Oh, Greased Lightning! {Seaheart}

[Deon]

"Give me your motorcycle." A chuckle came from the back of Dementia's throat, threatening to burst out into a laugh. She couldn't stop her lips from spreading into a smile devoid of the happiness that usually made the gesture what it was. Her eyes glinted in the light of the sun that was now starting to set, casting shadows onto the deserted highway.

"That's all? Really?" she asked, almost unable to keep her voice steady from the laughter that was about to bubble over. She clutched her stomach, as a stitch had gathered in her side from holding back the uncontrollable laughter that was causing her to shake.

"I thought that a man of your stature was going to do something much, much worse. You could have anything from me, and you choose my motorcycle." This guy obviously didn't know how to take advantage of a situation. It struck her as extremely funny. "Fine. Have it. I told you I won't protest. I can easily get another one if I want. So can you. That's why it's such a stupid choice." She still hoped that he would reconsider--there was still the sort of... attachment that she felt to this particular bike and this one alone, although she could get the same thrill from any other.

[Seaheart]

He looked at her as she laughed. Exactly as how she thought she would respond. "Of course. I could take anything from you. I wasn't planning to take anything in the first place. Just winning was all I needed. Let me reconsider....hmmm....." He looked around. OK. There was the answer. More police cars came. Even soem army had come. "Fine. Keep your bike. Just help me beat them quickly." He was saying everything in a sort of....calm, somewhat amused voice. "This should be easy enough. What do you say on helping me my....partner in crime?" He said with much amusement. The chains darted out quickly, ready for battle.

[Deon]

Dementia didn't want to get involved in this. She had no problem with ruthless killing--no... she wasn't the type to show mercy. It was the fear of getting caught that held her back. But she was a woman of her word, and she would stick by her promise. She wasn't going to protest. Her laughing stopped, and she gave Seaheart a lecherous stare.

"Fine." She would have to change all her DNA this time. Great. "Take no prisoners."

Her spine rose up in sharp bumps from underneath her skin, pushing itself out of the thin covering that held it in with small spurts of blood. She reached behind, popping her shoulder out of socket, and pulled the long cord out of her back, brandishing it like a whip. The bones of her vertebrae sharpened themselves like needles ready to rip the skin from anyone unfortunate enough to get hit.

"Let's go."

[Seaheart]

He looked at her and nodded. The policemen and Army men just shot at time. The chain dispelled it all. He barely moved. The chains blasted at them, sometimes bringing back a solider when pulled back. He shook it off. He then show more chains mercilessly. It was just two chains killing them all. He had a sserious expression on, not looking amused, but not sad either. This was more like him. Indifferent. Uncaring, but not cruel. He stopped, waiting to analyze her powers, find out weaknesseses and how she worked.

[Deon]

The loss was her burden to bear, and bear it she would.

Dementia didn't bother evading the bullets, and instead created a sort of bullet-proof vest out of the strong bones in her body--but it didn't matter much, as she would be able to expel the metal from her body and repair the organs anyway, as long as she could continue living for the time that it took for regeneration. She was impervious to the kind of damage that was broken bones and physical pain. But there were other methods of torture.

Dementia was shot three times in three different places in the first few seconds. One buried into the casing on her chest, the other was deflected by her spinal cord, and the last pierced her right arm entirely, but the damage was quickly repaired. She barely recoiled at the feeling. The bones in her arm burst from her body, peeling off into separate pieces and shooting off like knives in all directions. Every single one of them hit some kind of target. Her eyes didn't capture any thrill of the fight.

[Seaheart]

Let's see. She could expel bones from her body and make..weapons in a way. Like those knives. It was sorta like him making metal. Crafting it in anyway you like. Next was regeneration. She could regenerate her bones, along with her bone mass. But she probaly couldn't do it if she got shot or hit in the brain. If she was dead, that was that. Her brain was dead along with her powers. But if he got anywehre else, it regenerated almost instantly. OK. So physical attacks wouldn't work. He figured if he was ever gonna beat her, it'd have to be through the mind. He was trained in that. He could access someone's mind pretty easily.

He then focused on the task at hand. A couple of bullets went through his right arm but he hardly flinched. There was a red spot on his jacket sleeve. No one, and I mean NO one stained the jacket. His eyes lfared for nearly a moment, and despite the pain in his right arm, it rose, brandishing a sword. It was big. It was crafted through his own darkness, and didn't just appear out of nowhere. He had made it awhile ago. It was gray. It looked like vines overlapping eachother, almost slimy in a sense. It sometimes looked like something was stretching out of it. A creature or someone screaming. Where the waves of gray didn't cover, black took it's place. The weapon was as big as him, and he still weilded it easily. He charged, blasting through the soliders, cutting them spinning around like a dance. He had practiced the waltz, and moved more gracefully for it. He cut police cars down to their size, explosions erupting.

