L'union Fait la Force

Rain continued to pour down into the alley. Long streams ran down the ends of the building, slipping between the bricks and saturating the walls as they trickled down towards the ground. Heavy droplets fell from the ends of the building.

One such drop landed on a nearby pipe, which the would-be robber reached down and grabbed, pulling it out from between a mound of garbage as he stared down Cicilia. There was a curious silence about the man. He didn’t make any demands. Didn’t attempt to seize the advantage he created after pulling the boxer away from prying public eyes and throwing her down to the ground. He merely looked on, tucking the wallet into his back pocket, and did nothing. Watching. Waiting. Gauging. What did he want? What was he after?

A cryptic answer came forth from his lips as he brought two fingers to the corners of his mouth. A whistle screeched across the alley, echoing all the way out to the steel sky above. In the next instant, the door to the right of the man flew open. A boot hung in the air for a moment before slowly falling down to the rain-slicked ground of the alleyway.

Two men stepped out from the door and stood shoulder to shoulder with the would-be thief, who shifted a couple paces to the left to accompany them. One sported a pair of brass knuckles. One was etched the word “Dieu”. On the other, “délivre”. The man to the far right was of a somewhat lanky build, but stood with a more composed manner, looking as though he were staring at himself in the mirror rather than down the eyes of an enemy. He brandished a switchblade in his hand and nothing more. All there stood upright, fidgeting with their weapons as they stared down the German akin to a human wall of foreboding judgment.

No more than ten feet from behind Cicilia, three more men stepped out from the alcove of the adjacent wall, which harbored nothing but trash cans and sinister intent. Each one of them lined shoulder to shoulder behind the German boxer, brandishing an identical series of bats. Closer inspection would see that wasn’t all that was identical. Shoes, dress shirts, ties, stances, mannerisms, faces. The Breaker Triplets. Three of her most trusted. The only grunts proved reliable enough to be allowed within the Inner Circle.

The six men continued their silent watch. One of the triplets brought his bat over his shoulder, giving it a few bounces as he fiddled with the toothpick in his mouth while another clanged his metal bat against the ground, echoing it up and down the alley like clockwork. The man with the switchblade flipped it over and around his wrist in a dexterous display, dancing it between his fingers. The man with the brass knuckles had pulled a charm from his collared shirt, whispering some mantra as he held it as close as a lover to his lips. It seemed to go on forever. Second after second. Minute after minute. Nobody moved. Nobody talked. All they did was watch Cicilia with unblinking eyes and hard glares.

Then, all at once, they stopped. The mantra stopped, the metal bat raised to attention, the switchblade was caught mid-motion. Footsteps could be heard from around the corner, drawing closer with each second. A moment later, a half pink-haired brunette of fair skin stepped from around the corner. Behind her was a tall, aging man that one would have likely recognized from the cafe. He held her parasol above her as he walked by her side, seemingly uncaring for the fact that the downpour was soaking him from head to toe. The two stepped between the line of men, stopping only a couple steps in front of them. The pinkette’s eyes drifted up from the ground to meet Cicilia’s eyes. A wide, twisted smirk grew across her face, stretching from ear to ear.

“You appear lost.”

Cicilia growled in disgust as she got to her feet, her teeth gritted in unrelenting anger as the man simply took her wallet... and tucked it away in his pocket. HIS POCKET! WHILE SHE WAS STANDING THERE! What, did he think she didn't pose a threat to his skinny, worthless ass!? Oh, she was going to have fun breaking every single digit of those sticky fingers! Her hands curled into fists as she stepped towards the guy, he put two fingers in his mouth and let out an uncomfortably loud whistle and, on cue, a door that lead to one of the local buildings that made up this ally SLAMMED open, revealing a large boot and leg outstretched! The German blinked, then her eyes went wide as two men stepped out, armed to the teeth with weaponry one would associate with a gang... They were well-dressed, equipped for a fight to the finish it would seem... But they lacked the look of typical street-trash expression wise. Anyone could buy a suit and fancy clothes but the look in their eyes would always be wild and uncontrolled. These guys.... they looked professional... Organized. And that was scary... Cicilia was confident she could take on any number on undisciplined idiots thinking she was just another weak girl. Even if one of them had a knife, she could break them in so many ways, the weapon would've hardly been an equalizer.

But them... they were wary... almost like they knew what they were up against. It would've been a DUMB idea to think she could fight 3 (well... 2, discounting the thief dumb enough to take her wallet) smart guys armed with knuckles and blades and so... she began to back out of the alley...

