Kei's Fifth Death

"Let demons be demons."

Kei stood with a dagger in each hand, his chest rising and falling as he watched, giving some attempt to anticipate the other male's movements. He was fast, much faster than Kei himself... It seemed he had picked a fight he was damned to lose, it was only a matter of how long he could hold off. 

He had done everything he could to do so, his movements precise, though it was just narrowly enough to miss the blades of the swordsman who faced him. His speed was unmatched and often went under the radar of his vision entirely. More so troubling, to Kei the man was a sadist who fed off the physical pain of others and had no troubles saying so. 

"...well, shit."

A gut-wrenching sound came from Kei abruptly, he hadn't even attempted to dodge, following a leg injury that had made so impossible. His hinged jaw fell open though no sound came out, chest rising and falling quickly. Soon enough, it dripped down his jaw to fall to the ground.

By the end, beside the rouge were his limbs lying among the gathering pool of blood, which had been severed. The final impact that truly crippled him, however, was the tip of the swordsman's blade that protruded sharply out of his back. As the pool around him spread out further, his body had practically gone into shock. He felt a coldness go over him as he became limp, vision escaping his hollow sockets.

However, Kei seemed to muster the strength to shriek in pain once more when he was thrown upwards suddenly, each wound being torn further open at the movement. When he came back down he had hoped for the ground to cause his heart to stop, though the burning of the blade tearing through his flesh was hardly that. With an inability to free himself his weight fell onto the sword, which was coated in crimson which dripped down to the hilt. At the other male's command, when the blackened flames engulfed him there was little movement, other than a twitch now and then and small pained sounds that hardly were audible.

The last thing he would see was the swordsman's hand coming closer, obscuring his fading vision.

When he gripped the rogue's skull a sickening crack would be heard as bone shattered - it had indeed been a part of him, instead of a mask like a swordsman had thought.

His body lay motionless now, whether he had passed out from pain, or died of blood loss first, who knows.

This would be his most painful recovery yet.