One's own Moby Dick

[Smiley]

In yet another moment of Bucket's East Blue adventures (Trademark Pending), the big guy had found himself visiting the Goa Kingdom, where the fabled revolutionary army had reportedly appeared once before, a very long time when the Grey Terminal was set on fire ahead of a Celestial Dragon's visit. So it said that the boss himself, Dragon, saved the poor people of the terminal and took them in under his very wing. 

Man, to think that such a cool thing had happened in such a nowhere kingdom in the middle of nowhere! Hell, as the big guy made the rounds in the terminal, very much forcefully asking a few questions to random people about the goings of the place, it seemed that a stupid, bitchy kid had taken the Goa Kingdom throne, likely dooming them to yet another generation of suffering and general irrelevancy. 
It really was all ever so interesting to hear from the people of the kingdom itself.

Bucket would love to be able to help the people of the Grey Terminal of course, however, he just didn't feel like he was able to do it properly, not at the current time. Even if he had a respectable bounty by all accounts, compared to the East Blue average, he was still actually lower than "Higuma the Bear", someone that the big guy knew was nothing but hot air - fuck, people apparently didn't even know where he is these days! Dumbass probably ran away in mega fear and is hiding away until the end of his days.

For that reason, as he walks through the Grey Terminal, chatting up the locals and waiting for someone to try and get rude and aggressive with him, the big guy was sure to stay on a lot of people's minds. And for the right price or the right intimidation techniques, they'd surely tell anyone who asked about the 7.5 million prize horse.

[mildofthewild]

The gloom and misery that pervades in Gray Terminal is likewise contrasted by the bustle and the hustle of what lies beyond the monolithic stone walls. The Royal Palace peers across all corners of the small kingdom, preceded and surrounded by the higher classes nestled comfortably within High Town. Of course, by extension, the further from the center one gets, the less exposure to the shining "brilliance and majesty" of the new king one is granted. Of course for some, this might be a blessing, especially for those that deal in shadier business dealings. 

Edge Town, located just before the wall that leads into a valley of trash and misery, holds a scene of particular rapscallions. Away from the peering eyes of pathetic kings, a particular bar crawl houses a number of ne'er do wells looking to escape trouble. Unfortunately, it seems for them trouble just has a habit of knocking. 

"Oh, what a day. Seems like they just get longer and more of the same since that brat got put in charge," one voice croaks out, grog leaking from one corner of their mouth and staining their otherwise pre-stained shirt. The general atmosphere of this bar is one of fatigue and, more importantly, annoyance. 

"Not all bad though," another pipes up, clinking an empty tankard onto her wooden table and calling for a top off for what was already a drink too many. "Here we've got some company; Fishman down in the Gray Terminal, pokin' at the trash." 

"You're kiddin! What's a Fishman want with this place; trying to rustle up some grub any chance it can get?"

"Beats me, but the best part is it ain't just any Fishman. Heard it's Bukbuk the Bucket!" 

"HA! You mean the one that's been sinkin' marine vessels?! That guy's a riot! He ain't no Higuma the Bear, but it's nice to get some names poppin' up in East Blue again! How much is he worth, again?"

"Last I checked, about 7,500,001 beri. Almost makes you wanna go after him yourself?"

"Please, and get turned into fish bait? I know better than to mess with freakin' Fishmen, things'll eat you whole if you let 'em. I'm sure he'll run afoul of someone sooner or later though; he better be careful."

The bar erupts into raucous laughter, the glass clinking of freshly emptied tankards chiming in every now and then as people drank to a celebrity in town. The reverie lasts until the slow creak of the entrance signals for the laughter to die down, as a new figure strides in. No one typically pays attention to new faces; so long as money is good, this bar welcomes anyone. Of course, as the woman behind the counter turns her face up, her eyes can't help but stop on the downright hideous mask on this newcomer. As opposed to the rags of everyone else, he wear a clean pressed suit with a tie drawn close around the neck, gloves stretched and creaking with every flex of their hands. Sharp dressers were unusual, but she had never seen a mask like that before; all she did know was that it was a mask that spelled trouble. 

Completely black, with three sets of zippers; two for the eyes, and one for the mouth. Two cold, obsidian eyes peer out from the metallic teeth up top, while a thin mouth pulled down looms within the shadows of the frightening visage. 

