[9th/Q] Week 307: The Blade of a Hero Will Kill All Monsters

[Doc]

The Blade of a Hero Will Kill All Monsters

​

Yoshinaga Gorou : Doc
Kagetoki Manzou : Kechapoo​

WC : 5,441

In the middle of the day, Manzou Kagetoki’s oft-forgotten denreishinki began to beep incessantly. A notification flashed on its tiny screen, indicating he had a new unread message.

Asleep on the ground in one of Seireitei’s many dead-end corridors, the raven-haired man stirred in his slumber before he slowly blinked himself back to reality. Coughing, hacking, belching some foul mixture of yesterday’s yakiniku and alcohol, Manzou gathered himself and made to his feet, patting his body in search of that monotonous beep!

Pulling it from his robes, crow’s feet-ridden eyes blinked into focus, finding the small icon flashing. After navigating to the audio message screen, the abridged clip played:

“Kagetoki Manzou, we have picked up readings indicating a powerful Hollow presence. Coordinates are being forwarded to your denreishinki. Eliminate the Hollow before it spreads to a more populated area. Proceed with extreme caution, our findings suggest its reiatsu composition may indicate possible Arrancar activity.”

Despite just how grave the situation was, despite his past encounters with evolved beasts as formidable and nefarious as that, there was no reluctant or fearful shifting of the raven-haired man’s features. Without a word, his hand fell into his lap, the thumb clicking down on the phone’s ‘Off’ button. The screen went blank, and a deep and exasperated breath passed sharply through the former Blitzkrieger’s nostrils.

There was a wealth of fear in him. His stomach bloated as if a thousand butterflies had spawned there from nothingness. But, above all of that fluster and hesitation, was the overwhelming throbbing his head and the ineludible anguish that he had attempted drown in bottles of sake. There was no urgency about him, no thought to how serious the situation was, no worrying about those the Arrancar would surely slaughter if given the chance. Nothing of the sort.

All he could think of... was how much he didn’t want any of this.

It took some effort to stand, but Manzou was far from dysfunctional. Despite the hangover, there were no aches, no grievous amount of sluggishness about his movements that suggested he might not be ready. The pathetically dispirited and despondent man tucked the soul phone into the fold of his keikogi and shitagi, and made to leave.

Before turning the corner, he looked back at the gourd of sake tipped over, spilling what little he hadn’t consumed the night before into the creases of the cobble-stoned grade. Part of him thought to refill it and bring it along. What could be the harm?

If he was lucky, this encounter just might’ve been...

By the time that Manzou had set foot in the Third’s senkaimon chamber the gate had pulsed to life. When one message went to the sixth seat another went to the technician, instructing him to open a gate to a very specific set of coordinates.

“It’s all clear,” the technician chirped without looking up from his terminal.

Again, without verbally acknowledging the men addressing him, Manzou strode rather dispassionately toward his assignment. Disappearing into the alabaster egress of the portal, the massive double doors of the gate were shut behind him. Gradually, the gravity of the situation set in, though it did nothing to influence his outward demeanor or put the rather somber officer on edge, as he should’ve been. What use was there, he thought to himself.
There was no turning back, regardless.

The shogi doors of the exit parted deliberately and, with the speed and relentlessness of a tempest, sleat and a numbing chill swept in the portal to greet him. His skin was congealed almost immediately. The hairs along his body stood up fast enough, he thought they were practically jumping off of his body. And, very quickly, Manzou wasn’t so acceptant of the ‘no-turning-back’ dogma he had firmed himself with only moments ago.
The only reason he didn’t look back was because he knew there was nothing but white light behind him.

Manzou made to sigh deeply, but the cold rushing down his nostrils and throat stopped him. Cursing under his breath, the reaper leapt into the storm, his only way out fading away in the sky.

As if from nowhere the shinigami’s presence flared into being. To question what was real had become common practice, against which Yoshinaga Gorou had fruitlessly struggled as with all things. In ten seconds he had realized what he was experiencing was real while in the following five he recognized the signature.

Through the unforgiving, unending blizzard the Vizard forced his way until he could see Manzou’s figure through the lashing snow. Unlike his inebriated friend he had no ability to suppress his own reiatsu. For every waking moment his tainted spiritual pressure flared with reckless abandon. In the shape of the raven-haired shinigami he saw an opportunity on which he had never given up, which gave him reason enough to continue walking without succumbing to the pounding in his head.

