"I don't know if I can survive. That's the problem," Mairse remarked nonchalantly, "You're the only person here with a drive to kill me. So--we reach our little impasse."

Mairse had already mentioned before that he had lived on Utopia--that was when he referred to himself as "Mairse." There was much more to it than that, though. In his time here, he had witnessed much--more than enough to justify what he was doing . . .

"I have lived here," Mairse began, and as he continued to speak, his voice became louder and louder--more dramatic with each statement--angrier, even, "I watched police take bribes to look away from a lecherous old man, kidnapping and having his way with little girls, I watched armies sweep across lands, burning and killing everything in their path--elderly, men, women, and children. I watched "good" men turn into monsters because of something as minor as a financial meltdown. I've seen mothers put their newborn babies in the trash to get back at their husbands. I've seen a ruler dump carbon dioxide in a city full of innocent people just to rid himself of a few rioters. I even saw an angel force hundreds of other angels to suffer and murder each other just by means of getting back at his father. I saw a man allow millions to die, just to act upon a grudge. I've seen almost an entire race eradicated by the protectors of eternal souls--just for existing! And I've watched a coward--a certain Constantine Shariph--, knowing his fate, leave everyone important in his life presumably die in his place."

The end statement may as well have accompanied a spiteful, angry, hateful growl. Some of them were even stabs at Cyril--but rightly so. Mairse was naming injustices that he had witnessed in the world--or, rather, multiple worlds. He had named some issues with Oblivion, Utopia, the Heavens, and possibly even the Underworld. They were all off of the top of his head, though; just thought up on a whim, recalled in a flurry of hateful thoughts. Nonetheless, Cyril had enacted some of the worst sins he'd ever seen. Through some of his actions, he could even be considered a poster-child of everything that made this world terrible.

It was because of people like Cyril, of people like Edii--of Sturm, Gardini, Shiva, the god of Death . . . not because they had the potential, but the ability to darken the lives of so many . . .

"I've watched and I've learned--"

Finally, Mairse began to move. He couldn't move too quickly for any distance, but dashing in any direction for a couple of feet was optional. The distance was cleared quickly, in all but one dash, with Mairse holding the lead pipe out by his side, parallel to the ground, pointing straight at Cyril. He'd rush without thought, charging Cyril down, attempting to finally break the lead pipe into Cyril's stomach--to try and stab him with it, and break it off inside of him, however deep he could go. All the while shouting his conclusion:

"--that this world is not worth saving!"

"And what did you do to make things better!?"

Cyril sneered a bit at Mairse, knowing he was right about those things. Half of what he had mentioned... Cyril had personally committed or allowed to happen, it seemed. Back when he was Constantine Shariph. Or at one point, he could have. It was true. He wasn't a born hero. He wasn't a hero now. He was a person who had lived beyond his time, and was now trying to make up for things he had done. But at least he was trying. He'd seen good and potential for good, and he wasn't willing to punish that good for evils of the past or others...

"I'm well aware of my own past... Why do you think I'm here? I'm here because I know those things happen. I've done them. I've permitted them. I've suffered them. And I'm here to stop the worst evil I can imagine from occurring... And that means killing you!"

As Mairse stepped the last few steps, yelling, Cyril didn't have much of anywhere to go. He was too slow and too large to dodge the attack at the moment. The only thing saving him was his size, but even that was perhaps not enough this time. The pipe would hit the muscles on the front of his body, slowing down, but the end of the pipe would penetrate a matter of inches before it broke off uselessly, the end remaining stuck in his stomach. Cyril wouldn't try to stop the blow, though Mairse would still find it difficult to proceed. Cyril, instead, would reach forward, grabbing Mairse's shoulder with a near-impossible grip with his left hand, his face a mixture of determination and pain. Looking down meaningfully for just a moment, blood would begin to quickly leave the wound, a black and tainted blood, evidence that Mairse had pierced some sort of vital organ...

Cyril knew what that meant. He could win now, and perhaps even meet Edii again, but the odds of him surviving... If he didn't die of a ruined organ or the toxic substances now pumping through his body, the infections were going to kill him, slowly. He was only human, and his body had never been designed to withstand a blow such as the one he'd just received... He had some time, though. His death was likely to be a slow one, but Mairse...

"Die..."

The statement was a simple and honest plead, blood trailing out of the corner of Cyril's mouth as he spoke it. Then, he would rear back with the chair leg, ready to rain blows on his opponent as he held the man's shoulder in place. He didn't have the energy to end it immediately, but he would begin to swing faster and faster and with more urgency and rhythm, until the point where the leg might break on the man's head, at which point Cyril would just try to continue with his fist, hoping to end the fight before he collapsed...