"Uh...Y-you, uh...you n-need somethin'?" The bartender asks, her hands shaking as she tries to keep a grip on the tankard in her hand. The man stares, the noise of the bar starting to become blocked out as she can't tear her eyes away from those eyes with a gaze as sharp as flint; suddenly, the man reaches into his suit. She flinches, expecting some kind of weapon, before she realizes it's some scrap of paper, neatly folded, that the man slides towards her across the counter top. 

"WANTED: BUKBUK THE BUCKET ~~7,500,001 BERI~~"

"Know where I can find this Fishman?" The voice says, barely above a whisper, though she could hear it quite clearly all the same. Slowly she shakes her head, too petrified to respond to the voice as cold as death itself. 

Suddenly, a hand reaches to the man's shoulder as one of the bar patrons had caught sight of what was going on. "Hey, Clarice, this guy bothering you? What's with the mask, freak show? You must got some kind of mug to-" The man's words were cut off as the masked man gripped his wrist, giving a solid squeeze. CRACK! The immediate splitting of bone pierces through the bar, the patron registering what had happened for a mere moment before opening his mouth to scream. However, it never came. 

Without missing a beat, the man reached out towards the patron's face, his fingers digging into his cheeks as his palm stretches across his mouth. A moment later, the masked man pulls his hand away...and the patron's mouth was gone. His good hand slides across the smooth flesh where mouth had once been, his eyes widening in panic as he searches. What was this?! The other patrons, now paying full attention, start shrinking against the back of the bar. 

"W-what the hell just happened?! What did he do?!"

"Oh crap! His mouth! What-"

"He's a Devil Fruit User!" 

An almost imperceptible aura of madness fills the room as the patron is suddenly lifted by his collar, the masked man's strength showcased as he does so with only one arm. The other, he lifts towards the patron, bringing him close to the closed palm of his free hand. His fingers unfurl slowly...and a tongue sticks out, licking the patron's trembling face. 

A mouth grins widely on the palm of the masked man's hand, giggling lightly as a tongue lolls out of the side. The yellowed teeth gleam back at the patron, and all at once he realized that it was his own mouth peering back!

"You should brush your teeth," the masked man said, before slamming the patron onto the countertop face first. Wood splinters from the blow as blood begins to seep from patron, Clarice the Barkeep shrinking away. The masked man turns his attention to the others, eyes now gleaming from within the shadow of his mask. 

"I'll ask again: where is Bukbuk the Bucket?"

---

The masked man finds himself in Gray Terminal, hands in his pockets as he walks calmly amongst the heaps of trash and likewise grimy individuals scouring for treasure. Dirt collects on the tails of his pant legs, though he pays it no mind. He'd been to much worse locales for targets worth much less. He could always get a new pair, so long as he completed this task. A few of the locals had pointed him in the direction of the Nautilus Fishman, the assassin hot on the Fishman's trail as he helped himself not only to the information, but the mouths of these people as well. 5 in total; should be plenty. 

He catches sight of his quarry, noting the similarity to the wanted posters. He's big, he thinks to himself, noting the enhanced strength of a Fishman. He'd have to try and limit direct impacts. 

"Bukbuk the Bucket." The assassin calls out, opting to forgo the element of surprise. It most likely wouldn't be of much help regardless; he'd need to see the Fishman in action before creating a plan of attack.

[Smiley]

Save for a short moment of unbridled, irrational anger and violent sneezing, his stay on the Grey Terminal had been pretty fun thus far. Talking to people, messing about in the trash while trying to find interesting things that he could wonder where they came from. Every piece of trash had a story and, while he'd never know the real one, he could very much try to think about one - or a possible one in the future, like some genius kid using all the garbage to make a super robot warrior like those famous Pacifistas that the Marines got.

And he'd very much like to spend his time messing about in garbage and spend his time having lots of fun, but fate wouldn't like it that way. Fate wanted the big man to fight, shown when some suspicious, shady dude called out not his name but his wanted poster's name. "Bukbuk the Bucket".

Why did he know that it was the name of his poster and not his person?

Well..

He never told anyone his real name.

"Bukbuk, hm?" The fishman's cavernous, slightly echo-y voice sounded out while he stood up straight once again, slowly turning around on his left heel to face the guy that was looking at him, noting the weird, formal outfit that very much contrasted the simple pant and prison-style striped black and white ripped-sleeve t-shirt that the big man wore.

