"It seems we're at an impasse." Azrail said calmly.

Their fight had brought the two of them to the top of a Ferris wheel. It was in obvious disrepair. Rust and bent metal adorned it with many of the seats broken or missing entirely.

Azrail was standing with one foot on the back of a seat and his other on the front. It rocked precariously under his weight, and it seemed like it would come crashing down any second.

Abraham was on the side of the Ferris wheel. The fingertips of his left hand were all that kept him from plummeting to the ground below as they clung to a metal support. His eyes glared up at Azrail.

"Nothing's changed," Abraham barked. "You will slip."

Azrail looked down at Abraham. The frail man's eyes were held the weight of centuries as they looked on sorrowfully. In stark contrast, Abraham's eyes were full of fire and brimstone as they cast an accusatory and scornful glare at Azrail.

Abraham shifted the weight of the stick in his hand. "We're not so..."

"Don't even think about saying some garbage about how we're 'not so different,' right now." Abraham interrupted.

Azrail couldn't help but smirk. For a brief moment his eyes sparked with a mischievous cruelty, but then they shifted back to their normal mournful look. "Very well then, if that is what you wish. But perhaps we could put off this fight for the moment."

"And why would I do that?" Abraham asked as he tried to lift himself up. As he slowly raised his body, his hand nearly slipped, and his body fell back down. Luckily, he was able to keep his grip, and stop himself from falling completely.

"Well," Azrail reasoned, "your current strategy doesn't really seem to be doing you any good, now does it?"

"Just a minor setback." Abraham huffed.

"Still a setback." Azrail dragged his tongue across his teeth as he stared down at the nearly helpless man. "So, I'll ask again. Let us have a momentary truce. We can figure out where we are together, and sort through how we both came to be here."

"Oh? What makes you think I'm not from here?" Abraham asked as he raised an eyebrow.

"Let's call it a hunch," Azrail shrugged.

Abraham was quiet for a moment. He seemed to be thinking it over.

As the silence hung in the air, Azrail couldn't help but break it. "You know, this reminds me of something of a curious ritual I was lucky enough to observe once. You see, the Riskatim people worshipped this deity that lived in a volcano. Every couple of years they would try and appease this deity by..."

"No deal," Abraham snarled as he interrupted Azrail. "I can't stand people like you. People who just love the sound of their own voice. No way I can just let you live a moment longer if I can help it."

Azrail smiled. "Good," he said softly.

Ssskkkkrrppppsshhhh

Azrail had leaped down towards Abraham. As he got close, he thrust his stick straight through his chest where his heart was. It went clear through to the other side, and the impact caused Abraham to lose the last of his grip. He started to fall as Azrail drew closer to him.

The frail man pressed his feet against Abraham's stomach and kept his hand firmly on his stick as he held it firmly in place. All while the two of them plummeted towards the ground.

Abraham's body slammed into the ground with a loud thud, while Azrail had somehow maneuvered himself in such a way that he seemed to hardly feel the impact at all.

"You have quite the regenerative abilities, don't you?" Azrail said as he looked down at Abraham sadly. A shimmer of a tear even began to form in his eye. "Such a burden forced upon you. I am truly sorry you had to deal with that."

Azrail twisted his stick that was now stabbed into the ground as well as Abraham. "Though, I doubt they'll be able to heal you while something is still in the way."

His fingers danced along the stick as he couldn't help but smile while he stood on and over his newest victim.

WHAM

Azrail crumbled to the ground with a dazed look on his face.

"I knew you'd slip," Abraham grinned with the stick still protruding from his heart as he lowered his foot back down.

Azrail looked down as blood started to pool beneath him. The blood from Abraham slowly spread out as well, and then the two pools started to swirl and mix.

Abraham didn't pay any mind to the blood, but Azrail had fallen out of his reach. He put a hand on the stick and grit his teeth as he slowly pulled it up and out of the ground and his chest.

"It...it can't be..." Azrail muttered.

"Blah blah blah." Abraham mocked as he finally yanked the last bit of the stick out. "I've got to say I'm going to really enjoy making you shut up for good."

Abraham pressed the stick into the ground and used it to help pull himself up. He had a malicious grin on his face. Azrail was still on the ground and staring at the pool of blood that was still swirling around.

Abraham's chest was rapidly stitching itself back together as he lifted up the bloody stick like a bat. He held it over his head and then brought it down towards Azrail's skull.

The frail man didn't even turn his head, but as the stick came within a foot of Azrail's head, he lifted his hand up behind him and caught it. Abraham sneered and tried to push down his weight into the stick, but even with his disadvantageous position, Azrail was still able to stop him.

Azrail frowned. "You don't even realize what's going on here, do you? You can't even see the puppet strings pulling you along? Just how stupid are...uuurrrkkk."

Abraham interrupted Azrail with a swift kick to his stomach that knocked him away. "Shut up," he snarled. "You've lost. Accept your death with some dignity at least."

Azrail turned his face towards his attacker, and shook his head. The tear that had been building in his eye finally dropped onto the ground. "You poor, poor fool."

Abraham groaned and rolled his eyes. "Right, that's it. Time to shove this thing down your throat."