Well... that was until the clacking of high-quality dress-shoes on the low-quality cobble-stone ground stopped her in her tracks, Cicilia glancing back over her shoulder to see 3 more figures stepping out to block her path, just was well dressed and armed with seemingly designer metal bats...

"Oh... shit..." She whispered, her anger replaced handily with the cold grip of fear clenched in her gut... What was this, the japanese mafia or something!? The hell did she do to get on the bad side of the fucking mob!? Did she beat the christ out of one of their loan-sharks or something in the ring? Who was it? She fought tons of crazy screw-balls in her time!

Well! Fate was funny like that... It often brought the answers in the forms of life's riddles but in this case... it's response was rather blunt. The gangsters who blocked her path from behind parted to reveal... Margaux Lefauver standing beneath an umbrella being held for her a 7th goon tending to her with little care for his own discomfort in the rain. Those three words that french freak spoke said it all, those little pieces falling into place... How she spoke in the damn coffee-shop, the way that mobster tended to her now, how the goons parted for her...

"You bitch..." She whispered under her breath, the words muted by the fall of rain. She was leading them, wasn't she...? If she wasn't the boss herself, Margaux must've been in a high position of the hierarchy considering the amount of respect they displayed towards her. And if that is so... she had them corner her... It was all her... She knew Cicilia wouldn't accept her invitation to help her (or join her gang as she now assumed) so now she was stuck between a rock... and several baseball-bats.

"Lost....!?" She hissed, raising her arms in her boxing stance in case any of her armed aggressors came at her. "Is that what you call this!?" She glared at the twisted half-pinkette over her shoulder, keeping an eye on the 3 people in front of her... "What the hell is this  for!? Why can't you just leave me the hell alone!?"

A flash of lightning briefly illuminated the rain-slicked alleyway, revealing each and every bit of moisture that now coated the walls and floor. Light reflected off the pools forming beneath their feet, off the damp walls and clear windows that surrounded them. Large pockets of light shone back at them, brightening the world for but an instant before fading back into the dark and cold reality that now engulfed the German boxer.

Between all of them, all of the reflections and pockets of light that came and went with the flash from the heavens, the brightest of them all was the stark white smile that lined Margaux’s face from ear to ear.

It was a curious thing for her. Curious, yet endlessly amusing. She giggled incessantly, devolving into dark cackles as she brought a hand to her chest in an attempt to remain calm. It was as if she had waltzed into a Wonderland, or caught a glimpse of the unicorn she used to dream of before those long nights showed her the true nature of the world. Here stood the unmovable juggernaut, just moments ago filled with such harsh words, spoke with such volume and boldness. Awfully surreal now, wasn’t it? Cicilia De’Reignhardt. Shivering from a few bats and knives.

Olivier brought his hand forward from behind his back to adjust his glasses. He muttered something beneath this breath, practically muted beneath the heavy rainfall surrounding them. Margaux raised her hand to the side for a moment. The taller man handed the pinkette her parasol before stepping back. With slow, chilling steps, the Frenchwoman approached Cicilia, the mocking smile still on her face before she stopped just a couple paces away from the German’s face.

“There were many a giant that plunged to the deepest depths of the underworld, believing themselves too large to fall.” Her head canted to the side. “‘Leave me alone’?” She leaned forward, and her smile faded. “I am Margaux Lefeuvre. You are already within my web.”

Margaux leaned back, looking back into the woman’s sanguine pupils. She made sure never leave her gaze as she slowly paces around the women. One leg crossing over the over, two brown and pink orbs glowing faintly in the encroaching darkness as the storm clouds grew fiercer in their downpour.

“What is the matter, De’Reignhardt? Laugh at me. Belittle me. Speak as you did just moments ago. Indeed, as you did when we first met.” She halted her pace for a moment, looking at Cicilia from her right side and her head cocked to the side with an intense gaze. “See how quickly I snatch your life away and leave you to rot on this cold concrete.” She continued her pace and stopped in front of the juggernaut, growing a please smile again. “Or. You may consider my proposal once more. Et seulement une fois de plus.” She raised a finger, shifting her gaze slightly, as if attempting to hear something, far in the distance. “Écouter.”

She remained silent for a moment. The rain continued to fall around them, the men surrounding the two of them still as statues as they watched a scene play before them that was all too familiar. Margaux’s eyes remained affixed to the ground, letting the pitter-patter of droplets fall onto her parasol and the ground around them, the fog building in the relentless downpour. Then, her finger curled back as she brought her eyes back to Cicilia, letting her free hand slip behind her.

