sickle and phantom- with elkian

It was a humid night in the city- the rough part of town, to be exact, the part of the city where the cops don't care, and Phantom's favourite hunting ground. Tonight, as usual, he was looking for gang activity, but he didn't intend for the night to go to waste if he couldn't find any. There was a can of black spray paint in his belt and an obnoxious billboard on Cadillac Street in need of attention.

He would paint his emblem over the mayoral candidate's smug face and replace her name with his own. That ought to make for some fun headlines tomorrow morning.

But for the moment, Phantom was on the move. He leapt fluidly between rooftops, his footfalls silent, cloaked in shadow. At length he paused, standing at the edge, looking down into a dark alleyway six storeys below. Nobody down there- yet he could have sworn he'd heard something, and in the night his senses seldom led him astray.

He stepped back immediately, muscles tensing. Not many people could ever sneak up on him. What an interesting situation! This girl was clearly looking for him, which didn't bode well at all, but he didn't feel the need to go fight-or-flight yet. Not until he'd at least figured out what was going on.

"Oh yeah, I'm that Phantom dude, all right," he admitted with a smile. "And who might you be? You're pretty quick."

His hand hovered over the handle of the knife on his belt. Believe in the best, but prepare for the worst. Phantom hadn't gotten this far being complacent.

A hired killer; pretty much the most mundane of all the options that had been running through his head. The sickle is unusual though, he can't imagine that it makes a very practical weapon. A hired killer with a shtick, then. Too bad he's going to have to kill her. She seems like an interesting person.

"Have fun with that- as for me, I've got places to go, people to see," he says with a dramatic shrug of apology. Then, drawing on all the light around him, he creates the brightest flash he can, leaping back as he does so and drawing two throwing knives from his belt in the same fluid motion.

With two quick flicks of the wrist, he throws them in Sickle's last known direction, then quickly gathers up his cloak of shadows again and moves to blend in with the shadow of an air conditioning unit.

Keep walking, keep walking, he thinks. It doesn't seem like she's going to, or at least not towards him- bad luck. But he still has four more throwing knives, and he's not going to get a better chance to use them than this, against a mostly immobile target. Moving only his arm, slowly and smoothly, he grips one by the blade and draws his hand back, aiming for center mass.

Then he throws it.

Of course the knife would give away his position- Phantom is already moving, taking advantage of the moment of distraction provided by the knife. He can't help but grin at her hiss of pain and the fact that quite a bit of the irreverent tone has vanished from her voice when she speaks again.

First blood, bitch, he thinks.

It's very tempting to banter back to her, but of course that's exactly what she wants him to do, so he holds his tongue. But even Phantom is surprised by her sudden movement, and the clang of something heavy denting the metal of the air conditioner he'd been hiding in front of just a moment before.

He'd been watching her the entire time, and he hadn't seen that coming. This was one dangerous girl- more so than he'd thought a moment ago. He'd called it right when he'd spoken at the edge of the roof. She was very quick. Maybe it was time to quit playing around and end this.

This time he calls up the shadows, not just around himself, but over the entire roof, leaving only the dimmest possible light. Then he moves again, smooth and silent as an owl, drawing the carbon fiber knife from his belt as he goes.

Just got to get behind her...

It's Phantom's well-honed muscle memory that saves him, because when he sees her turn and realizes what she's about to do, there's no time to leap out of range, and his brain screams get down!

His body disagrees, and jumps instead. The chain sweeps past under him- he's escaped it, but in that instant his concentration is broken. The artificial darkness vanishes, and he lands on his feet in the gravel, facing his enemy, exposed.

"You really are quick," he says calmly, knife raised, every muscle tensed to react to what she might do next. "How much are the Angels paying you for your services? It is the Angels, isn't it?" He's smiling as he says this, hoping to draw her into a bit more banter, give him a few more seconds to charge up his power. There's precious little light to work with here, but there's enough for what he has in mind; another flash, but not just a distraction this time. He'll be aiming to blind her, as permanently as possible.

Not the Gray Angels, then? More likely she's simply avoiding the question, just as Phantom avoids the chain lashing towards him. But as he's leaping out of the way, irritation suddenly grabs hold of him. Enough of this dodging and running! he decides. He turns in a split second and springs forward with a yell.

As he leaps, he releases all the energy he'd built up- not as much as he would have liked, but still enough to create a sudden sphere of blazing sunlight on the once-dark rooftop. No throwing knives this time- with the dark knife in one hand and the other hand curled into a fist, he aims a flurry of blows and slashes in her direction. He's only partly immune to his own light attacks, but he can see her well enough.

Dammit- the shades! How could he have forgotten about them? Her spinning sickle and chain foil his blows, and for one terrifying moment it seems as though his knife will become caught in the chain, but he's just fast enough to avoid it. He can't decide whether to be amused or annoyed. This assassin girl is matching him step for step, and it's been a while since he's had a workout this intense.

But he's got to get rid of those sunglasses. If he can manage that, ending this fight should be quick business. Just as the light of the flare is fading, he fakes to the left, moving as though he's attempting to get behind her, then pops up and throws his momentum into an open-handed strike at the side of her face, aiming to knock the pesky sunglasses to the ground.

He's committed far too much to that strike- Phantom knows this the moment Sickle dodges it. There's no chance for him to get his balance back, though. The counterattack comes immediately, swift and direct, and he has just barely enough time to tense his abdominal muscles against it.

So it doesn't knock the wind out of him- but shit, it hurts!

It takes every ounce of his resolve (and some help from a healthy dose of anger) to hold his ground. She'll be expecting him to recoil, to back off; she won't be expecting him to attack. So he attacks, driving the knife downwards in a deadly arc, hoping to catch her off guard in the same way she caught him.

He doesn't get a chance to celebrate the hit (although her yelp of pain is satisfying), and it's all because somehow, despite all he knows, he'd underestimated her again. This time his survival instincts overwhelm his fighting reflex and he does recoil, hand pressed to his side

He backs up, trying to put some distance between them. The pain hits a moment later, and he grins savagely.

"Come on, I know- this is a gang thing. How much are they paying you? How much of a pain in the ass am I?" He's doing his best not to appear too rattled, but inside the gears are turning at top speed. He may be at a disadvanatge here- what now?