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((WTF Damon here. I wanna kill him XD))

The mindset of the brutish Muso was inbetween pure brutality and badblood for how his tactics were perceive by his opponent, drawing a sadistic smile from the bloodshed resulting from that bout. Watching the intense brawl, between the thuggish Ebris and his adversary Xehart made him consume in bloodlust.

Praying his sight onto the monsterous brawler, Muso addressed him, wielding a similar built as this bounty hunter. Judging from the stats received, Ebris outweigh him and was slightly taller, but in a true fight none of those factors matter one bit. Yelling out there he spoke in an aggressive tone, fixed on brawling this b*****d.

"b***h READY FOR ANOTHER BRAWL ! "



Furious and desiring to drain the all that inner anger, Muso was no longer wearing his attair used in Bloodbath. Weaing only some black loose jeans and his MMA gloves with ragori fang, and the addition to the marks appearing from battle, he was now ready to bring the pain.

" So do you Accept ? "

A Kiyosato Akira appears!

chik

Akira's thumb pressed against the tsuba, freeing his katana from the initial resistance there. His right hand grasped the weapon, ready to combat the cast of bloodthirsty men. Each of them was worse than the next it seemed, all monsters in their own right. They were huge compared to Akira, who was short and lithe.

The swordsman readied his draw, watching the standoff intently. If all hell was to break loose, he would stand firm by his discipline. His skills might be put to the test by the other men, who seemed to be lightly armed by comparison. Like them, however, Akira wore no real armor.

OH CRAP, IT'S A DWARF!

At least, it looked like one. 4' 6", 160 lbs, long hair and beard. Sure as hell should be a dwarf, but nope, it was a human. Matted hair reached down to the middle of his back, his beard reaching the middle of his chest, his beady green eyes underneath the dirty locks of hair masking his face. The only details visible were his nose and the thins strip of skin between mustache and beard that was his mouth.

In rubber black boots, a white shirt, black slacks, and an apron, all stained brown, with cleaver and mallet at his side, The Butcher slowly walked into the Parking Lot. Jonathan Swift had the right idea when he wrote about Brobdingnag. Rorke, as his name had been given to him, stared at the fighters before him, his heart beginning to pump faster, his constant hunger filling his gullet to the brim and then some.

Well, as they always say, dig in.

Hands opened, nails filed down to a point, sharp and yellowed, the dwarf would grin and rushed the trio of men. Not the brightest idea, but it'd be difficult to fight someone who only came up to your waist.

[ We're waiting for Cog, jackass. ]

While Ebris was indeed busy with mutilating the first Jimbo, it wasn't as though he wasn't paying attention to what the rath was going on around him. Sure, the bounty hunter's cold gaze was locked intently on his work, watching as the lights went dead in the punk's eyes, but other senses were still active and keen and directed elsewhere. It really wasn't too hard to hear around 4 or so people coming up from behind on you, especially when they weren't the sneaking-type. Once Ebris picked up all that huckin' and jivin' coming from the rear, he decided it was a good time to finish up with Jimbo #1 here.

So, he let the pretty-much dead body of the guy slide down to the ground as he stood up from his hunched position-



- and got nailed right in the back by a chunk of asphalt.

It wasn't the most pleasant of experiences, fer shur. It had torn up his coat and shredded some skin, and would leave a nasty bruise, but the thing made the brick from earlier look like a pinnacle of aerodynamic engineering in comparison - in other words, it lost a nice chunk of momentum whistling through the air awkwardly. Hurt like a b***h, but it wasn't too much of a problem.

Well, not too much of a problem for Ebris - Mr. T would have to work overtime pitying the foo' who just pissed the huge bounty hunter off, that's for sure.

Seething like all hell, the old hunter's left paw groped down for the downed Jimbo's left, which had been the recipient of his mining pick.

"That..."

Ebris grabbed the limb by the wrist, his grip causing the bones to flex painfully from the pressure.

"...wasn't..."

A meaty thunk filled the air as his right boot slammed into the body's abdomen, crushing it and bracing against it and the wall behind it.

"...rathin'..."

All of his weight was then thrust to his left and back, his right foot keeping the meatbag in place.

"...NICE!"

With the terrible sound of flesh tearing and blood splattering, Ebris tore the mauled limb completely free from the ruined corpse. Arterial spray coated the walls and asphalt crimson, as well as part of the bounty hunter' attire, bleeding whatever life might have been in the Jimbo all onto the ground. The giant of a man shot glares at every fresh body that had stepped into the parking lot, fiercely analyzing each and every one of them. With him and the area slick with blood, as well as him clutching a dismembered limb and a gore-covered mining pick, both poised at his side, it painted a distinct image of Ebris Dhifi:



A thick sole slammed down into the pavement as the bounty scum took a right step forward, posturing before the lot of oncomers menacingly, growling out what appeared to be a question.

"Which of you rathin' geniuses was the one who did that?"

Ebris was just warmed up from that piss-poor grodfest of a "fight" that had just wrapped up, and he was mighty keen on getting plenty more action that day.