A bounty hunter, perhaps? Definitely did not have the clothing of a Marine, so that was the only real assumption that he could have. Still, that face was slightly familiar, though he couldn't pin the reason why, yet.

"Yeah, that's me, buddy boy. You got any biz' with me or are you gonna skeet out of here before someone regrets their decisions or do we have to get aggressive?" The giant slammed his fists together, going for the hostile approach right away, unaware that it could TOTALLY be a super-duper fan who fell in love with him the moment he saw his wanted poster and wanted his autograph because Bucket is so cool.

..This guy don't look like a stan, though.

[mildofthewild]

"My name is Remulo Bogs," the man says, bending down on one knee and running a hand along the ground, rubbing some granules of smelly gravel together once he brought it back to eye level. His eyes roll back to focus on Bucket, noticing the fishman's fists and stature. He was ready to go, which meant he would be coming at him strong.

"I'm here to take you in for 7.5 million beri. My client says they'd rather you be alive, but that will depend on how willing you are to stay that way. Come quietly, and this can go very smoothly." His eyes peer like daggers from behind his mask, a cold glare that was studying Bucket's movements and body language. He estimated he would have only a few chances to make some quick maneuvers; if the fight drags out too long, he'd have the advantage, something Remulo couldn't let happen.

[Smiley]

"HAAAA, your name is REMULO BOGS!" Bucket couldn't help but start laughing directly at the man whose name reminded Bucket of smelly swamps, with the whole "bog" thing, making sure to exaggerate his reaction by hopping around while cackling in his "madness", entirely unintimidated by the man in front of him, self assured that a meager human who he didn't' know could ever hope to surpass the fishman without some trick or special power.

Finally, his laughing ended, with the big man's expression dropping quite noticeably, his eyes growing stiff and cold, his eyes staring directly at the masked fool that dared to come to him and not even try a sneak attack befitting of his species and detestable occupation. To be challenged this way insulted Bucket to an irrational level, one that he wouldn't let slide.
"You must think that I have nothing better to do than to entertain gutless fools like you..

Hmph. Nuisance." The giant scornfully said, just before clenching his fists, changing his stance to a much more aggressive one, with his fists fully out and ready to crush the challenger right in front of him. Whoever this client was, he'd make sure to send his little boy toy back with a battered body and broken honor, for the simple crime of catching Bucket at the wrong time. 

He clenched the muscles in his legs, his feet changed positions ever so slightly. That right cannon of an arm of his cocked back a bit, already preparing one of the classic punches of Fishman Karate at the considerable distance that they held between them. Completely serious about it, Bucket muttered something that ended up being inaudible to the assassin, just before he completely vanished from his place.
Having performed a technique most commonly found in trained government agents or marines, Soru, Bucket kicked off of the ground several times in an instant, dashing at blinding speeds directly towards Remulo, only briefly reappearing in front of him to accurately throw that punch.

"One hundred tile breaking true punch!" Bucket roared out while thrusting out that right arm forward, attempting to apply a truly grievous punch directly to the fool in front of him, applying both technique and the ungodly strength of a fishman towards Remulo's face - a punch so mighty that it'd easily ragdoll his body a good few feet away should it connect.

[mildofthewild]

"Gutless...Why is that gutless," Remulo says, whispering and slightly confused, as Bucket prepares himself. Bucket's pumped up body likely was all the Fishman could focus on as they prepared their attack; Remulo got the sense that his mere presence was angering him. Typical stance of fishman karate; so he was going to try to put the full brunt of his power into an attack. Remulo keeps his eyes trained on the bucket head, his eyes unwavering as he keeps noticing the slight ticks in his opponent's muscles and the odd twitch of their body.

Suddenly, the Fishman seemed to completely disappear, startling Remulo incredibly before the hulking brute reappeared. He's faster than I thought, how did he disappear like that? The assassin muses, before bringing his fists level. With one swift movement, Remulo threw a punch...into his own hand. His fist disappeared into the palm of his left hand, seeming to enter some kind of hole there before a sudden gust of air rushed out from below. If Bucket could look, he'd see something most peculiar: a mouth, opened wide and gaping on the ground, with a fist shooting forth and headed straight for his chest. 

