The helicopter careened hopelessly through the air, striking the sky scraper's rooftop, Grimm City barely flinching at the ensuing explosion that sent shards of steel into the sky, noxious smoke billowing from the unrecognisable remains of the once airborne vehicle.
Two orange boots kissed the opposite side of the same building's head, a pair of slipstream navy blue glider wings compressing themselves back into the compartment they'd originated from within the centre of the Mercenary's spine, courtesy of his innovative costume, fitted with an assortment of gear and trinkets, each befitted with an individual purpose.
The menacing frame of the Shinigami strode forward calmly, each footstep clacking off of the cement with an eerily metallic sound, the battered rooftop barely trembling slightly from the sudden impact that the 'copter had dealt it, cracks and fissures littering it's texture. The Mercenary came to a poised stop just a few feet away from the charred remains of the flying machination, folding his arms across his chest coolly and waiting.
After a few seconds of terse silence only disturbed by the crackling of flames, something within the depths of the fire shifted, and like a bat straight out of hell, a figure leaped at the composed Killer Supreme, spearing the hallowed soldier-of-fortune with such force that the floor beneath his feet quivered. Both beings flew backwards, rolling across the gravel, arms moving like pistons, both individual's fighting to attain physical control of the situation. A series of grappling techniques so sophisticated only few minds in the world could grasp the complexity of it's flow were made with effortless profession, the Mercenary counter-attacking each movement with a veteran's skill, slowly but steadily gaining the upper ground.
His assailant's palm struck him across the jaw, snapping his neck instantaneously. He coughed once, then continued to fight, using an ancient martial art that involved cutting off all of ones senses and experience close quarters combat. He'd mastered it in a few days. This situation was still in his favour, as the only one of his senses that had been lost from him was his sight, the awkward angle of his neck leaving him to stare at the cement. His movements grew faster, repelling each of his opponent's assault's with increasingly brutal force, finally dealing a deft snake-styled peck at his eyes using nothing but two of his fingers. He tore the man's eyeballs out then brought his other arm up to smash him precisely in the temple, reducing the right side of his face to fleshy pulp. The Mercenary launched both knees upwards and his enemy was thrown off of his fallen figure like a rag doll. Wasting absolutely no time, the Lord of Life did a no hands kip, grabbing the base of his jaw and jerking it in the opposite direction, aligning his vertebrae to it's correct setting. He barely flinched, locking the pain away in the crevices of his consciousness, instead paving a path to let his healing factor jump straight to work and fix any hint of injury.
"Heh, got me there while I was trying to look cool. A low blow."
The Mercenary walked forwards slowly, each step laced with killing intent. He stood over the collapsed figure of his sightless opponent and flicked his eyeballs back at him, the blood dripping from his gloved fingers. The notoriously unstable gun-for-hire knelt down calmly beside the crimson leather clad man, resting on his haunches, chuckling quietly to himself.
"I'm really sorry about foiling your efforts at tearing me apart with an array of missiles and bullets, but I've got commitments that I can't go back on just yet. This was fun, though. I really wish you could go back and tell my father just how nicely our play date went down."
Each word tinged with both sarcasm and malice, the Mercenary cackled wildly at his humourless jokes, clutching his stomach as if hurt. Then suddenly he stopped laughing and stood up, turning around and striding away coldly, a fluorescent ball of stainless steel held firmly in one of his blood stained gloves. He paused at the ledge of the sky scraper, tilting his head towards the fallen man momentarily to utter a few syllables.
"I've assembled a team. A group of badass motherfuckers, each gifted a sense of morality as stellar as my own."
He dropped the sphere and it rolled back across the rooftop, coming to a teetering stop in the centre of the battered platform.
"We go by D.E.A.T.H."
Then the ball exploded and the Mercenary was gone, leaving the top of the structure in an assortment of colourful shades, ranging between yellow, orange, and of course, always,