Alternatives
folder
Wei� Kreuz › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
18
Views:
2,240
Reviews:
9
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Wei� Kreuz › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
18
Views:
2,240
Reviews:
9
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Weiß Kreuz, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Alternatives
Escape.
He knew, somehow, that he was dying. He’d known the feel of a knife entering his body when that boy had careened into him. He’d had enough puncture wounds in his time as an assassin not to know what they felt like. Now the damage the knife had done to him was making him sway like a drunk, much to the disgust of the good people of this city.
Memory, like a vicious jade, assaulted him with images as he staggered along. A younger Omi, crying over Ouka’s body. Ken, screaming that he was already in hell. Yohji, killing the woman he loved for the second time. No happy memories for him, then. None of his childhood, parents, sister, the very reasons for all of this.
He clutched at his side as he staggered on, his feet beginning to drag now, only his sheer stubbornness keeping him upright. He let his mind drift back to Yohji as he’d last seen him, completely unaware of who any of them were, including himself. The perfect escape. Now, finally, he would get his own escape.
A strange thought occurred to him. How Yohji had always been the one to chose life over death. Even when in his deepest denial over his past, he’d worn the mask of cheerfulness. He, on the other hand, would welcome death when it came. The final introversion. The final loneliness.
Yohji. Always his thoughts returned to the man. Perhaps, if he had given more of himself, allowed them to become more than just fuck buddies, things might have been better, different. But then again, who was he trying to fool? Yohji would have left him for the first pretty face that came along. Had done so several times in fact. It was better this way. At least he knew his beloved and hated katana would be safe in a happy Yohji’s hands. The thought made him feel better, strangely.
His strength had run out. He sank to his knees beside a mailbox and stared out into the snow. Not rain this time but snow. Odd how all the major events of his life had been marked by rain. All the turning points.
There was nothing left for him to do now but die. He folded his body over the knife and waited eagerly for the darkness to swallow him.
He knew, somehow, that he was dying. He’d known the feel of a knife entering his body when that boy had careened into him. He’d had enough puncture wounds in his time as an assassin not to know what they felt like. Now the damage the knife had done to him was making him sway like a drunk, much to the disgust of the good people of this city.
Memory, like a vicious jade, assaulted him with images as he staggered along. A younger Omi, crying over Ouka’s body. Ken, screaming that he was already in hell. Yohji, killing the woman he loved for the second time. No happy memories for him, then. None of his childhood, parents, sister, the very reasons for all of this.
He clutched at his side as he staggered on, his feet beginning to drag now, only his sheer stubbornness keeping him upright. He let his mind drift back to Yohji as he’d last seen him, completely unaware of who any of them were, including himself. The perfect escape. Now, finally, he would get his own escape.
A strange thought occurred to him. How Yohji had always been the one to chose life over death. Even when in his deepest denial over his past, he’d worn the mask of cheerfulness. He, on the other hand, would welcome death when it came. The final introversion. The final loneliness.
Yohji. Always his thoughts returned to the man. Perhaps, if he had given more of himself, allowed them to become more than just fuck buddies, things might have been better, different. But then again, who was he trying to fool? Yohji would have left him for the first pretty face that came along. Had done so several times in fact. It was better this way. At least he knew his beloved and hated katana would be safe in a happy Yohji’s hands. The thought made him feel better, strangely.
His strength had run out. He sank to his knees beside a mailbox and stared out into the snow. Not rain this time but snow. Odd how all the major events of his life had been marked by rain. All the turning points.
There was nothing left for him to do now but die. He folded his body over the knife and waited eagerly for the darkness to swallow him.