“The rain falling all around you. The cold, heavy air that fills your lungs. This filthy backstreet laced with waste and vermin. Work for me…” She held a hand out flatly, not close enough to be offered as a handshake, but as if carrying her next statement as a matter of fact. “...or these will be the last things you ever see.”

Cicilia's face contorted in fear-infused anger as Margaux simply laughed at her question, cackling and snickering like an insane hyena barely holding her composure together. She laughed and laughed, more amused by this than Cicilia had ever seen, her sadism obviously being tickled to new heights! Yeah... Fucking... nuts... She had no idea what she had been getting into when she had fought this crazy bitch back in the boxing ring... There were so many girls with a screw loose in Japan apparently, but they were harmless outside of the ring! If it wasn't obvious by now, Margaux was a whole other animal: A poetic, sadistic, well-connected french psychopath... but also a cowardly one. Cicilia took a very small comfort in knowing that it took the intimidation of several armed men for this twisted pinkette to feel brave enough to confront her again... Didn't last, however as Margaux spoke again.

She began egging Cicilia on, stepping right up to her and asking why she didn't let loose with all those insults now? Why didn't the Juggernaut belittle her NOW? Well... perhaps it was the armed guards standing all around her... Maybe it was that strong survival instinct imbued in her by her sister. Perhaps it was because Margaux wouldn't stop talking. Whatever the reason, Cicilia stood there, staring back into those dichromatic eyes of hers, her guard lowering just a bit as she listened quietly.

A shiver ran up her spine as if someone (or several someones) were walking all over her grave, the apparent gang-leader remarking how this could very well be her grave today. She could submit right here... or die. Beyond all the fancy words and french gibberish, that was the offer she was being made. Cicilia said nothing for a moment... Two... peering into the abyss to find any semblance of weakness... She found nothing but the smiling, but honest black within Margaux's pupils. She meant what she said, but that could've been deduced by the clearness in her tone, the lack of hesitation and her body-language.

Cicilia would be the one to blink first, shocked by what she saw... The men were intimidating... But Margaux was the epitome of cruel-fate. She spoke without a care to the listener, informing them of a cold and hard truth with this last chance perhaps being the last bastion of humanity left in her. This is what Cicilia saw in this twisted face-splitting smile that rested upon the frenchwoman... Inhuman.... evil... Cicilia glanced around her at the man behind and in front of her, trying to find some way out of this... Weapons.... space... so many people in a compact area... No way to escape to the outside with Margaux standing there and there was no telling what her little butler could do... His stoism surpassed all of her captor's men by a mile... She didn't want to know what HE could do... No... she wasn't getting out of here...

Instead, her eyes flicked down towards Margaux's throat, how... vulnerable it was... A swift, full power punch from Cicilia and she could CRUSH Margaux's windpipe before she could even call for her men, especially since she was already in her boxer stance. Again, there was her butler standing dutifully beside her... but it had a better chance of working than escape. Cicilia would die... (the thought sending another nauseating shiver up her spine) but she'd at least KILL this wench! She tried to draw some kind of motivation from the thought... but she only found a deeper chill freeze over her heart instead of the flame she tried to stoke. What if she lived...?

What if Cicilia scared off these men and she went home to Sayumi a murderer? What would she say...? Would she tell her...? Could Cicilia even LIVE with herself having just killed a human-like being?

...

No. No, she couldn't. She didn't think Sayumi could live with her either if and when she found out...

That only left the original two options: Join... or Die. Swallowing the lump in her throat, the German took a deep breath, looked the insane woman right in the eye and gave her answer:

"You, Margaux, are a coward and a liar. You're too weak to confront me yourself so you get your cronies to do if for you. You're afraid of me and what I can do to you. No need to admit it... I know you have to keep up the illusion of control to remain in power." She smirked at that, feeling... Powerful after that statement. "I'm stronger than you will ever be and you know it. It's why you're trying to coerce me into your band of freaks, right? Because you can't do what I do, you're trying to push me under your thumb. I've dealt with someone far worse than what you or your minions can do to me... If only you knew who you were actually talking too... Go. After I deal with your cronies, I'm coming after you."

I love you, Sayumi... I love you so, so much... She thought in the back of her head... Her muscles tensed in expectation of an immediate, violent response. Please don't hate me for this...