Mairse succeeded, but such success was inevitably his downfall. It wasn't much more than a second after he pierced Cyril's body and broke the pipe off inside of him that Cyril had his hand on Mairse's shoulder. Without hesitation, Cyril unleashed all the force he had onto Mairse, berating the top of his skull with the broken leg of the old chair.

Letting out a cough and a slight cry of pain, Mairse ducked his head, his neck recoiling each time he was struck. Everything blurred--this new pain fueled an aggression he hadn't felt in so long. The constant pain, the repetitive blows, breaking even the once sturdy piece of wood over Mairse's skull. Blood was beginning to flow down his forehead, crossing the bridge of his nose in two different paths. Before Cyril used his fist, Mairse brought his free arm up to defensively cover his head, with Cyril then beating upon the man's forearm.

Slow, hesitant, and with very little thinking behind it, Mairse twisted his hand enough to grab at Cyril's hand once it was recoiled, shortly thereafter using his other hand to grab Cyril's elbow. Both of the man's limbs held and barely kept from moving, Mairse was in a bad situation--one he needed to use his head to remove himself from. It would be less than a second after Mairse attempted to halt Cyril's blows that he thrust his head forward; a headbutt to the nose and mouth. It couldn't hurt Mairse any worse than he already was. Such would force Cyril to let go and withdraw, possibly to stumble back, just as his enemy did once he'd be free.

Mairse stumbled back from Cyril; even if he hadn't hit his nose, a headbutt to the face at any close proximity would make Cyril release him. Instantly, Mairse would be stumbling back. He couldn't see. Everything was blurred, and he even had blood dripping into his eyes. While panting, he wiped his eyes, smearing the crimson fluid across his forearm. He had to recuperate from that one--and it took a moment of stumbling and difficulty standing before his vision finally started to come back. Multiple concussions must have been induced--he felt tired. For a moment, his eyes were even heavy. But adrenaline demanded others.

Mairse stood up straight again. His expression held no smile or grin; this had ceased to be something he could enjoy. It barely was that in the first place. Rather, it was something he had to do. And now, it was more evident than ever before. Cyril had beaten that into him.

"Do me a favor," Mairse spoke gruffly as he finally repositioned himself. He was serious; there was no arrogance, pride, or sarcasm in his tone--a whole different man.

It only took a few blows to the head to instill that change.

The young man lifted his hands, setting his fists before his face, but ever forward. His right fist was closer to his face, while his left was further out. His legs were spread a bit, one foot in front of the other, body ready to dash forward at any time, fists prepared to fly, either to attack or defend. There wasn't much either man could do; this was the kind of battle they had to resort to. It felt nice. Both were injured, and both had little to offer in the first place. The broken chair leg and the pipe were the extent of the specialties they were going to throw in. Now, it was a matter of raw power--raw human power. He tightened his fists, just checking if he could. Showmanship and cheap blows were no longer options for either; if they weren't going to be throwing a punch at the face or the body, then the punch wasn't going to be worth it.

There was no better way to end the world.

"Call me Gaia."

Cyril would turn his face slightly before Mairse headbutted him, his left cheekbone breaking with a sickening little snap. It was a hell of a lot better than his nose... Still, it would be a few steps before Cyril caught himself. At least now, the fight was even... At least, more even. Mairse had to be slow in thought at the moment, and Cyril... Was still standing. That was the important part.

The pain, though, was crippling. He'd received beatings all over his body, and now, there was a fair amount of acid and toxins pumping through his body. The wound in his stomach still bore a large chunk of metal, which he was afraid to remove because of the amount of blood it was likely holding back... Pure adrenaline and willpower were all that could keep him going, and the knowledge that it would be a long time before the pain stopped, most likely. It was his opportunity, too. As long as he stayed standing, he still had a chance to save everything. And if he succeeded... Maybe he could forgive himself. He could die knowing that he'd done more good than bad with his life. Even better, he'd have a chance to see someone he knew before he went...

That was it, though. Here was where he got to really test what he'd started years ago. Did he have the power to control his own life? He'd changed his name, stopped what he was doing, and eventually escaped some of it... That didn't make him master of his own fate, though. Here was where he could prove it. His stance was strange, though. His right foot was placed forward in front of his body, but his right shoulder was tilted behind his left somewhat. It wasn't an extremely uncomfortable position, but it was strange. However, with it, he'd be able to step with his opposite foot, throwing his entire body into his punches, when the opportunity afforded it. His left arm was placed up to protect his body loosely, but his right remained pulled back somewhat to strike. He was ready to meet fate...

"Call me Cyril..."