Darkness of the night slowly clouded the moon. You would expect the night to be cold, but all Marvin could feel right now was heat, a burning heat that couldn't be extinguished by any kind of cold. His fine coat no longer looked so fine; the everlasting nights of the city, the endless shrugs between life and death, took a toll on it as they did on him. That's especially the case right now.
He was practically blind in one eye, and the other one was following after its path closely enough. But he could accept that; he didn't need his eyes anyway, not in this fight, his opponent was too familiar with shadows to be caught by his clumsy eyes. All he needed to do was catch him, not get close, nor corner him; no, the bastard was too agile for anything else to trap him.
One good chance, one good hit, that's all it takes, and the fucker is his to play with just like he is playing with him right now. Marvin kept swinging his fist, wild perhaps, even though he didn't know if the bastard was even in the direction he was swinging at. With every missed punch, he got hit by three of his.
Punch to the liver, kick to the back, knee to the chin, calf kick... each one hurt more than the previous one, even the light ones left him bleeding mess. Metal gauntlets wrapped in razor wire, combat boots with spikes in the sole, none of them was less dangerous than the other and no less annoying to move around with. Yet he did move them with unnatural grace, no sound of wind being sliced by the blades of wire, no pressure of winds being pierced by spikes, to warn that it all happens in a flash and disappears in one only drawing arcs of blood and torn flesh.
"Is that the worst you can do? Come on... You know I can take it."
As Marvin tensed his muscles, anticipating the next few attacks, gritting his teeth for the incoming rush of pain, the figure lunges out from behind him. Even from a close distance, all you could make out was a vague silhouette of a man, masked in shadows, his entire being blended into it almost seamlessly, only revealed by his arms and legs that wrapped in the red of fresh blood.
He landed on Marvin's huge back on all fours like a feline dropped from a high ground, rocking him forward before jumping over him and landing a roundhouse kick on his chest. All this before Marvin could even fully look back, or even he could swing his hand fully. They like to joke that big guys are slow, but Marvin knows no one is that slow; only Wicker is wickedly fast.
Marvin could feel that last kick get him real good; damn thing almost resulted in him choking to death in his own blood. Perhaps his coughing and struggling to breathe amused Wicker because he deliberately timed his next move to when he was coughing up blood. With wires wrapped around his hands, it didn't need to form anything to be deadly anymore, just a gentle push, and the wire would do the rest. Rising knee to the chin as he pulled him down from his shoulders, while slowly cutting pieces off it, followed by a backflip to escape from his range.
Naturally, with his ability, he could pull off even bullshit like this as an effective move. Well, whatcha know Marvin could too pull off his own kind of little blullshits too. He didn't know if it was some miracle from above or the long fight even tired bastards like him, but just this moment, he was a little slower. Still agile as a cat, and fast as fuck, but just this time he almost caught him.
Wicker too felt that the giant hands of Marvin, that's almost as big as his head, grazing by his wrists, yet he still got away from it. Even for a brief moment, clouded in adrenaline and arrogance, a smile formed on his face, revealing his pearly white teeth. Well, not like Marvin could see it right now, he was choking on the blood Wicker made him forcefully swallow.
Wicker slowly circles Marvin, the giant on his knees, still choking on his blood, powerless, weak from endless wounds stacked upon him. His steps made no sound, even the nails of his sole dug deep into the ground, and it remained silent, no grass rustled when he stepped on it, as if he never stepped on it, yet the footsteps remained, indicating he indeed stepped on it. Yet even those footsteps felt rather forced, forced to be created by the nails under his boots, not by the will of the world. It was always like this for him, as if he never existed; it was as if the very world was denying his right to exist... to live and influence it.
Which is why he does what he does; he architects their suffering, breaks them piece by piece, then builds them from the ground up into something new... something more beautiful and something stronger. His eyes lingered on each wound he inflicted little longer than the other one, yet his gaze felt rather empty, as if the wounds were no longer the things he was seeing. He finally stopped in front of the kneeling Marvin, the beast of vengeance he so carefully crafted by sacrificing his many other creations.
He was his masterpiece, one he truly built from nothing. He has given him everything, filling his empty vessel with love, kindness, and hope before snuffing them all away. He left the cold, lifeless body of his lover still lying on his bed beside him; he let the cops take away everything he worked for, he extinguished any hope of a happy ending, chaining him to this hellhole rest of his life. And tonight he took his final trial, the test of whether what he made him into was strong enough.
He took a step closer, only to be stopped by the gaze of Marvin. His eyes, long painted red by the blood bore upon him, his eyes were near blind yet still bearing the burning savage desire for blood. Wicker tilted his head in confusion. Was it a stroke of luck, or was it something else? Perhaps his instinct was letting him face his death head-on?