This was disappointing. Terribly so.

While Margaux hadn’t expected full compliance from the woman she stared at through a wall of an increasingly heavy downpour, she had at least hoped to tease out some degree of level-headedness. Was this how she intended to make her way through every obstacle that her pathetic life would throw at her? With bold words, a thick head, and two clenched fists? It’s a wonder she hadn’t ended up dead years ago. Before she could have been

But at the end of it all, Margaux was still a woman of patience. Patience was what saw her ascend from that lowly abbey to the grandest seat in France. It was what brought her across the world to this land of exotic splendor and endless delights around every corner. And, above all, its something that Cicilia was both desperately in need of and had all but exhausted from her potential partner. It wasn’t as if Margaux hadn’t considered this to be a possibility. It was one of the first lessons the nuns taught her, after all. Drag a horse to water, you still couldn’t make it drink.

No. What was remarkably easier was simply drowning it.

There were no more words worth wasting. She looked towards Cicilia for a moment longer, allowing her to ponder the decision was making. The stance she so boldly adopted against her. A stance proved fatal to many in the past, many whose names would be forgotten and trodden on as rotting meat and marrow beneath the soiled ground. Margaux stood still, silent for a couple moments, letting the rainfall and gather all around them. Then, a slight smile grew on her face before she turned her eyes closed towards the alley’s exit. Her lips parted with one final declaration as she handed her umbrella back to Olivier and waltzed past the triple entendre blocking Cicilia’s exit.

“Messieurs, sortez les poubelles.”

As Margaux and her dutiful companion traipsed down the alleyway towards the busy sidewalk, those she left behind were roused to action like living dolls. Like those things that stalked in the darkness, that only existed when you finally turned your back and, in that moment, became real and dangerous. The six roused from their idleness. They brandished their arms at their sides, rain droplets running down their metallic edges and reflecting brilliantly in the gray, dying light from the sky above.

The Triplets marched forward slowly, side by side, as the other three closed the distance at a slightly quicker pace. With a quick flip of his knife, the man with the switchblade held it close in front of him, his other hand raised slightly to maintain an imaginary, mental balance with the blade. Another kissed his brass knuckles and edged a bit closer, whilst the man with the pipe between them stayed back. It seems they were going to be the first to draw blood. With only a few feet spared on either side of Cicilia, the six halted their advance. They tightened their grip, feeling the tension close in the air, nearly enough to dispel the rain around them.

Then, the man with the switchblade lunged forward from Cicilia’s right side. He flipped the blade around to hold in reverse and threw a slash towards the German’s eyes with remarkable swiftness. However, his strike would fall short of its supposed targets, instead only attempting to flick rain into her eyes and back away as the burlier, brass knuckler closed in to shoot a series of rough hooks and jabs towards her chest.

Assuming their prey was too occupied with her nimble aggressors to focus on the Triplets behind her, one would have already sneaked away from the center of their line to swing a bat into the back of the German’s leg.

With Margaux's exit, she gave one last order in her ridiculous language before escaping back into the sea of people outside, leaving the Juggernaut alone with her just now animated puppets. Yeah... She wasn't woman enough to watch what she'd wrought play itself out... She wasn't the type. That freak was the kind of woman who would set a bomb and walk away, not bothering to watch the devastation she herself had caused. Cicilia only smirked, wanting to get one last jab at her back.

"Just like the rest of your country, all you can do is run from fights you start!" She called out... Right as the 6 men approached at their own paces... The 3 in front, those with the knuckles and knives came at her faster than the batters, the Juggernaut turning to face them first. Her heart was beating so hard in her chest, her eyes locked onto the sheen upon the razor-sharp blade and the knuckles of the other, her first priority being the knife... If she got hit by that anywhere important... Chest, gut, she would be done for... A stab in any of those places would render anyone remotely human unable to move, let alone fight back! Brass knuckles? She was confident she could take a hit or two... And then there were the batters... She didn't want to know what those things could do to her...

This was not Cicilia's strong suit at ALL. She was meant for single combat, fighting someone one-on one, not against hoards of half-baked cronies! How was she supposed to combat people when there were more of them than she had limbs to defend herself!?