As his friend had, it took Manzou only a split second to recognize who exactly that overwhelming presence heralded, even through the waves of taint and malintent threatening to swallow him. Suddenly, the cold wasn’t as cold as it seemed before, and the weight of his body seemed to melt down to that of a feather.

Eyes wide and lips parted slightly, he assayed his friend... and his suffering.
“G... Gorou?”

There was power in names. If it had been ten thousand years or just a few weeks since Gorou hadn’t been isolated he wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. For every inch of him that was covered with the ivory infection he could feel his body trying to fight his mind. It never became any easier to keep himself still.

“M...muh,” the chitinous growth on his jaw tried but failed to keep his mouth shut, “Manzou,” he rasped. Some of the infection was already spreading out of his inner organs, including his throat.

“I must,” he doubled over without warning. In direct opposition to his every mental effort his mask manifested itself on his face. Further corruption grew in his reiatsu when the dreadful skull appeared. Both his hands rushed to his face in an attempt to tear the mask away. Beneath it a booming scream rose above the sound of the blizzard.

In quick succession the distortion in the Vizard’s pressure faded away, followed shortly by the mask. At that moment straightening back up seemed like a much longer journey than it had been down.

Walking up to the sanguine-haired recluse, Manzou uncradled his arms and helped his friend stand to his feet. Looking on his congealed, anguish-laden visage, he couldn’t help the dolor that began to seep through his features, in spite of how much he knew Gorou didn’t want to see it in him. Keeping his features as collected as possible, he said, “Shit... what the hell are you doing out here?”

More than pain was threatening Gorou’s control on a second-to-second basis. Everything down to his muscle fibres was attempting to disobey him. Though he stood still the rattling of the ivory plague kept him shaking without end.

“It’s safer,” he was brought to a stop. In the next moment the ronin had decapitated Manzou in a flash. Warm blood sprayed against his face before he realized that what he was seeing was another illusion. Nobody was dead, nor were any blades brought to bear.

“Here. Safer f-for every...” he noticed the pain in his comrade’s eyes, “everybody. I cannot...I can’t,” he could not bare to utter the words.

All of his bluster wasn’t doing him any good out in the frozen tundra. To make matters worse everything his inner beast had done was to make him say four words. As though anticipating his confession the itching began to calm.

“I can’t defeat this,” his tone was morose.

A sickness could not celebrate but it resumed clawing at his mind. However, he was not complacent with seemingly giving up. Though his entire right arm was completely covered by ivory plating he clapped it on Manzou’s shoulder.

“Not alone.”

The unbelievable anguish in his friend’s eyes, in his words, in his debilitated state, made Manzou’s stomach drop and his throat shrink. Though it didn’t show outwardly, with the onyx-eyed man’s expression solidifying to feebly hide his sorrow, it took everything in him not to dive to the absolute depths of misery and self-mortification.

Only after a moment, looking away and taking a deep breath, did he recognize that Gorou had hinted at something. Looking back on him, then briefly to the dense mantle swallowing his arm, Manzou steeled himself as best he could.

“Just tell me what I can do.”

Still Gorou shook, but he had enough control to take his hand from Manzou’s shoulder down to Gunshin’s hilt. An ocean of foreign impulses tried to control his hand as the blade was unsheathed. Steadily, he took in a breath upon seeing his own reflection in the blade. Only a small section on the left side of his face remained untainted.

“Stop me, Manzou,” he tightened his grip, “and if you must, kill me.”

There were precious few seconds remaining before he lost control completely. In one last act of defiance he stabbed Gunshin into the snow.

His vision went black. Across the Vizard’s body the white chitin spread like wildfire. Just as the remainder of his face was overtaken, his reiatsu ignited.

Lashes of malignant, corrupted spiritual energy whipped around him, through him. In the face of that indiscriminate rage and avarice, the raven-haired man found himself flooded with emotions, his body stunned in anxiety. And yet, from the very moment that Gorou had revealed his infection to Manzou, the sixth-seat knew that it would eventually come to this, that he would be the one to do this and no one else.

Both eyes, however, widened to their extents and, despite his relatively composed exterior, a swarm of butterflies wreaked havoc inside his stomach. Watching his friend disappear beyond a mantle of chitinous white gripped him.

Looking in the glowing, feral eyes of a beast, it was hard for him to see past that false facade and see the man that Gorou truly was. The self-condemnation he had tried to suppress before threatened to permeate through his rigid visage, but Manzou shoved it away with all his might and looked forward. The arctic winds beating at him, the wear and tear of alcohol on his mind and body, the forlorn feeling and lost of purpose and pride, all of that suddenly didn’t matter anymore.

