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Like a good soldier, Gehenna did his rounds a couple of nights a week. At some point after sobering up and helping Ariel - Cinnabar - escape her fate in the Negaverse, he had been deemed responsible enough to be given back his strength and then some. It had surprised him when it happened, especially since he had yet to round up the women that it had begged him to find, but he guessed that Tanais was not something that even his code piece had foreseen. It did not mean his wonder was through with him, yet, and he felt its judgment on the back of his neck like a parole officer, waiting. Watching. There were promises to fulfill and he could not make good on them yet. Instead, he waited, did his rounds, and lived his life as best as he possibly could.

Tonight was just another night like any other. He was on the outskirts of the clubs, leaping casually from building top to building top as he cleared the streets below, quite and alone and more somber than Kamboja Vaiphei had ever been in his life. It simply was; he simply was. It was enough.

The Knight had been just about to turn his back on the area when he saw, in the distance, a page being followed by a youma that was, well, <******** huge. A growl resonated in his throat as heavy boots began to beat against the roof beneath him and his heavy form picked up speed. With a grace that seemed awkward on a large man that should have been weighed down in armor, he sprung across the gap in the roofs and barreled forward. His cloak trailed and his teeth grit but his eyes remained locked on the descending beast that was screeching its battle cry.

There was a vent between him and the creature and he leaped on top of it, a man accustomed to his own strength and weight, and jumped with all the force in his legs that he could muster. The pointed tip of his gauntlet gleamed in the wash of moonlight overhead as his fist pulled back and he propelled forward, ready to crash into the flying beast and take it down.

"Don't just stand there."

Dark eyes flashed sidelong to the page that was just staring at him. He, himself, was falling back and sinking into his knees. The pauldron over his left shoulder turned forward to bare the mark of his wolf to the youma; it glowed faintly where it was etched into the armor and he knew, in the back of his mind, that Daoi was there just as sure as she was written in the plate if he needed to call her.

He shifted a little, beginning a circle around the beast as he waited to see what it would do.

"I don't know if you would call what I want to do playing, my ugly friend."

Why were these things always so damn creepy?

Gehenna watched it blink its too many eyes with a look that seemed a little uneasy and then it was parting its beak to spout eerie nonsense at him. It wasn't the first time he had encountered a talking youma but they weren't common and it only made him more unsettled to hear the voice pouring out of a bird's face. The Knight didn't answer, though, because he knew there was no point. What good would taunting a heartless, wicked monster get him? He had learned not to talk back to the Negaverse's worst atrocities years ago.

"You've got to be ******** kidding me," he sighed. He heard the dull smack of the other man's hand on plastic and wanted to roll his eyes. As a Page he had a couple of leather hides and tights; was it worth his breath even trying to explain it? Probably not.

"Fine. If you're not at least gonna take a swing or something, then stay out of the way. I'm not going to apologize to you if you get punched in the face."

Gehenna's wide palms curled into fists and he turned his shoulders forward; he was no longer defending, he was squared up and unafraid of whatever threat this giant, flying monstrosity posed. Without his magic drawn, the spikes across his knuckles were out and exposed, gleaming bright as heated metal. He held the fist high, close to his face, and narrowed a pair of honey brown eyes on the menace overhead.

"Come on then, stop playing with your food."

Gehenna steeled himself as the bird rose and settled into the angle of his arc. Dark eyes tried to judge how fast he could dive, how strong he might be, where his weak points were and what part of himself he would use to attack -

and then a mirror was flying, tossed end over end, and the bird halted as it socked him right in the noggin. The Mars Knight almost laughed at the sight of it, maybe five years ago he would have, but instead he reeled his humor back to a wry, dampened grin. Useless as the lanky page was, at least it was an opening.

The strong, weapon-tipped arm pulled back and loosed with all of his might. It was an upper cut that aimed the sharp, pointed tips of his gauntlet right under the birds chin - or, at least, the area beneath his sharp, clacking beak. He didn't pause to wait and see if it was effective but instead pulled back his other arm and plowed it against the side of his head, then his first again, a rapid succession of pummeling fists meant to keep the beast dazed and at bay.

This close, maybe it was unwise, but he still had his magic in his back pocket if he needed it. He just hoped that he didn't.

<******** was the only thing that Gehenna could think of, the only thing that entered his mind at all, as an ear-splitting screech echoed through his skull and made his eardrums feel like they were going to burst in upon themselves. Even as he felt the force of it rock his body, he tried to keep his eyes open. He fell to one knee, clutched his hands pointedly over his ears, and stared down that stupid ******** bird like his life depended on keeping him in his sights.

What was the best course of action here?

There was another, weaker man.

He had Daoi, but he didn't know enough about this youma to know if her magic would make it turn back and escape from a winged nuisance seemed improbable. It wasn't a risk he could take.

It left only one choice, really.

As the shrill, spine numbing screech died, Gehenna pushed himself back up to his feet.

"Just run, kid."

The Mars Knight right hand curled into a fist and he pulled on his magic, channeling down into the gauntlet that was as much a part of him as his own heart. A slow, steady breath swelled in his chest as he felt it anchor and heard the soft, audible click of the spines curling down over his fingers. His vision bled red, stained like rose-tinted glasses, and when his lips parted next it was in a roar of unrivaled fury, answering the screech that still made his ears ring somewhere beneath his berserker magic.

Heavy, thundering footsteps echoed in the sill night air and he lunged, wild and furious, at the youma. Anything he reached, he would pummel until one or both of them were dead or gone.

The berserker felt his fist connect with flesh and somewhere in the back of his mind there was the register of pain, of something searing across his face and down his neck. A talon opened a gash from his cheek to his collarbone and when it did, the armor across his chest shifted, crawling up his neck like a thing come alive until it covered the entirety of the wound. It fused, stifled the bleeding like a hot iron pressed into the flesh, and not a second was lost to care for blood loss or the pain or the repercussions.

Nothing stopped him, nothing mattered anymore.

Fists sought out the flapping, chattering target like it was a bullseye. He wouldn't lose a noisy one, he couldn't see anything but those beady, blinking eyes and the flash of talons and a beak. It was ugly. A roar of frustrated rage bellowed from his chest as he pulled up both great, heavy hands and let them rise above his head - then he slammed them with all of his supernatural strength, bringing them down like an anvil against those too many, ugly eyes.

The red tide in his vision began to retreat and he hissed low between his teeth as it took the magic of his armor with it, leaving behind a fresh wound that appeared to have been cauterized and a patch of shiny, stinging flesh where the magicked steel had fused with his flesh. It felt like a burn, raw and painful even in the small flutter of wind that drifted over the rooftops.

It wasn't the worst he had ever suffered, though.

The notches across his knuckles clicked open and he turned, heaving chest and aching breaths, to look at the useless page that he had rescued. He knew he must have seemed a wild thing, exhausted and spent amidst a pile of shifting dust and feathers with a dozen shallow scrapes across any open bit of flesh the bird had been able to reach, but he cared very little.

"You okay?"

It wasn't empathetic so much as it was resigned. The kid hadn't gotten close to the fight but he wanted to be sure before he left.