Fuck me... She whispered as the knife-man came at her first, coming at her low and to the right! Fuckmefuckmefu.... wha... Cicilia reflexively recoiled at the approach of the blade, noticing only after she completed her duck back that the knife wasn't meant to cut her at all! The rain had really started to pick up, adding more uncomfortably distracting movement for her eyes to track but what was the real use of the knife was to deflect water off it's blade... and into the German's eyes! Speaking of reflexes? Her hand immediately shot up to rub her eyes dry... only to get an iron (or brass she supposed) clad fist to her chest! Cicilia's eyes shot wide as a fist actually plunged into her breast, knotting its way deep inside with the brutality of a tribal berserker,

"Augh!" Cicilia gasped as the two men played off each-other's strategies, forcing the Juggernaut to go on the defensive right from the get-go! Between the water dripping down into her eyes from the sky and her attackers being so well coordinated, they had every damn advantage they could bring short of guns and bombs! Terrain, weaponry, teamwork!? MOB TEAM-WORK! God-damned bastards thought of everything! The most she could do against this knuckle-kissing breast-punching bastard was fall back on her defense, using her arms to deflect blows instead of take them! Her breast was on FIRE after that last punch, throbbing and burning as if she needed any more distractions!

"Fuck..." Cicilia growled as she started to fight back, grabbing the man's hand at the wrist before it's punch could complete, then grabbing the other as it went for a hook towards her ribs! "...YOU!" She jerked the man in close, SLAMMING her forehead at his nose, showing him what REAL strength was without the assistance of a tool! Assuming her attack worked and sent that poor excuse for a fist-fighter down, she would turn her attention to the knife guy. She could feel the presence of the men behind her, but there was still a guy with a knife in front of her! She couldn't leave him be lest he shank her in the kidney or something... She raised her arms, inching toward that bastard... before a Bat swung around and struck her leg from behind!

"AAAAAAAAH!" She howled in agony, her eyes tearing up in sheer pain as she felt her leg get SMASHED out from under her, spraining her damned knee to hell as the bat had struck it dead on! What was even worse is when she fell to the ground, she struck her wounded knee upon the concrete, messing it up even further and sending waves of disgusting shock and pain through her whole leg. Cicilia crashed into the now puddle-ridden muck-coated street, her body NOT AT ALL HAPPY to feel this pain again..."NNNNNGUH!" She grunted, glancing back at her attacker before throwing a wild but very much still powerful kick to his groin with her wounded leg, the tip of her boot extended to deliver maximum pain!

"FFFFFFFFuh...." She hissed, under her breath, gritting her teeth as she did her damned best to rise back up... Her chest rose and fell heavily, already out of breath before this really got started... Her belly ACHED with fear, chills of terror arching up her nerves... Somewhere in the back of her mind, she hoped to hell Margaux didn't mean it... that she didn't want her killed, just roughed up and that these weapons were just for show. Benefit of the doubt was supposed to come in hand in times like these! Not now... She felt the damned intent behind that bat... It meant to break her leg! It was only by sheer luck that it was left sprained but anyone would know the hostility behind that blow...

Oh god... Cicilia thought as she would raise her arms again... They really mean to kill me...

The woman she was leaving behind surely wouldn’t have been able to hear it from deeper within the alleyway, but Margaux couldn’t help but let out a little snicker at the last retort screamed at her back. If she believed there was any love for her country somewhere in her conscience, the German was bound to be disappointed. There was only one such loyalty that mattered to her. The kind of loyalty that Cicilia was experiencing firsthand in this very moment. The kind that would see the blood flushed from her body, and her bones broken beneath her skin.

As she and Olivier departed into the ever-shifting crowd of faceless passersby, the men left behind continued with their assault. The man with brass knuckles swung swift and true, his past experience and unfortunate encounters shining through with every swift strike that dug into the German’s skin. He felt the flesh and bone yield beneath the impact. He reeled back for another strike, aiming for her jaw to knock her off her feet.

However, the woman showed a surprising amount of backbone. He was tugged forward and her skull rammed into the bridge of his nose, sending a spurt of blood into the air between them as she drew back. Despite clearly being her superior in height by a couple inches, he was nevertheless sent tumbling down on his back, clutching his nose and furrowing his brow as he attempted to deal with the shock. His switchbladed comrade stepped back, seemingly not at all shaken by the sight of his burlier partner going down. He simply made some space and watched as the juggernaut fell to the surprise attack from behind.

The bat landed with a sickening smack into the meat of her thigh, just above the kneecap but enough for the force and shock of it all to numb the muscle and bone surrounding it. The sound echoed across the alleyway, nearly masking the sound of the woman splashing into the puddle before her. He reared back the bat for another strike to ensure she stayed down, but swiftly found her heel buried into the underside of his crotch. A harsh yelp escaped his lips as he stumbled back fell to one knee behind her.

