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Fandom Hell's Kitchen Vol. 1 (Complete)

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"Like hell I will, BITCH!" Crouching low on his thighs to avoid the blade, the steel edge only cuts his afro, essentially giving the Ghanaian man a hi-top fade. The almost seven foot tall muscleman rockets his leg towards her shin, the muscles in his haunches tautly held, and has enough strength behind the blow to snap the Japanese woman's leg right in half. A distraction, though, as he continues backpedalling in the direction of his couch.
 
The man fled across the living room, and the swordslinger followed.

This is, of course, after she effortlessly sidesteps his foot, her reflexes superhuman, amplified by Kick. She walks stolidly, not hurrying, not loafing. "Run all you want, small man," she whispers, barely reaching five foot herself yet baleful all the same. "You'll fall on my blade."
 
In the heat of the moment, some (but not all) of the furniture in the apartment starts to disappear--porcelain vases, prestigious paintings, designer ornaments--little illusionary additions to his still luxury apartment. These additions, however, he can no longer maintain, for his life is more important than these fake material possessions.

Jeremey whistles and his pedigree Pomeranian, which in actuality is a rabid mongrel, comes from around the corner to defend his master, teeth flared. Another distraction--that's what the Trickster excels in. Distractions. He reaches into his couch, feeling around under the cushions, and pulls out a gun, whirling it round, holding it sideways as he bellows, "Die, MOTHAFUCKA!"

A flurry of bullets, seven in total, reduce Suezo's head to a spray of red mist and fragmented bone should they hit.
 
She beheads the mongrel mercilessly with one swing, then boots it to one side. She swings her blade some more, seven times for seven bullets. All are cut in half. A superhuman on Kick is virtually unstoppable. On the eighth, she claims the arm that holds the gun, followed shortly after by a ninth that cuts him horizontally in half from hip to hip, exposing bloated worms for intestinal tracts and a ladder of spinal vertebrae.
 
"Please! I don't want to die! I'll do anything you want! Anything!" He's running out of ideas. "I'm a lawyer. Free consult--" The blade cuts him off. Pun intended.
 
With a cloth, Suezo cleans her katana of the man's blood, muttering, "Fool," in Japanese as she sheathes the blade with a click of the crosspiece. She calls her father, a Yakuza crimelord (with a large share in the illegal Kick industry), and tells him, "Father... I've completed my mission," a vengeful crusade.

Jeremy's television blares in the background, a politician campaigning for superhuman rights. Some might recognise her as the policewoman who was saved by the Demoness. Suezo pays the broadcast no mind, exiting the premises.
 
All an illusion, of course, one the Trickster had employed the moment Suezo Shogun entered his home. Jeremy, sitting on the marble countertop of his open-plan kitchen, strokes his Pomeranian between the ears. When the woman leaves, he comes down, walking to his body, lifting up the bloody hand by the thumb to admire his handiwork. "Convincing enough," he comments. Though his admiration is short-lived and Jeremy, having only managed to survive by the skin of his teeth, opts to pack his bags, filling his suitcase frantically with whatever it can manage.

He runs away from Hell's Kitchen, taking his Pomeranian with him. The dog looks out the window as they drive off in his purple Lamborghini, his purple Gucci bathrobe catching the open window's backdraught. Good things happen to bad people and bad the good. Sad as it is to say, the good guys don't always win.

Goodbye, Hell's Kitchen.
 

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