I didn't count on that speed, though I was hoping for him to charge right for me. This won't take him out, but I should be able to avoid the full brunt of that attack. It's likely to break a few ribs; I'll have to use that moment to attack again, Remulo thinks, already re-configuring his plan of action. It would seem this opponent wouldn't be as easy as he thought. 

[Smiley]

As the one who prized himself in being an "unstoppable monster", Bucket refused to let up even after a sudden punch from below nailed itself to his chest, forcing him to tighten his muscles and focus on ignoring the pain as well as he could, instead continuing ahead to smash his fist into the assassin, really going for that impact that'd throw him real, real far away. 
Still, he had to back away once the punch actually connected, clutching his chest, taking a second to notice the mouth on the ground. A Devil Fruit? Of course a human would need to fruit himself up to actually pose a threat to him, but this was just disgusting.  

By punching his own hand, he could make it appear from mouths, was that it? He'd have to be careful with it, in case he could create mouths in surfaces like that. Could he place one in the air? Bucket would go for the first assumption that it could only be placed in solid surfaces and go from there - recovering from that punch, his hand letting go of his chest so he could actually answer the man's question.
"Because.. suicide is the coward's way out." 
The mind games to be played at that moment were something that Bucket didn't particularly enjoy, however, if he didn't throw the punch, then it would be OK, yes? 

As far as the big guy was aware, it seemed that, to him, the assassin couldn't see him when he was using his "Soru" and only react appropriately when he reappeared. If Bucket disappeared again, it'd be probable that he'd either try to pre-emptively punch a spot on his front or on his back. He also figured this because, as far as he knows, the assassin takes him for a mindless brute who follows instinct. 

For that reason, once Bucket took off once again, fading away from the untrained/slow eye, he charged at him from a bit of an angle, so that he could still get him as fast as possible but have any defensive punches simply graze him - something that wouldn't hurt him nearly as much as Soru would:
He had no techniques he could perform while performing his sprint, since it was hard to aim, however, running into someone is as clumsy as it is simple:

So Bucket ran him down with his superior, natural strength, weight and size at speeds so great that he fades away from the naked eye.

[mildofthewild]

Remulo curses inwardly as he realizes his punch wasn't going to do as much as he thought, and braces himself for the attack from Bucket.

It did more than break a few ribs. Remulo could feel each individual crack of his bones as Bucket's fist impacted, he could feel his ribs poking into his lungs, making his breathing labored and ragged as he was blasted away. His limbs fly as he skids across the garbage infested grounds, skating along and landing in a pile of rubble and debris, scattering trash across the field. Blood spurts as he coughs, the assassin lifting himself up and holding his sides as he struggles for breath.

"How is he doing that," Remulo mutters under his breath, more fascinated by Bucket's movement than angered. It wasn't some devil power, considering his attacks in the sea; it was sheer speed that was causing him to vanish. Remulo's eyes widen as he looks about, keeping an eye out for Bucket. He could try to cover his tracks, but he only had three more mouths to spare; placing them around him would waste them on a futile effort at defense, and leave him at a severe disadvantage.

Remulo grimaces as he realizes he'll have to take another hit; there wasn't many more he could take, but he has to figure out a pattern. He wouldn't stand a chance unless he gauges this technique. He lifts both arms up, holding his fist in front of his open palm once more, the mouth embedded on it chuckling before opening wide. He had pegged Bukbuk as a fool, but anyone with this sort of power couldn't be taken lightly. He'd have to wait...

"You're a lot stronger than I thought," Remulo says simply, waiting for Bucket to reappear. "I knew Fishmen had reserves of power typically unavailable to human beings, but I didnt think they could move like you do. It's clear there's a gap between us, but that doesn't mean you have an easy win." Remulo hasnt a hint of irony or even doubt in his voice; Bucket could see he wasn't placing anymore mouths. How was he going to defend himself?

[Smiley]

Well, Bucket wouldn't wait for him to place any mouths! He went ahead with Soru, at blinding speeds, using his massive body to run Remulo down as brutally as he could, using nothing but the fact he was running to attack - one day, he might learn how to do an actual proper charge at speeds like those, however, that day wouldn't be really today. Instead, once he ran past Remulo, very likely having him on the floor and in agony in case he didn't manage to dodge or stop the charging giant, Bucket's feet skidded on the floor, finally stopping himself while looking at him.