The Triplets hadn’t been deterred either by the sight of one of their own going down, even their own flesh and blood. They’d been through this before, seen it happen countless times at ages when neither of them were much taller than the very bats they were wielding. Nevertheless, they moved in. Their brother was in the line of fire now.

Assuming her attention was now on them, the two would move in, sprinting past their kneeling third brother and hurrying towards the juggernaut with their bats raised. The twin on the left would swing towards her right side, sending a blow into her right shin and thigh. Only a pace behind, the twin on the right would swing his bat into her right arm, following up with another strike to the right side of her head. Unless Cicilia was able to stop their flurry, they’d simultaneously reel their weapons back and thrust them into her chest, pushing her backwards...towards the waiting man with the switchblade, who’d move to thrust it into the back of her shoulder.

God-damned right she had some back-bone! She didn't call herself the juggernaut for nothing, damn it! Her strikes sent her targets flailing away, leaving her with the knife-man who was backing up quickly (as he should...) and the two batters behind her who quickly moved up to compensate for their wounded brother! Cicilia hissed as she wheeled herself around to face the two batters, glaring at them with absolute burning hatred... Her sanguine eyes glowed in the haze and darkness that was the air within this rain-spattered alley, a monster... a beast they dared to confront... to hurt her! Her upper lip twitched as she forced her wounded, aching body into her boxing stance despite the pain in her leg, the agony only stimulating the adrenaline flooding her veins... Her fear of death was pushed into the background for now, still very much present to be sure! ... But the battle came first. She was going to rip them APART for that! The Men didn't seem to acknowledge their wounded companions in any way, simply continuing with the attack!

One ducked down low, to strike at her wounded right thigh, the other coming in from above, aiming to crack his bat against her shoulder! Her eyes flicked in both directions, forced to prioritize between limbs! She wasn't fast enough... nor at her peak to be able to stop two bats in full swing at opposite ends! If she attempted to dodge back, there would be a knife waiting for her... if she attempted to duck, she wouldn't be fast enough and likely get a bat to the side of her head for her troubles!

I hate you Margaux... Cicilia hissed as she braced her shoulder for impact as her other arm swung down to catch the right bat. I swear to god... when I find you, I'm going to rip out your damned tongue!

No sooner than this thought had completed, Cicilia's world turned red for an instant as the steel back CRACKED against her shoulder, her other hand barely making it in time to catch the right one, stopping it dead before it could connect with her leg!

"NNNNNNNNGGGGGG....HHHHH....AAAAAAAAAAAAH!" She tried to hold back a scream... she tried to keep it in but the pain... It was too strong... And that wasn't even the worst part! The bat had actually struck the tip of her shoulder, sliding off the end and connecting with the side of her face at the end-stroke, cracking the juggernaut across the jaw too! Tears of agony began flowing down from her eyes, her lower lip trembling slightly. Her yell bounced off the walls of the Alley, blasting out into the sky... Why couldn't anyone hear this!? Did the rain muffle her that much!?

"Huff...... Huff.... Huff...* She gasped, releasing the gang-member's bat so she could clutch at her wounded shoulder. N....not broken... She could still move it but... Oh god, it hurt too... so fucking bad... It was like someone stuck white-hot cattletrops in her joints...

And they weren't even done with her yet... Withdrawing their weapons, the Batters thrust their bats right at Cicilia's chest, one for each side of her clavical to push her in the direction of the only standing man behind her, the one with the knife... The German stood defiantly, glaring at them... helpless to defend herself as she clutched her shoulder....

OR SO IT SEEMED! Cicilia's arms shot out, her palms pressing hard against the tip of each bat well before they reached their destination, her fingers digging into their heads as she snarled at their wielders... If this didn't truly show the strength of Cicilia De'Reignhardt, stopping two bats with merely a hand each, nothing would!

"NNNNNNHHHGH!" She hissed, her wounded arm already beginning to buckle under the pressure of her resistance... "AAAAAAAAH!" With a fierce roar that could rip the sky asunder, the Juggernaut's good arm SHOVED the bat BACK at it's owner's hopefully sending him stumbling back while her wounded side tugged HARD at the bat in it's grip, attempting to wrench it free! Should she succeed, she would let out a whimpering gasp as her shoulder practically burned itself alive from the inside, the German adjusting her grip on the weapon so that she held it properly...