All that mattered... was this.

“Time to eat...” His words came low, reluctantly, but did nonetheless. “...Tatsu.”

Bearing a face identical to the mask that had possessed its host’s face just moments ago, the twisted creature bathed in ivory chitin stood all the way up. At the very top of the small horn protruding from its forehead it stood easily a head taller than the samurai. For the most part the beast was humanoid. While still hunched over the sealed zanpakutou its horned spine was easily visible - it bore a red coloration similar to the shade of red on the upper half of its mask.

For the first time it made eye-contact with the shinigami facing it. Their two auras collided in that moment. It appeared to tighten its carved expression, shudder in place, and then it was gone. More snow kicked up after it vanished but in the maelstrom of the blizzard it mattered little. Like a wild animal stalking prey it remained hidden as the storm seemed to intensify.

As though it were being guided by some demonic urge it appeared just feet away from Manzou’s flank. With what appeared to be no rhyme or reason it leapt upon the death god. There was nothing more to its attack than its balled-up fists.

Paused with the gargantuan blade held at his side, Manzou’s eyes snapped open as the beast lunged toward him, fangs and talons bared to tear him apart. Swiftly, Tatsunokuchi was brought up, plated fists impacting harshly against black steel. Sparks exploded outward, disappearing into the maelstrom thrashing about the two. The teeth of his sandals were jarred back, but came to a stop quickly.

The flat of the massive blade fissured outward from the middle, bursting open to revealing the gangling tongue of the water sprite. The appendage spit out quickly, wrapping around the arm of what was and wasn’t Gorou. It continued to wind, curling along its upper body, around the beast’s pectorals, ensnaring the other arm by the shoulder until it had a firm grasp on him.

With force, Gorou was launched away, whirling several meters away, vanishing into the twisting sheen of snow and water. Manzou remained there, both hands now gripping the long hilt of Tatsunokuchi, patient and steeled.

Being thrown out of sight let the beast consider its wounds. Having a physical body was a new sensation - but not that new. Slowly the beast emerged from the storm once again. It took a slow approach towards Manzou until it was close enough to stare him dead in the eyes.

Without so much as twitching any other part of its body, it lifted its leg up and slammed it down on the ground. There was such strength to its blow - made stronger by the training its host had undergone - that the ice cracked at the point of impact. Further cracks spread out from the frozen crater, all throughout the small area they inhabited. For a few moments the ice quaked as though it were ready to split, eventually coming to a stop.

As though the ghoul were satisfied with its overt show of force it immediately took to assaulting its foe once again. It interlocked its fists in preparation to strike Manzou with all the strength it had demonstrated just moments ago.

Tatsunokuchi was brought up, the wide face up to meet the charging beast. The collision was violent, utterly unbridled, packing enough unrestrained tenacity to send Manzou sliding backwards by the teeth of his sandals several meters. His balance nearly gave way in the face of that headlong lunge.

Giving his own tenacious roar, he braced his shoulder against the other side of the blade and heaved against the beast. The two eventually came to a stop, with the raven-haired man panting and gasping for intensely-cold air. His skin buzzed as the familiar, overwhelming feeling of the heat of battle rushing through his veins, his blood spiked with adrenaline. He could feel his instinct whispering in the darkness of his mind, urging the edge of the blade forward to retaliate...

To kill.

The feeling, the simple thought, made the raven-haired man shudder, eyes widened and trembling as the sun-like orbs of the beast glared with malicious intent on him. Manzou disappeared into a flash step, again and again until he had separated himself a good distance from Gorou.
Kneeling down in the snow, hand at his knee and his breaths short and hurried, he tried to calm himself... to rid himself of that haunting thought.

Running prey created instincts of excitement in the beast’s mind. Adrenaline surged through the veins it had co-opted in anticipation for the chase. A blast of pressure kicked up the surrounding snow with nothing left where the creature once was.

Tufts of snow continued kicking up in evidence of its advancing sonido. In some respects it was wasting its time by moving around so much, but that was acceptable manner when stalking such cowardly prey.

As though it were subject to flights of imagination it stopped for just a moment. Curiously, the hollow tilted its ivory head to the side. Energy was gathering between its hands as it brought them closer together. Just when the crimson energy had come about the beast itself seemed to halt the Cero’s advancement. In that moment of stillness there might have been some argument that the host was seizing control when the truth couldn’t have been more opposed.

