The Hero Who Kills To Protect (III END)

There, he meets a man. He is wearing a leather coat, wielding a scythe that's still dripping fresh blood from the five mutilated corpses.

Juggernaut looks on curiously, unbothered by the sight of the mutilated corpses before realization dawns on him like a gentle wave does and he smiles, creepily.

"Oh, you must be Therion, right? The Beast was your nickname as a villain, if I recall correctly?"

Therion pays no mind to Juggernaut's words, instead opting to focus on the girl's shivering form in Juggernaut's hand.

Therion feels the spark that blazing into an inferno inside his mind, devouring everything in sight before he metaphorically stomps on it. Anger would not help, he tells himself. Focus on the mission. The girl is unimportant; Juggernaut's death is important.

Juggernaut's smile slowly diminishes, seeing that Therion wasn't even paying attention to him, but the girl hanging by the hair in his hand, and his smile turns into an ugly sneer.

"A villain turned hero, how fucking stupid. You proclaim yourself a hero and yet—" Juggernaut gestures to the five corpses beside Therion with his free hand, "—you do exactly the same thing as I do, just under a different banner of hypocritical righteousness."

Therion steps up and decides to humor the villain, twirling his black scythe absentmindedly, recognizing Juggernaut's attempt to rile him up.

Villains similar to Juggernaut liked to monologue quite a bit, and if Therion engaged with Juggernaut, it gave him the opportunity to stall a bit for back up in the case he ever failed — a situation where he fails his missions are extremely improbable, but not so impossible.

"I am what you think of me, Juggernaut. I am a murderer and a hero. So what? I don't really regret my decisions, in fact, I hold them in high regards. And really, did you really think your attempt at riling me up would do the trick?"

Juggernaut snarls and holds up the child by her hair. "You know, I thought we were similar, you and I. But now, I don't really think so." Juggernaut pauses, "Oh, and if you haven't really noticed yet Mr. Sherlock, I have a hostage here!"

Therion stops twirling his black scythe and twists it, pointing the edge of the sharp end to the ground and taps it gently.

(Unnoticed to Juggernaut, the ground cracks from the force ever so slightly.)

"You shouldn't have compared me to the likes of your scum, Juggernaut. Me and you are wholly different, both in strength and the virtues that we live by," he tapped the scythe on the ground again, this time with a frown. "This city is mine to protect. And if to protect is synonym with to kill, then kill I will do."

(He recognized the hidden meaning in Therion's words. He's threatening him. Therion is wordlessly telling him to surrender before the scythe may move.)

Juggernaut growls but doesn't retort, instead opting to take hold of the sobbing eleven-year-old child by the hair and throwing her body across the street to his left, and takes a stance, preparing for a fight—!

Therion blurs with speed, and for a moment, Juggernaut can't follow Therion's movement, and so he grits his teeth and instinctively crosses his arms in defense.

A second passes, and the heavy impact from the scythe doesn't come, and instead, what comes is the sound of ringing metal on concrete, and the flutter of a worn out leather coat.

Glancing to the left reveals Therion holding the eleven year old girl in his arms, shivering uncontrollably from fear and pain.

His back is facing Juggernaut and his scythe rests by his side, standing around on the handle.

Time seems to slow down to a crawl, and Therion walks until he meets the wall of a convenience store and gently sits down the now unconscious form of the innocent child.

Juggernaut doesn't dare move, instead deciding to be on high alert for any surprise attacks, cautious of his opponent's speed and—

....

...

....

The scythe sings, and the blade, painted red with fresh blood, sharply cuts through the air.

The flutter of a leather coat, dirt and grime sticking to the ends.

A head rolls by the feet of the Beast.

A flick of the hand, and the blood leaves the scythe.

Apathetic eyes land on the corpse, once known to be Juggernaut, but now no more than bits of flesh.

Grey, apathetic and emotionless, meet crimson red, devoid of life.

The wind whispers, "If to protect means to kill, then I can slaughter a hundred of your kind,"

(The mission is finally done.)