*Step...*

Immediately Cicilia snapped to attention, her ears barely picking up the sound of a boot splashing into the puddles of water newly created in this rain-storm... the sound of the knife-man going in for the kill. Using her momentum from snatching the bat, Cicilia arched around, Swinging her new weapon from below up towards the man's jaw as his knife came down attempting to crack his bloody jaw off his damned face! Grand... SLAM!

...But this action came at a cost... He was a sneaky-bastard... a damned sneak and was already in the thrusting motion by the time her bat would've connected... instead of coming down on her shoulder... his knife cut across her left eye instead... It was strange... Cicilia didn't feel pain at first... Her fingers instantly let go of the weapon the moment the blade had slashed her... For one... single second.... time seemed to slow... as all the vision in her eye disappeared to black...

And with that black came pain.

Indescribable.

The German lost all the strength in her legs right then as hell's torture itself manifested in that whole side of her face... Her hands shot up to face as if to guard it from the horrors it was already infected with... all in vain... every last bit of protective or aggressive protocol completely sacrificed...

At the mercy of death...

"M... M....MY EYE!" She wailed, flailing on the ground as the tone of her voice reached a pitch it never had... "MY EYE...!" She couldn't stop herself from screaming, from crying, from sobbing... Blood was everywhere, soaking her cheeks, down her chin, over her jacket, flowing out onto the concrete... Her resistance ended there... as would her life... wouldn't it...?

There were scant few surprises that the Triplets had encountered during their time in the Inner Circle. Few heists that hadn’t gone according to plan. A couple marks that weren’t where they were supposed to be. A man or woman that went beyond expectations. Never a job that had gone wrong.

All the same, the woman - the force - in front of them was proving to be a curiosity to remember for quite some time. One lost his bat to the ensuing chaos, the other pushed back and falling to the ground beside his brother. The man with the switchblade had only caught a glimpse of the development before following through with his task. Or rather, he attempted to. A steel bat to the jaw saw him fall short of his target, a splash of blood leaving his mouth as he stumbled to the side and crashed against the wall, falling facefirst against the pavement and struggling to find the strength to move. A moment he would dread reporting to the Madame with every fiber of his being, assuredly.

A saving grace. His efforts hadn’t been in vain. The woman’s blood-curdling scream echoed into the coming Tokyo night. The pickpocket, the only one left standing aside from the newly disarmed twin, watched with a quirked brow from a slight distance and the pipe still brandished and unstained in his left hand. An impressive showing, but one that was evidently at its end as he watched the juggernaut fall to her knees of her own power, seeing her writhe and howl on the floor as a shell of her hardy and unshakable former self. Her cries reached an even higher pitch, a profound tone that was very much getting on his nerves.

His eyes trailed to the side, noticing the man with the brass knuckles rising to his two feet, having seemingly fully recovered from the headbutt she’d kindly given him earlier. It truly was impressive. Even if her efforts were utterly futile, even if they had no lasting effect nor deterred them from further approach, there was a certain marvel in seeing the aftermath. How much injury she’d managed to inflict in such a short time.

And with injury came contempt. From contempt bred hatred.

The burly man marched over and leaned down to snake his arm around the woman’s neck with a rear chokehold. He kept the lock around her neck tight as went to hoist her up to two feet. She was by no means a light woman, with a body fit for a pugilist of her prestige, but he was strong all his own. He wanted to deprive her of some air, a scarce commodity in the humid conditions of this damp, rain-slicken dead end. But it steadily became more than that as the blood trickling from his nose dripped and added to the gathering cesspool beneath them. Disgust. Suffocate. Suffer. Wither. Die.

Duty.

He grunted, looking over his shoulder for a moment before twisting his body and throwing Cicilia directly behind him into a waiting a clothesline from the twin whose bat had been recently confiscated by a certain worthless piece of soon-to-be-dead meat. The thunder would roll and lightning would crack moments after his arm met her neck with a clap, sending her crashing into the hard pavement.

On this spot is where they would stand over her. The Triplets to one side, the brass knuckles and the man with the pipe at the other. The man with the switchblade was still coming to grips with reality, his hands shifting about in a daze as he attempted to recover his knife somewhere from the ground. All the while, the five lauding over Cicilia would stare down with contempt. One triplet held the bat over his shoulder in the same casual manner as he did when they first arrived. The man with the brass knuckles would clash them together, creating a spark in the bright reflections of its illustrious surface. The pickpocket with the pipe was the only one to stare Cicilia in her eyes, her one eye. Curiously interested in the damage that had been wrought. At what could move such a seemingly hardened woman to tears.