Nevertheless, it didn't matter; all of this has lasted long enough for the night. He raised his leg ready to blind those eyes of Marvin for good, before stopped by his voice. His mouth turned deep red from the blood, his voice raspy and broken, yet still he spoke loud and clear between coughs.
"You know... most people would have made a damn fool of themselves attempting most of your moves yet... You still pulled them off with the help of some divine bullshit."
He slowly got up, grunting in pain, gritting his teeth in pain, the sound of his wounds being torn open, bones cracking with each small movement; it almost made one feel pity for him. Wicker puts his foot down; even he needed to gain a little momentum if he wanted to land a proper hit on his face when it's at that height. Only when they stood face-to-face could one feel how massive the man named Marvin truly was.
Wicker was by no means short, yet even he barely touched the chest of the behemoth of a man standing in front of him.
"Since you were pulling your divine bullshit for a while... let me show you mine."
But he didn't finish his speech. Wicker is kick landed on the face, nails digging deep, yet Marvin didn't flinch; instead, he let out a chuckle. Wicker tried to gain some distance, yet he felt a faint tug, forcing him to stop midway before being pulled towards Marvin with unimaginable force. Then... it happened.
The punch, one that's carrying devastating force, lands upon Wicker's face; everything went blurry, white hot pain followed by shock blurred everything to him. Marvin took advantage of this; he picked Wicker up from his head, held him in front of himself, before blindly dashing forward. It didn't matter what was in front of him, a tree, a trunk, or an old fence with a warning sign; he went through them like a raging bull. Of course, all that impact was softened by the sweet old Wicker front of him.
Wicker felt it all, branches, bark, and rustly old nails digging into his back, the tearing sensation he felt as Marvin strengthened his grip over him. Only then did he realize how Marvin could get hold of him and what that tugging was. As Marvin loses his footing, and two of them roll down to the ravine, Wicker could see his hands being tugged towards Marvin.
Razor wires that were once his deadly weapon have now become his shackles that bind him to Marvin. Somehow, the giant has managed to pull out the end of the wire when his hands grazed his wrist, now wrapping around his own hands. Marvin used it like a cup, connecting them together and preventing him from ever getting away from his range. Indeed, it was kind of divina bullshit only someone like Marvin could pull off.
Even battered and bruised, bleeding and dying, Marvin still stood up, his worn coat no longer around, his black shirt barely resembling a shirt anymore. Yet he still stood tall, pulling Wicker up from his hands, the first thing he did was smash his kneecaps with his feet.
"Hop around... now... you... slippery... bastard..."
His breath battered, voice barely audible, yet he still kept talking. His huge hands slowly wrap around Wicker's head. First, he lets the blades of the wire dig in... nice and clean, so it would be more painful when he does what he is about to do.
His fingers interlock, his grip slowly tightened, wire dug deeper while Wicker's skull made a strange cracking sound. Veins popped out, and blood gushed out from his facial holes, yet he remained silent. Never screaming in pain nor struggling, not when his veins popped under his skin, when his eyes popped out from their sockets, when his skull lost its shape, nor when pieces of his sliced ear fell on the ground. He remained silent... like he did tonight, even till the very end of his life.
As the Wicker Man's lifeless body falls on the ground, Marvin felt the heat driving him finally dies down, and the cold breeze of the night finally envelops him. The furiously beating heart, the fury burns inside it, finally wrapped under the coldness of the night, letting Marvin take his final breath. His cold body stood there, looking down upon the limping corpse of Wicker with its dead, silent eyes, yet still filled with ashes of his hatred; he stood tall upon the corpse.
That night, the Wicker Man burned his last ember. His pyre grew cold — and all that remained was a headless corpse.
Wicker Man, Wicker Man, can you hear our wailing?
Or does your whip of thorns sing louder?
See how bright your garden has grown,
Fed by pain you've sown like flowers.
Wicker Man, Wicker Man, have you heard our calling?
Blood spilled, yet your pyre grows bigger.
Can you, can you, just for a moment,
Whip it a little gentler?
Are you, are you, coming to the pyre?
Where they burn all our patience
To feed Wicker's fire.
Strange is the silence when the pain builds him higher,
And the smoke of our torment is all his desire.
The roots remember every name you've sown,
Yet still they reach for you in love.
The earth is a tomb for the hope we have known,
While you watch from the high place above.
Are you, are you, where the faithful conspire?
See the pain build him higher,
Our screams make him higher.
Your cold heart will break on your own fire.
Wicker Man, Wicker Man, your fire's grown colder,
The smoke fades, yet our suffering burns older.
Are you, are you, still proud of your pyre?
We have fed you well — now rest in your fire.