"Underestimation is the mark of the unprofessional." Bucket lowly growled, throwing quite the stinging jab at the professionalism that Remulo had been showing so far, secretly trying to get him off his rhythm and into Bucket's pace, hoping that his timing would have been good enough to piss off the assassin and force him into acting rashly - as Bucket knew, to properly stop him, he'd need to land his strongest attack at the perfect moment, likely towards his stomach or one of his arms and make him unable to continue fighting.

For now, however, Bucket needed to make Remulo lose his focus so, to make sure this would happen, he continued to stare directly into his eyes, trying to see if he'd look away.

[mildofthewild]

The attack came in an instant, Remulo's moment to counter lost completely as the Fishman slammed into him once more. The assassin skids across the floor, more bones crackling against the impact as his body was sent flying like a ragdoll.

Another shower of blood, another bout of wheezing as Remulo lifts himself up. His knees shake as he gets on his own two feet, and his hand trembles as he lifts his hand to tear his mask away from his face. His eyes, deep with blacked bags, stares back at bucket as his reddened hair blooms behind in a spiked explosion.

"You're right. I assumed I knew everything you could do, and I was punished severely for it. I have several broken ribs, and one is even stabbing my lungs. Any more force and it likely would be deflated; no doubt I'm going to leave battered, but I believe I've garnered a style." As he speaks, his hands slowly lift to his shoulders, laying his palms flat on them before sliding away to reveal two mouths. However, in a sudden burst, Remulo charges at Bucket, eyes listless and without a shine as he keeps his focus on the Fishman. He was going for a frontal assault! How the hell could he stand back up after an attack like that?

[Smiley]

Garnered a style, huh? From what Bucket was observing, this style was to recklessly run against him and try to get a last hit in before that punctured lung gets worse. While he might see it as violently stupid and that the best option at the immediate moment being to get the hell out of there and go get treated at some hospital, he chose instead to come charging. Even if victory is already out of question, he refused to give in and, instead, continued to push himself past all usual limits of body and reason. Honestly, there was something to be admired in an attitude like that.

"Preferring death over surrendering? How saucy of you.~" Bucket smiled once again, his mood yet again shifting from his scornful, superior angry attitude to one of joy and respect, finding the man charging at him to be quite admirable. For this reason, the outlaw decided that there'd be no more running, dodging or bullshit like that. Strategy was no longer the honorable thing to do so, instead, cocking his right arm backward, he pointed his fist at him.

Only for that fist to open up completely, raising his hand so that the palm would be pointed directly at the charging assassin, fingers closing, muscles tightening noticeably as he prepared his strongest (so far) attack.
"Organ Crushing True 350 Tile Crushing Palm Strike!" Unnecessarily long names aside, Bucket dug his feet in and waited for him to come right over to him, only thrusting his arm out forward once he was in range: he'd accept any strike that Remulo had for him, choosing to instead aim his palm towards his face, in an effort to very much flatten his face, quite possibly breaking in his jaw and nose - mostly because he refused to target his already fucked up ribcage, since that'd just likely actually kill him.

And well, that last charge had endeared the man to him, to the point that Bukbuk wanted to see him again.

[mildofthewild]

Besides noticing Bukbuk's rather liberal use of the word 'crushing,' Remulo could see based on his stance that he wasn't going to use that technique again. A pity; Remulo thought he actually could have countered such an attack a third time, but he also couldn't help but feel a slight pang of relief. If he miscalculated, it could spell weeks, maybe even months, where he'd be left without work. Months with no real way to improve.

Still, that didnt mean Remulo couldn't adapt. Bending down low, Remulo scoops up some gravel and dust in his hand, the mouth on it gobbling it up quickly and with a giggle.

"Veil," Remulo whispers before plumes of dust are blown out of the mouths on his shoulders, creating a cloud that hides his body and, therefore, his assault. A beat of silence passes before a sudden whirl breaks open, Remulo leaping into the air and bearing down on Bucket from above. Even from such a position, Bucket surely could still land this...

"I underestimated you. I apologize. However, I think you've made the same mistake," Remulo says, twisting his body to have his shoulder facing him. Licking its lips, the mouth opens up wide, and Bucket can see Remulo holding his palm with the other mouth open as well. Was he seriously planning to clash their fists...