[Deon]

Dementia didn't unleash her full potential. She wasn't about to show Seaheart everything that she could do. She didn't exactly learn to trust him during the short time that she knew him, and this really didn't help. She felt his eyes on her as she moved, though he quickly changed his focus to killing as many cops as quickly as he could. She too was guilty of that constant evaluation and calculation of risks and threats, as well as of possible alliances. It was something that her brain would not stop doing, almost reflexive now.

But now there was another task at hand to be dealt with. The people sent as reinforcements were by now cut down to half or less, give or take a few dead bodies. At the rate they were going, it would be over in a snap and they could go back to school without a word. She didn't care what happened, so long as they didn't get caught. So long as they didn't get caught. Didn't get caught...

The words echoed through her head as she stabbed three men in a row on one long bone-lance. Unless their hearts were not situated on the left side, they would be dead within seconds. She ripped the lance back through their bodies, tearing even more of their insides out as the triangular blade tore through their skin backwards. Blood flowed down the gutters of the long blade and onto the ground. She wrinkled her dainty nose in disgust as she reached behind her and stabbed someone who was trying to close in. Gross.

[Seaheart]

He had to determine something. Was Dementia friend or foe? Sure, they had tried to kill eachother in the race, but that was just good natured sport. If she somehow became an enemy, she'd be a challenge. No wau he would demonstrate his full abilities now. Besides, these were cops and bullets. This was nothing. He sucked the chains in, knowing if he showed any more, she might find flaws, if there were any in them. Police were in a circle around him and he nearly smiled. He dug his sword in the ground, grabbed it, then did sort of arc around it, legs streaming out, kicking all at once with metal feet.

He looked at Dementia and wondered if she was worrying about something. In a sense, they had quite the same mindset. Always having to determine if you could consider someone enemy or foe. But no matter how much they tried, they neverstopped counting someone as an enemy, and they never trusted. He also quite doubted that if they had to verse a friend (If they could actually make any), they'd hold back even 1% of their full power. They had simply lived in a way that trust, hope, good, and friends were just words, nothing more.

He loooked around and saw a police car coming straight for him. It was about to hit when he stuck his sword out, straight forward. It impaled through it like a shish kebab, but it didn't explode. He then put his hand on it, letting darkness and shadows overcome it, bursting into darkness. Not much left...oh crap. The army men all had bazookas. He went up to Dementia and sighed. "Tell me dear, should we handle them alone, or tag-team then and go out with a flash to show them not to come here again? Not that they're not amusing, but they've become more of a nuisance, don't you think?" He said coolly, smoothly, and with no sense of humor.

[Deon]

Dementia laughed coldly as Seaheart came up to her with his fighting proposition. She had just finished impaling an officer right between his eyes with a rib that had shot out from her chest. Her already-patched shirt had a few more nice holes in it so far, exposing a little more of her skin than would be exactly... modest. At least her black skinny jeans were still in one piece, even if the same couldn't be said for her Converse. She liked those.

"So we're using pet names now, darling?" she asked with a slight sneer. "I really don't know if our relationship has progressed that far. All we've tried to do as of yet is kill each other." She twisted her bone-sword in the gut of an officer, then wrenched it out. He fell back with glazed-over eyes with a thump onto the pavement. She put a hand on her hip relaxedly. "Of course, we could change our tune for just a little. Working with you couldn't be that bad, right?'

[Seaheart]

He looked at her. She reminded him of Death. No, she was perhaps more sadistic than Death. Whatever she was, he liked her alot more than Death. Dumb Shade......and him calling her dear reminded him of Chaos. Having Chaos inside him....it could be bruatal at times. "It can be cruel. But I'm sure working with you is worse...right dear? But having missiles fired at us would be annoying. So how about we take them down all at once? now think. Combining the powers of darkness, metal slime, and bones into one big finishing move. This should be fun." At that moment, a man fired, the missile coming straight for them. His hand became metal, and while still facing Dementia, he grabbed it, twisting the metal. He tossed it aside like garbage.

"Tell you what. You givem e your bone weapons, and I'll make them metal. That way, they'll have the nice smell of shining, hard, silver material in their nose when we shove those bones through their mouths. Or we could put your bones in their guns when they fire, explosions all around. All of these viable choices, or do you have something else in mind?" He said with a bit of a smile, and a quirked brow, waiting to see how they'd end lives this time.

[Deon]

A slow smirk spread across Dementia's face at Seaheart's obvious show of strength. She was actually starting to like this guy. He seemed to echo her thoughts and ideas. Maybe this guy was someone she could relate to in this hellhole of a school, of a life.

"I can handle cruelty, darling," she told him in an as-a-matter-of-fact voice. "What I can't handle is the incompetence these gmen are showing. Let's finish this quickly."

Her mind went through various scenarios in a blink of an eye--discarding some, keeping others, weighing outcomes, risks, and materials. She thought about what Seaheart said, and tried to think of the quickest means to an end possible. Then an idea struck her, and her lips twisted into a cruel smile.

"How about we use one of their own weapons against them? Get a bazooka, embed some of my bones cased in your metal into the projectile, and when it explodes, it'll send them off like shrapnel. What do you think, dearest?"

