The battle.

The old man stood before Raphael, his hands twitched, his eyes darted from the school back to Raphael.

"You're an angel?" Asked the old man.

Raphael gave his now iconic deadpan stare, no words came from his mouth, some time passed and still no words came.

"You know I don't really feel like fighting anymore."

Raphael clicked his tongue.

"Again I must sorrily say I am unable to agree to that, if you're so unwilling then give it a show." 

"What do you…"

Raphael shot turds the old man, in just an instant the old man found himself on the ground. BOOM. To say the old man did not react, is like comparing apples and oranges. It's not that the old man didn't react, it's that he couldn't react. 

"Fight me." screamed Raphael

Magic up rooted the ground, blue flames shot Raphael off the old man's chest. Fast magic zig zags chasing, everywhere Raphael dodged. Raphael lunged in every direction, he masterfully treated the ground like frying through the air and moved through the air as though he was on the ground. The old man, wise and old, could sense no magic power coming from Raphael, but for some reason, he could tell that his technique was meant to be used with magic. 

The torrent of magic slammed against the world, carving ditches in its wake. Raphael jumped through the air dodging the magic by the skin of his teeth. The old man kept up his rampage, shrinking his laser into five smaller lasers, all of them darted into five different directions each closing in on Raphael. Raphael plunged himself into the air, as if he was letting go of life and slipping off a cliff. This gravity defying stunt sent Raphael flying high into the sky. The lasers never stopped to hesitate, slipping through the air as if to devour him from toe to head.

"Ten seconds." whispered Raphael. 

With an outrages movement Raphael whizzed through the air slamming into the old man.

"Die!" Shouted Raphael with his usearal deadpan expressan. 

Raphael lifted his fist. The old man's mind bogged, his very life flashed before his eyes.

BOOM. Raphael is sent flying. 

A crimson land stained deep in blood, the man wiped his eyes, but still the crimson remains. 

The massive body of a being not from there dimension, its body so vastly big filled with so many holes, each where wounds of different weapons, but the most crucial is the demon's missing head. The man tilted his hat, it's crimson, oh how the man couldn't hate the color red anymore even if he tried. All his comrades, the men he drank with the night before, the men who lived there lives by his. Thinking this the man was happy to see something but crimson, his cold salty tears turned his world blue. The body's blurred, the blood turns less than a shade of red, yet even when he blinks, even when he closes his eyes he can see it, fields of dead comrades. The worst thing, the thing that haunts him, is how beautiful the scene is, the amazingly crimson blood. Perhaps he thought he went mad, perhaps he just loves the color red. 

The old man sat up, Raphael lays face first into the ground.