reaper bgan to run.

Without slowing he crashed into the window facing out towards the front of the house. He landed on the ground to see Ronnin's motorcycle starting the down the street. No. He was not to be getting away that easily. Taking a deep breath, the Reaper began to run.

He quickly reached speeds that Olympic sprinters would have been envious of. He surpassed even those speeds a moment later. Soon he had reached his maximum speed of fifty miles per hour. But he could still not catch the bike. He had chased it down into the city streets where the fading light stung him and lessened him. He was tiring. Unfortunately, motorcycles did not tire.

With a roar, he pulled out an unextended sythe, around a foot long. Mustering his flagging stamina he ran forward on a final desperate boost and threw the small scythe at the figure on the motorcycle. He didn't see what happened after that because he simply ran out of stamina to keep us such a speed. He collapsed in an alleyway, drawing strength from it's shadows.

Hopefully, the sycthe had gotten him. He could not be sure though. He would have to track Ronnin down. He thought about it. In this city, where was Ronnin most likely to go?

Underneath his mask, he grinned as the sun sank further towards the horizon. Ronnin will no doubt suffer for this. There was no doubt whatsoever.

Reaper slowly walked down the alleyways. He had no idea whether his scythe had done something or not but it presented to him a problem. He was currently out of scythes. All he had now was his sword. Best to keep that close to hand. He gazed through his mask at the city beyond. He was sure that it was dark and probably wasn't particulary colourful. Still, that was one of the things he missed the most. Colour. He saw the world through monochrome.

He continued walking before stopping. Something was wrong. He felt...danger! He quickly stepped back and felt a brush of air as something passed where he had been. Invisible? He drew his sword. Wait for it...Wait for it...now! At the feeling of his Intuition, he swung his sword in a wide arc in front of him. The sword glanced something. That something, deflected downawrds from it's course to his throat smashed him in the chest instead. He puffed as the wind was driven out of him.

Something even heavier then hit his chest again, driving him down. He felt the odd feeling that came from at least one of his ribs moving in ways they shouldn't move. A small ache started there but that was all. The air shimmered as Ronnin appeared, sitting on his chest.

"Ok, I don't know where you got your information from... But I'm no meta, and though I maybe have been a thief I am no murderer."

He was no meta? What? He had clairovoyant abilities. The boy was foolish, hiding what he should be embracing.

"Wrong," he hissed. "You are a murderer. You cannot run forever."

He ended his sentance by gargling and spitting into his assailants face.

Ronnin stood off him and the Reaper quickly jumped for his feet, swinging his sword. The boy threw a handful of things at him. When they hit him, he found out their function soon enough. They exploded against his body in minature explosions. He felt a sting as it shredded parts of his cloak but his skin remained unmarked.

"Try again."

He saw Ronnin reach for his belt, no doubt for his teleporter. Coward. Well, he was not getting away that easily. He leapt forward in a blur, latching an arm around Ronnin's chest with one hand and driving his fist towards his face with the other.

The teleporter activated and Ronnin disappeared. Only this time, he wasn't the only one. The White Reaper was coming along for the ride.