[Smiley]

"Perhaps!" Bucket roared out, choosing to still not dodge even as he whipped up that veil of dust so that he could have a safe jump into the air. If he was meaning to clash fists, Bucket knew that he may just win it: after all, should they clash, it was likely that his palm strike would end up shredding his bones with the sheer impact. And that's how usually he would decide to attack, were it not for something more important.

The fact that the mouth pointed to him is quite very open. 
What Bucket had guessed, by now, since he did see them eat the dirt and release it was that it could eat things that were not the user himself - and it supposedly could store it somewhere since he was pretty damn sure that the man's arms couldn't just store that much dirt up so easily. For that reason, he assumed that, were they to clash fists, he'd probably swallow his fist and go ahead to hit him.

Bucket had a strategy.
By clashing strikes! He still thrusted out his right arm forward, to give him the palm strike of a generation, guessing that it'd likely go into the mouth and not hit him. It'd still give him the perfect chance to get him as, with his free left hand, even if he had forgotten the proper posture to perform a perfect chop, he figured that a chop with his left hand using just his brutal strength to the back of the elbow on the arm he tried to clash with would be enough to figuratively dust it and, possibly, disable his arm. 

[mildofthewild]

Remulo's body continued to fall, an open target to Bucket's attack. The assassin could see the Fishman's mind working, opting to trade fists. Remulo could surmise that Bucket knew how his devil fruit works, though it would appear not completely.

"He's likely going to try and clash with his left hand as well," Remulo muses, opening his palm wider. "You're quite strong, Bukbuk. Perhaps too strong for the East Blue, I think...and perhaps, this is a signal that there are far greater opponents out there than the ones I've been hunting. You've shown me more than anything how much stronger I need to become...allow me to do the same for you."

As Bucket's right palm shot forth, a strength of insurmountable level could practically be seen radiating from it. The power to break through mountain lay dormant within; untapped potential waiting to be unlocked.

Just as both parties surmised, his palm went straight into the mouth on Remulo's shoulder, disappearing within, and as Remulo predicts, Bucket's left hand chop was going for his arm. This was fine. He was content with that arm shattering.

He just wants to show this Fishman what happens to those that underestimate prowess.

Opening his own mouth wide, Bucket might think he was going for a scream...until he saw his own palm from within, shooting forth and aiming right for that shell across his face.

Kuchi Kuchi no Rebound

Buckets left hand chop still landed squarely on Remulo's left elbow, cleanly breaking it with a loud CRACK and even transferring the impact into his side. He could almost feel his organs shifting as the blow sent Remulo flying away, but it didn't matter. Remulo smiles softly for once at the thought of at least getting one hit in, the irony being that it came from the Fishman's own attack.

[Smiley]

For some stupid reason, Bucket had failed to realize that, in a power that is clearly based around mouths and things going between those mouths, the user's own mouth would play a big part in it. As his palm strike went inside that mouth, as he had assumed that it'd just appear on one of the mouths that he placed previously, he got himself a big surprise when that palm strike came out of the assassin's mouth and landed squarely on Bucket's face, his own strength being more than enough to launch the giant tumbling away harshly, his body even rolling across the floor.

In the pile of trash that Bucket now lay on, large fragments of what turned out to be his "head" landed close to him, including a big one of a corner that had one of his eye sockets, now completely black and empty. Inside the shell could be seen a nice, surprisingly pretty pattern of shining whites, blues and pinks swirling into some center that was cut off due to the way it broke, indicating that it wasn't exactly his real face.

"Ghn.. my biggest mistake yet.." The fishman growled lowly while moving himself to stand up once again, still slightly dazed from the incredible shock to his head, one that still had its pain coursing through his entire body, back turned to Remulo while he once again got himself on his own two feet.
For a few seconds, he didn't move much, other than reach up, presumably to feel the part of his face that had broken off. It hurt his pride and it hurt his body, though something seemed to hurt him the most.
"You damn pest.. do you know how long it'll take to grow that back!?" Bucket angrily asked, finally turning his face towards Remulo, revealing the part of his face that had broken off: with a pale white, thick tentacle coming free and a small, beady black eye, a rugged, naturally wrinkly and visibly slimy head and face, the Nautilus fishman finally revealed his true face under his shell, somehow looking even more grotesque than expected.

"Stand up! We're not yet done!" He demanded, slowly stepping towards the assassin with a serious level of anger in him, fully intending in cracking his skull in the exact places he damaged his precious face.