Disclaimer: I don't own K-Project, sadly, but that's okay. :) I only own the characters that will be mentioned in this little chapter, but because this is going to be relatively short, no names will be used.
I would also like to add that this small chapter is going to be a sort of precursor to the K-Project fic I'm may/may not write, since I wanted to give this sort of a beta run, so just bear with the obscurity and lack of details. If I get enough positive feedback, maybe I will, but I'm not very familiar with the world K-Project takes place in, so it's rather up in the air.
Flames are also not appreciated, so please save your time and mine and don't write them. Only reviews and helpful criticisms are welcome, and please, feel free to share with me what you think about this fic. Oh, and any spelling errors or mistakes that you see, please let me know.
But enough of that, now on with the story!
Phase the First: New Moon
This was never going to end was it?
This dance that they did, over and over; no matter how many times she attempted to change the routine, the individual steps, even the music that governed them, he would always find some way to cleverly undo all her carefully made preparations…and they would spiral back into the dance that he had crafted from the very moment they met. Her feet knew the steps he marked, and for the life of her she didn't know how to stop this maddening and vicious waltz.
A waltz spattered with the blood and blades and empty, vacant souls…
How much more could he take from her until he was finished? Until he was satisfied with the unchanging end-results?
"I can tell what you're thinking," he whispers seductively into her ear, his voice dark and filled with malicious humor as his arms wrap around her waist like boa constrictors. It is a more accurate analogy than any other that she could possibly think of, for the image of two serpents binding her to him makes her greatly aware that he will never let her go.
Like the boa constrictor, he will crush the delicate and fragile bones of hope that she has continuously rebuilt and reset…and then he will swallow her whole. She will just be one more soul added to his perverse collection, albeit the most valuable and precious to him. For no matter how many lives he destroys, or how many spirits he consumes, hers will be the one he desires to taste more than anything.
She will be the crowning jewel. His crowning jewel.
And it sickens her.
Faster than she can blink, she is whipped around until the two of them are face-to-face, her body pressed up against his as if they were intimate lovers. He releases one arm from around her waist so that he may capture her chin with his fingers, an act that will force her to look only at him as the beginning of the end comes upon them.
"You're right, my beautiful one," he croons as he captures her gaze with his own at last, his power surging around the two of them until it becomes one cloying mass of dark desire and death. "You are, and will forever be, my crown jewel."
His other hand, the one holding her chin that she cannot look away from him, tightens as her body begins to twitch and spasm, the weak, pained screams of hers like music to his ears. "This is always the most painful part, isn't it," he says, his tone clear that this is not a question; more of a pleased observation. "The knowledge that you could have spared yourself the agony of having me take what should have belonged to me all along."
He pulls her even closer to him, and dips his head to snare her lips into a darkly tantalizing kiss, but the sheer pain of his tearing a little bit more of her soul away from her body swiftly overrides the pleasure that he's attempting to force upon her. As it is, her body is already straining to balance of the supply and demand exchange between them, and with even this small addition of contact between them comes terrible consequences…one that she must pay with her life.
Tears streaming down her cheeks, she pulls away from him so that she is able to tip her head back and release a powerful shriek of agony to the blanket of dark clouds above them. It pierces the night with such intensity and such grief that he is sure the sound reverberates through everyone in the city, in Japan, in the entire world itself.
To think that everyone on this miserable planet would be able to hear such beautiful and gratifying screams of suffering, sounds that only he is able to pull from her lips, makes his blood rush and pool hotly at his groin, fueling his malevolent desire for her even further.
It's a thought that pleases him greatly.
He'll have to do this again, just to hear more of her delicious shrieks….though perhaps he should record it the next time, so that he may listen to her whenever he wishes…Yes…yes, that is what he is going to do…
In the wake of her screech comes a rather disappointing silence, and he frowns, wishing that what remained of her soul would be able to survive another heavy extraction so that she could cry out for him again and again. However, since she cannot, and he is not willingly to allow her death's peaceful repose just yet, he forces himself to take a step back and partially release her. However, the hand that was holding her jaw suddenly descends and wraps around her throat, lifting her off her feet until only the barest tips of her shoes brushes against the surface of the skyscraper's rooftop.