That interest faded fast, as his swift boot to her face went to tear their gazes apart. The pickpocket was the first to strike, raising the metal rod high into the air and bringing it down harshly upon the German’s left arm. Again and again, swinging with harsh exactness to target her elbow, forearm, fingers, her pride and joy made manifest and her only worth in this world under direct assault. The Triplets raised their bats in unison, then fell upon the juggernaut in an unrelenting, incoherent frenzy of metal clangs, cracking bones and yielding flesh as their instruments wreaked havoc up and down her body. The man with the brass knuckles saw an opening and shoved his reinforced fist into her gut once, then again, then again, but backed off upon nearly being hit with a stray swing.

These were the only sounds to escape the alleyway as the rain steadily quotes around them. The downpour steadily became a drizzle, then became nothing more than a few errant drops in off the side of the decrepit concrete around them. How much time had passed between that point and then had escaped them in their task. But it was only then that a silence would overtake them as they took a few steps back, looking down at their handiwork.

Cicilia's cries gradually decreased in volume and strength as she ran out of air to scream, devolving into pitiful whimpers and sobs as she rolled over on her front... She had no strength of her own to stand with such CRIPPLING PAIN... but she tried to anyway, that determination of her doing her some real good in this moment.The German pushed against the ground pitifully, barely able to rise to her hands and knees as her head BURNED from the inside! The fire chased out all the necessary fluids that kept her alive out of her brutalized eye-socket, blood and tears drenching the rough concrete below her as well as her clothing... The scent of iron was strong in the air, not least due to the red that followed the flow of the water out of the alley way, down into the side-walk cracks.

The Man with brass-knuckles, the one Cicilia had graced with the hammer that was her forehead did the gentlemanly thing and helped her up to her feet... by her neck, his headlock almost acting like a noose around her neck as it suspended her in the air verses the pull of gravity on her dead-weight! Cicilia was a tough woman... One armored from head to toe in a suit of muscle and this man just picked her up like she was a stuffed-animal! She could feel his own strength press hard against her throat, her one good eye shooting wide as it constricted not only her wind-pipe, but the vital arteries that brought oxidized blood to her brain! What little air she had left in her lungs couldn't even be used to fuel her most important organ anymore!

"Wh... What's..... wrong, b-big man...?" Cicilia taunted, a cruel aching grin arching across her lips as her one working sanguine eye glanced back at her attacker. "...C-can't beat a woman... y-yourself...?" Her body, god help it, was starting to grow accustomed to the pain... that meant her natural pain-killers were starting to set in. She gained enough of her mind back from the claws of agony's insanity that she could throw this insult his way and what she got for her troubles... Was simply being shoved behind him! Cicilia stumbled without any control over her legs towards the waiting arm of the last standing triplet, an arm which met her throat with all the grace of a road-roller, knocking her HARD to the ground...

"KUGH!" She coughed as the back of her skull struck the concrete, so many stars floating by she swore she could see the universe... And so went the last of her strength... Like... all of it. It was a conscious effort just to keep the intake of air regular! She stared up at those that stood over her, her eye flicking to each one of their faces before landing on the pickpocket... He who started all this, he who stared down at her curiously... Cicilia gathered her will... her mouth scrunching up as she locked eyes with the man... Before spitting a glop of bloody saliva right at him, striking him in the same eye she had lost. She smirked.... She was proud of that...

A boot came out of nowhere, knocking that smile right off her face along with any gurgly, murky thoughts she might've had floating around in her head. Her skull was filled with nothing but a bleeding, burning white-noise as the men came down on her like the harpies of hell... She cried and gasped at first, but after a short while, all that could be heard was the sounds of blood-splattered, the breaking of bones and the ripping of flesh.

As the men came to a halt, so too did the rain, all of them staring down at their handiwork... A human lay crushed in a small pool of her own blood for the most part, her limbs still barely twitching, her expression... blank. Somewhere... deep inside her head beneath an ocean of deafening quiet... the tiniest ember of Cicilia remained, memories of herself and Sayumi flickering through her head like a program on a failing television...

Their first real kiss on the bench after their hentai match played most frequently... How nervous she was... afraid of her rejecting her love... She could feel the ghost of her partner's lips gracing hers as they kissed for the first real time... Over and over and over.... No words... no sounds... just broken images...