In stopping the Cero the monstrosity’s hands had forcibly compacted it. However, cupping its hands together was not enough to keep the energy still entirely. Crimson light exploded outward but still did not rush forward as most of its kind were known to do. Instead it rose, nearly solidified in a specific shape. Instead of attempting to annihilate Manzou in the wake of a Cero the aberration had turned to its host for inspiration.

A massive blade comprised of the lethal energy had instead been created, and it was brought to bear down upon the shinigami immediately.

Eyes drawn wide open, his entire form cast in a blood red glow, Manzou pulled himself from that stunned state of inertia and swung his massive Zanpakutou up to parry. There was no forceful impact, no resounding clash of metal against metal; with a loud bang, fire and smoke exploded directly in front of him, blackening his vision and puncturing his ears.

Sent rapidly backward by the force of the detonation, Manzou emerged from the cloud of black fire covered in burns, his shitagi and kosode burned to pieces and on fire in some places. His limp form crashed into the snow, bouncing and rolling over and over before finally coming to a halt. Agony coursed over his skin, in his chest and arms as smoke drifted off of him all over.

Getting to his feet was a challenge, but those aches and pains went partially numb as his onyx eyes rose to meet the beast once more. There was no urge to rush forward or to even bring his weapon up to continue fighting...


But, in the face of that madness, he knew very well there were no other options.

Burning flesh excited the hollow. Inhaling the pungent stench through its mouth and nostrils sent a shudder through its ivory frame. For the first time since it had been born in the samurai’s blood it would get the chance to feast. With great and terrible speed the beast advanced upon the stunned reaper.

No tricks or techniques assisted the renewed assault. With what the hollow thought to be victory close at hand it threw a right hook into its meal’s torso. So much extra force sat within its body that it was slowly adapting every little movement to exclusively utilize the fruits of Gorou’s labors.

The pain shot from his stomach and through his entire being as those burly white knuckles rocketed into him with merciless force. Manzou was lifted off of his feet in an instant, and propelled even deeper into the icy whirlwinds.

Gliding straight back, the raven-haired man landed on his stomach, bounded up and slid on one knee. Tatsunokuchi was swung up, and thrust through the snow, shedding his momentum quickly. Wet coughs left blood on his lips. With one disgusting hack, it was all gathered on his tongue and spit to the ground.

In the throes of battle the two combatants had circled back to where it had first started. For a moment the blizzard seemed to quiet down. Without the thick cover of snowfall to mask it Gunshin was easily visible in the ice where its wielder had placed it. Once in the hollow’s field of vision the sword had become its greatest ally in ending the fight.

No longer did the ghoul’s sonido have a snowstorm to decorate its successive sonido. Against the pitch black of night it merely vanished again and again. Upon reaching arm’s length of its quarry it turned its eyes to the reaper it intended to skewer with the weapon.

Buried deep in its disjointed psyche there was a samurai, and to a samurai swords meant power. It took a few steps towards the blade, sending vibrations throughout the icy landscape as it did. With both hands it grabbed Gunshin by the hilt. For a moment the blade rumbled as it was pulled from the thick sheet. Each individual second that it took to remove the blade the hollow seemed to move slower. Second by second it seemed to become less active until it wasn’t moving at all.

A curious and confused bend came to the man’s brow as he looked on what was and wasn’t his brother. Save for the air currents twisting all of the flakes of snow and ice around them, utter silence persisted for a long moment. Manzou pondered to himself what the cause of the sudden arresting of that unbridled rage was, though, still cautious of those gleaming eyes and porcelain-like fangs.

Could he be...

“Gor...!” He said, weakly making it to his feet once more. “Gorou...!” Gritting his teeth and raising his chin, Manzou’s voice boomed out across the desolate expanse. “Gorou!” The hand at the long hilt of his massive blade strangled the cloth tightly as he roared even louder, trying to reach the man he knew was there behind the mask. “Gorou! Fight that fucking thing, you hear me?! Fight it!

“Don’t let that goddamn thing win! Fight it!”

There were no coherent thoughts in the front of the hollow’s mind. A second consciousness had suddenly risen to the top which only caused the cacophonic thoughts to become moreso. Had the beast not greedily sought Gunshin as an advantage Gorou feared he would not have surfaced.

