Disclaimer: I do not own Kazou Kiriyama or anything affiliated with Battle Royale

Devil may Cry

The rapid fire of his automatic handgun could be heard through the loudspeaker. A steady stream of bullets lodged themselves in to the girl's, now, lifeless body, blood spraying as they ripped through veins and arteries. He stared at his latest victims: two school girls foolish enough to try and call for a ceasefire. He spat on the floor, dust flying up. The killer turned and bolted into the heart of the forest, fully aware that someone had been sitting very close by watching him intently, waiting to kill the very same girls or even him. He wasn't fazed. The silent killer had some of the best weaponry on the island – no one was a threat to him so long as he had his sight and wits about him.

He ducked and strafed through the undergrowth of the forest until he came to a large decaying tree enshrouded with vines and other parasitic flora and fauna. He deftly climbed to a fair height, allowing him to see out but also allowing him to remain unseen. It was in this tree that he aimed to plot the demise of his next victim. He took aim at the ground below. From what he could recall there were no danger zones around him for the time being, so he tried to ignore the metal necklace that was bound round his neck. He didn't like the idea of not being in control of his own life; however, he would soon be victorious. The extensive tactical and weaponry training he had would serve him well…it already had. The man delved into his inside pocket whilst still focusing on the ground below; he removed his recently acquired 'student' card that Kitano issued him with. "Kazou Kiriyama" it read. "Blood Type: AB," "Transfer Student." Kiriyama grinned. The B.R Act was more fun than he had anticipated…much more fun. He had killed and each of his kills were without remorse, without guilt, without shame. He let a menacing smile slowly spread across his face, and closed his eyes savouring every detail of his victims contorted, bloodstained faces.

The man was of a silent disposition – a disposition that you simply could not trust for fear of what murderous scheme was being planned especially for you. He stood at an average height but what really distinguished him was his shock of orangey-brown hair. It gave him a slightly crazed and insane look about him. His skin was a deathly shade of white that was able to reflect the blue hues of the night. The black suit and white shirt casually hung about his slender toned frame. He couldn't have been older than 21 years of age – although he had seen enough death and violence that would certainly last him a lifetime. Kiriyama took out his original 'weapon' and begun to fan himself whilst keeping a watchful eye on ground movements. His mind began to distract him as it ran through a series of faces of people he wished to exterminate. Kawada was a face that always crept up. Kiriyama smiled and a sadistic gleam flashed in his eyes. *Soon, soon *

Night drew in quickly and the evening report had been read. Kiriyama had become bored sitting and waiting for people to walk underneath his position – it was time he took matters into his own hands. Quietly, he unzipped his khaki kit bag and looked through his somewhat impressive armoury: grenades, pistol, samurai sword, paper fan and his trusted Uzi. With everything intact, he silently and skilfully traversed his way down the tree and pressed his back up against it, enjoying the shady camouflage it provided. It was fair to say that he had the reflexes and senses of a cat – his finely attuned hearing picked up the slightest noise. His eyes darted about him, scanning and surveying his environment providing his brain with vital information. The lust to kill rose inside him and took hold of his very being. Adrenaline pumped through every vein in his body. He felt revitalised. He stood their savouring…enjoying the way the adrenaline coursed through his body. Enjoying the way it let him kill, let him know no remorse…let him find peace. A twig snapped and Kiriyama's Uzi was trained on the exact location in an instant. He listened for breathing, the loading of a gun, the flick of a knife. Nothing. Cautiously, he manoeuvred around the tree trunk, his feet making no sound as they made contact with the leaves below. He crouched. Every inch of his body poised and was ready to strike…to kill. He felt his dark pupils dilate and his breathing quieten. Nothing. He slung his gun over his shoulder and dashed through the forest, swiftly and silently; his feet seemingly making little contact with the ground below.

It was too late for him; the innate, primeval need to kill to survive had possessed him and would never release him until he was the only one left.