She's too drained to fight back against him at this point, and simply hangs limply from his grasp, her eyes wide open and yet unseeing. Thoroughly satisfied with the glazed-over look in her eyes, as well as the fact that she is no longer attempting to foolishly fight back, he decided to reward her.
Swinging her around as if she is nothing more than a rag doll, he flings her away from him with a violence that shouldn't surprise her any longer…yet it does. She strikes the concrete hard and tumbles end over end until she is unable to distinguish what direction is which, until at last she slides to an ungraceful stop just inches from where he lays, inert and lifeless.
If she had the strength to move, all she would have to do is stretch out her hand so that she may touch his.
Like this, they are both face-to-face, and she is able to see how his eyes are still wide open, yet empty. Even now, they are beautiful, despite their darkened color, but memories of how they would light up suddenly fill her mind eye, flickering too fast for her to follow but enough for her to glean their meanings.
She's lived this life too many times, and experienced too many memories with him not to recognize them now.
Colorless, empty tears fill her eyes and spill over the edges as she stares at him, her silence now broken by the sound of her nearly-inaudible weeping. The pain of having her another piece of her soul ripped from her, or feeling the bones of her ribs and hands snap upon impact, are nothing, nothing, compared to the grief that she feels now.
Because once again he felt the need to save her…and it cost him his life.
It cost him everyone's life.
Just before he threw her, her eyes swept of their own accord over the bodies of the fallen, taking in just how many had died to save her…and how she was so unworthy of their attempts to give her the salvation they felt she so deserved.
Did she deserve it now, when all those bodies were piled up around her? Did they still believe her life was equal- no, superior, to their own? Or did they curse the fact that she still lived while they died for nothing?
Her lips tremble as these thoughts weigh heavily upon her, and for each tear that falls down her cheeks she dedicates solely to them. She does not cry for herself, for she has no right to do so anymore, not after all she's done to try and make things right for everyone.
With every tear that rolls down her pale cheek, she whispers softly to the sky above and the concrete below, her lips curling and curving tenderly over their names, savoring them and holding them deep within her heart.
As she speaks, she keep her eyes locked with his, as a reminder that no matter what she does, this is always going to be how it is. No matter how many times he tries to save her, or be by her side, he will always die in the end…and she will be left with nothing but misery in it's wake.
She is unsurprised when a shadow falls over her soon after, coming between her and the corpse so that she is only able to see the shiny boots that he wears. Digging one of them into the sensitive flesh of her shoulder, he unceremoniously flips her over so that she is laying on her back, staring up at the sky filled with ash-grey clouds that look ready to burst with rain. Maybe if it rained hard enough…it could…wash away our sins…
…and wash away the metallic taint that I've become stained with…
"Do you see it, my beloved?" he says from so far above her, his voice filled with false kindness that does nothing to mask his true emotions. "Such a beautiful sight, isn't it? Such a dangerous weapon, hanging by nothing by a thread… ready to fall upon you at any moment…doesn't it feel so wonderful? Doesn't it make you glad to be alive among all the dead?"
She's far too tired to answer his baiting questions, so she simply focuses upon the sight of the great Sword of Damocles hanging over the two of them. A few months ago, it was a beautiful sight to behold; now it is decaying at a pace that is far too quick for her to even comprehend. With every battle she fights against him, hoping to deviate from the loop her powers and his greed has locked them in, she looses more and more of herself…as well as her sword.
While more is added to his.
Her eyes shift to look at his, floating in the air just next to hers, the black metal seeming to drain all the light from everything around it…including the luminescence of her gem and aura. While her sword grows weaker, his grows in strength. Soon, the sword born out of her sword's shadow would swallow the original, and she would cease to exist.
Maybe it would just be easier if she just gave in…
"Don't think like that, dear one," he says as he crouches down next to her, gently running his hand through the strands of her hair, caked with blood, some of it her own and some of it others that had gotten in the way trying to protect her. "The game isn't over just yet. We still have one more round to go."
"I don't want to play anymore," she whispers, but he only tsks and continues to stroke her hair, as if trying to soothe her. As if she were a child.