Between the primal urges of a hollow, the still-recovering samurai’s psyche and the addition of Gunshin’s presence a temporary stalemate had been reached. All that the battling forces could agree on was there wasn’t enough room for both. Thoughts of violence came about from both the hollow and the host. That alone was enough to tip enough control for the samurai to gain an edge. Mindless violence wasn’t a long leap from a directed attack.

With the focus that had followed him into battle countless times he centered all of his aggression on his chitinous left foot. In the roiling storm of its embattled mind the hollow instinctively followed what it briefly mistook as its own thoughts.

A small grunt escaped the hollow’s jagged mouth as the blade was stabbed through the flesh and bone in its own foot back into the ice. It had been trapped in place by the samurai’s gambit.

The chapped lips on the raven-haired swordsman moved, as if to utter his confusion, though, the realization came to him before a single word made it to his tongue. The grip on his blade weakened, only barely dangling in his cold fingertips. A moment passed, and his jaw muscle flexed, his lips drawing to a tight line.

The hesitancy and anguish faded... immediately replaced by a stern---and stubborn---facade.

Standing tall again, Manzou lifted the enormous black sword in hand up overhead, never removing his eyes from those of the frozen beast before him. The obsidian steel began to darken, as if swallow by a consuming shadow, until it was completely obscured from tip to pommel. Its rigid silhouette shimmered, and then rapidly shrunk down to the size of a katana before its wielder swiped it to his side, whipping away that dark shade to reveal the sealed form of his Zanpakutou.

In one smooth motion, Manzou flipped it in his hand, held it up underhanded, and stabbed the blade in the ice between his chilled feet. Sharp eyes drawn steadfastly on his friend, looking through those abysmal and glowing red orbs, one not clouded by the induced rage that the sanguine-haired swordsman was subjected to could easily see through that makeshift facade...

...To see the man still holding onto dying hope.

“...I won’t do it, Gorou.” The words came low, under his breath, utterly bereft of the bass and clarity and confidence of moments ago. “I... I won’t.”

Precious few moments were left before Gorou would be submerged once again. Neither Gunshin nor its wielder could hope to outweigh the beast - it had grown too strong. None of the samurai’s memories mattered in the battle of wills. Even with every fiber of his soul he couldn’t utter a single syllable of his own making.

Slowly, the beast straightened its back as it began regaining control. Pain meant less and less as its human element became weaker. Darkness crushed Gorou’s vision until he could hardly see. All he could do as he was completely taken over was try to focus on one single moment. In spite of his grotesque appearance he was able to see eye-to-eye with his closest friend just one more time.

Three hundred years of anger and grief were still present in his mind but all he had to show for it was a trail of bodies that led to him dying in the snow. A split second was all that he had to remember as his vision went black once again.

“Do it, Manzou,” Gorou’s thoughts passed like a whisper. “End this.”

Upon realizing what it had just done, the hollow’s first course of action was to tear its foot out of the zanpakutou that had trapped it. Pain rocketed through its body but it had the advantage of a host with a high tolerance for pain. However, it wasn’t in the same mood of arrogant pursuit. Rage was an emotion the inhabited brain knew well, and so too did the ghoul. A furious howl echoed through the snowy tundra.

Without thought or care for the blade that had betrayed it, the hollow barrelled towards Manzou with all its speed. In moments it was upon the raven-haired shinigami once again. Again, it let out a thunderous roar but with it came the deadly red glow of the cero charging in its gaping maw.

Just as the penumbra flooding in from the corners of the fading vision of the forlorn samurai, a darkness of another kind interceded, swallowing the trembling eyes of the raven-haired man before him one last time. Raging, pitch-dark fire consumed him, seemingly so thick that it was as if Manzou had vanished into the vortex of a black hole. Not even the super-radiant red glow of the Cero was reflected anywhere on its surface, only against the frosted snow beneath them.

The volley shot forth as that bold, dark shade was taken whole by the massive beam and the violent fire and smoke that erupted thereafter.
Moments passed before the dust settled, flecks of rock and earth pitter-pattering around them before finally coming to a stop. In the aftermath, there remained that fiery shade, though, this time fractured all over. Ridged lines of white light spread across the barrier like a broken bulb of glass. Those cracks spread, creaking and moaning as the pieces slowly began to break and collapse.

Before the wall came crumbling down on its own, something broke through the center: the point of a sword, its tip aimed just above the hole at the center of the beast’s chest.

Small pieces of chitin began to crumble from Gorou’s body. Like a dying animal the beast croaked as what little air it had left in its lungs left. Blood spewed from the wound making the body weaker for both inhabitants. With each bit of the hollow’s skin that eroded the samurai regained more control over his own body.