[Seaheart]

OK. Now he was giddy. A little smile spread across his face. "I think I have an even better idea that stems off yours. I'm not sure, but can you change other materials into bone? Or at least harden them with the same material? If so, I have something just as big, but more lethal, than their missiles." He said raising his sword. "And I'm sure an explosion of darkness is more powerful than just some explosion of nuclear power. Give me a second, and I'll fetch our weapon my dearest."

He jumped into the air quickly, sword in hand. He quickly brought it down on a victim, splitting him right down the middle. Think your even gonna see this in a horror movie? I don't. He grabbed the bazooka, then moved back, crumping some missiles fired at him with his metal hand. He held the bazooka with ease, loading the sword into it. It didn't matter if the sword exploded. It would regenerate itself with darkness, earth, and life around it. "So now my dear. Do your work on the sword, and let us finish this." He said changing it to metal only addid another dangerous property to the already devastating sword.

[Deon]

Dementia nodded in agreement at Seaheart's plan and watched as he retrieved a bazooka with ease from an unsuspecting g-man, just barely stopping herself from laughing outright as he loaded the sword into its large barrel.

"You're kidding!" she exclaimed as she turned away to deal with an officer that had been creeping up on her, hoping to take her by surprise. He held the gun straight up to her head and pulled the trigger, only to be greeted with a tiny click. No ammo. What a shame. Dementia smiled serenely as she brought her sword down hard on his arm, cutting it off cleanly. She did the same on the other side, then pushed him down and sliced off his legs. She had to jerk the sword a little to make it all the way through his femur, then stabbed the writhing lump he had become. Little bastard tried to kill her. Well, look what he got.

She turned back around to face Seaheart, realizing that he was serious about the sword thing. She quirked an eyebrow but still did her work. She wasn't able to convert things to bone, as she only had control over the cells in her own body. So she pushed out every single bone in her arm by creating new ones to take up the space. The chain fell onto the sword and started flattening itself out, giving it a hard casing.

"Done," she murmured as it had enveloped the sword entirely.

[Seaheart]

He watched as the policemen snuck up behind her. He noticed it long before, but he figured it'd be funny to see what ahppened to him for performing an action so stupid. He watched as hte bone gave it a good casing, then took aim. He aimed for the middle. He estimated there were around....5-10. Good.

He didn't have to make it too big then. Well, he wouldn't have wanted to kill innocent civilians. By this, it means that when the sword is destroyed, it shall suck upon the life around it for regeneration. He'd kill 5, then it'd suck the life out of the other five. 5 was merely a morsel to it, but it'd be fun to see them wither away. He started to aim for the right side. "Ready Dementia?"

He put his hand on the sword, packing darkness into it. He used the darkness to moved the left side away. Then the left side started to fire. "Dementia, can you handle those missiles? I'm a little busy right now." He said calmly, a little amused, and knowing he had nothing to worry about. He then fired, the sword cruising fast, and with his extra vison, he aimed perfectly, nailing the ground in front of the, It was so strong, it lietrally cracked the ground, creating cracks, even making a miniature earthquake in that small area. The bones exploded upon impact, hitting all at once, hitting others in eyes, making them blind, and scream for the bleeding eyes. It was fun to watch.

As they screamed, the darkness exploded, along with the sword, enveloping them, and left them writhing on the ground. They looked like black, horrendous monsters, dissipating slowly, little by little, torturing them. "Dementai, only certain eyes like ours can enjoy the true pleasure of this sight." He said a little sadistically.

[Deon]

"Yeah, I'm ready," she replied as she complied with his demand, taking care of the missiles that were being shot at them. She held both arms out straight as the entire length of bones were forcefully expelled into the air, making contact with the missiles. They immediately formed a casing around it, containing the explosion. The only thing that gave away something was happening was the sound--her bones didn't even chip.

Her attention, however, was not on the bazookas or anything else that was going on, but on the single weapon that they had manufactured for the end of the rest of these people. The sight was intensely gruesome, filled with the sounds and scenes typical of a horrible war zone. They had cruelly created a weapon that was not made just for death, but for the painful, torturous journey to it. They were pulled into the darkness with blinded eyes, screaming and fighting against the threat they couldn't see or even possibly perceive, until finally they disappeared into nothingness. The only things that gave away the existence of the fight were the cracked pavement and few discarded weapons. The rest of the bodies were sucked up into Seaheart's shadowy abyss.

So that was it. It almost seemed a bit too easy, but she overestimated the power of men. Seaheart's words reached her ears through the new familiar silence that death never failed to bring on.

"And what kind of eyes are ours?" she questioned as she stepped carefully around the cracks in the road to stand directly in front of his figure, blocking the scene of the battle from view. Her clear gray-blue eyes bored into his as their lines of sight aligned. She moved her face in closer, standing on her tiptoes to better reach his height, until their lips were practically touching. Her voice dropped down to a whisper.

"Do you still want to know how I got a pair of underwear in my engine?" she asked, her voice seductively low. It was all she could do to keep from laughing as she listened to the rhythm of his heart.