A voice that had once been made up of disjointed guttural grunts began to give way to Gorou’s natural timbre. With a massive gasp he inhaled by his own will once again. Enough of the ivory plating had fallen away that he could see and hear. The sound of wind in his ears, the sight of his friend just ahead gave him a fleeting sense of security. Pain rocketed through his reawakened brain, reminding him of what had been accomplished.

Slowly, a shaking hand came up to grasp the blood-soaked zanpakutou piercing his torso. In spite of the pain he could still twist his face into a smile. Nearly all of the hollow’s influence had fallen from his body.

“Manzou,” Gorou forced eye contact with the reaper, “did you know...” his injury forced a pause.

No matter what his body wished for him, whether it was to stop the bleeding or to even attempt to recuperate he wouldn’t let himself fall. Instead, he turned his head to the side and coughed up a mouthful of blood.

“Did you know that ‘Manzou’ can be written as ‘ten-thousandfold strong’?” Gorou craned his head so he could once again see eye-to-eye with Manzou.

“That’s why I would only have asked you,” he said hoarsely, “hubris.” A numb feeling was spreading through his body starting at the wound. Little tears had started to form at the edges of his eyes as the numb feeling reached his fingers.

Three hundred years ago he’d felt a similar numbness. Even something so long ago was familiar to him. It was hard to forget what it felt like to die.

Not losing a fight, nor becoming infected by a literal demon were enough to bring Gorou to the depths of despair. There was no greater insult to the son he’d lost, the friend he’d killed and the wife he’d abandoned than for him to die a second time.

That dreaded feeling kept spreading but he wasn’t ready for it. Committing seppuku had come with some form of acceptance. When he’d told Manzou to kill him he thought he could accept the consequence. Like an angry child he wasn’t willing to accept the consequences of his actions. Even though doing so cut deep into his fingers Gorou clutched the blade tighter. Rather than break down into tears he found his inner fire once again. A look of defeat slowly twisted into an angry snarl.

“Manzou,” he pulled himself closer to his friend. In the business of killing friends Gorou was a unique authority. Three hundred years had taught him something he still had the energy to pass on.

“Take this day,” he wheezed, “don’t be ruled by it. Use it.”

No amount of anger or willpower could keep Gorou’s legs still. Finally, he collapsed under his own weight. Just as his senses had dulled when the hollow had taken control he was slowly losing himself. At the very edge of his blackening vision he could still see Manzou. Just a foot or so to the right of his raven-haired friend stood Gunshin, watching as its wielder faded away.

Tatsunokuchi slipped easily from Manzou’s grasp, falling to the ground with a flat clatter. Silence persisted, his body unmoving. A shadow was cast over his visage by his bangs as his head hung low. Beneath, there was a hard grimace with both eyes closed tightly shut. Unable to look on what the reality of the world before him...

On the reality of what he had just done.

Still, the darkness of his consciousness gave him no reprieve. Memories played on endlessly in the theater of his mind, all of them of the experiences shared with the fallen swordsman; their incidental first encounter, the time when the two officially joined forces and became brothers after Gorou’s transfer into the Third Division, the times of conflict and strife, and the times of booze and cigarettes and humble company...

The bloodied mask of Locura flashed in his head like a specter, forcing his eyes wide open in shock. The lifeless body of his closest friend greeted him immediately and, just as quickly, he shuddered and diverted his eyes, still not wanting to see what he knew he could ignore for only so long.

Both hands gripped his face as he stepped back, fingers digging into the skin of his cheek and temples as if trying to keep together his sanity and rage as it threatened to implode.

Why did it have to be like this?

​

His fingers ran up to his hair, his grip tugging harshly on the roots of each strand.

Why him, of all people?

​

The pain was fleeting, however, compared to the agony nearly strong enough to tear his heart in two.

Why not me?

​

Pain turned to anger, anger to hatred, hatred to despair, and then pain once more as his emotions continued to swirl into one another in violent maelstrom.

Why couldn’t I save myself?

​

He collapsed on all fours beside Gorou, raking through the snow and the dirt beneath it.

WHY AM I SO FUCKING PATHETIC!?

​

The moisture at his eyes built up, nearly falling to the ground. The tears there in the eyes of his friend flashed in his mind, his final words following in suit. Despite the pain that racked his mind and heart, not a single drop fell from his raven eyes as he closed them tight as he could.