After all this time, she could no longer call herself anything. She was neither child, teen, or adult…but something formless and in-between all three of those stages.
"Of course you have to play! It's going to be the greatest game of them all, don't you see? Don't you want to see what I have planned for you? Especially for you, my sweet?"
"No…I don't. I just want to die…to stop existing. Then this game can be done, and you will be the winner. Isn't that what you've always wanted?" she counters, her voice emotionless and very small as she sees the gem in the middle of her sword begin to flicker. It is only a matter of time before it dies completely…and comes crashing down upon her.
It would be a blessing to die.
"Of course not, dearest. Winning means nothing if there is no opponent to defeat in battle…and should you die, I'd have no one left to give me such a beautiful, if futile, fight. I'd destroy the world in my rage, and then there would be nothing then. I'd have lost the only person who could ever really get my blood pumping in battle…and make me eager to see where the endgame would lead us."
"…what endgame? It always ends the same. You win ever time…so tell me, what is the point to continue this game of yours?"
"It's the thrill of knowing that this time the game will be the most thrilling of all I've constructed thus far, my beloved."
As they whisper back and forth, the gem in the center of the sword's guard ruptures, releasing streams of unchecked aura into the atmosphere, spiraling and twining outwardly, until it resembles threads of light streaking across the sky.
It wouldn't be long now.
"Not if I die first."
He laughs at that, at her defiance, however soft-spoken it wi, and wipes away a tear that make its own tract down the dirt and grime on her porcelain cheeks. "You say that as if it's possible…but we both know that you're too scared to end your own life, too scared to ask someone else to do it for you, and too afraid that your powers won't allow you to." He leans in closer, until his breath caresses her skin, and continues to speak. "That is what you fear most of all: not being able to shed the mantle you've been given, no matter if you managed to convince another King to kill you. I doubt your Sword would let you go without a fight."
She doesn't bother to refute his statement, because what would be the point? She is arguing with a madman, and such rebuttals would only earn her more pain in the future. The best thing to do is to stay quiet and wait until the inevitable comes, and this whole accursed path began anew.
By this point, it is futile to hope that the outcome would be any different from the others. They both know it.
"You don't know that. What if I do decide to kill myself…or have another King kill me? What then?"
"Well then, I'll kill your successor…and once I take you back from the arms of death that you so willingly drove yourself into, the game will reset itself…until all the rounds are completed. Are you prepared be the cause of their demise, my sweet? Because I promise you, should you do what you're threatening me with, I will make their death so slow and painful that they will curse you with their very last breath."
"…There really is no end to this is there? It will always be you and I fighting against each other, until everything is decimated into nothing but rubble beneath your feet."
"You're right. There isn't. This is the way our fates were meant to play out, don't you see?"
"No. I don't. I don't see how our fates could have become so twisted like this… I want you to tell me why."
There's a moment of silence between them, broken only by the sound of each breath that he takes. Even his hand has stilled upon her forehead, and as she looks into his eyes from this angle, he almost looks…wistful.
"Don't trouble yourself with that, dearest," he finally says, just as the gem in the center of her sword's hilt darkens and goes out completely. "Not now…it's too late for that. For regrets. Let us just be happy with what we have between us now."
"…Why? What are you not telling me?"
"…Catch your Sword of the Damocles, beloved, before it runs you through and the game is ruined," he murmurs softly, resuming his former action and gently beginning to stroke her hair…just as her sword snaps free from the very last bit of her control and falls from the sky at a breakneck speed, too fast for the eye to follow. "I'll tell you, perhaps when the time is right…should that day ever come."
Despite her better judgment, she knows that if she doesn't catch her blade in time, the crater that the impact will leave millions dead…and she will be the cause of it. Women, children, and men of all ages… they should not have to pay the price for her selfishness. They do not even know of the sacrifices she's made, for them and for others, but she cannot hold it against them. They are ignorant in their own existences, and she will do anything to protect them from such a tragic and brutal end.
Even if it means that the game must continue one last time.
With trembling, bruised arms, she lifts her hands to sky as her Sword of Damocles comes crashing down upon her… but as soon as her hands touch the very tip of the blade, just seconds before it would have split her in two, the filaments of light that had escaped from the gem suddenly come back with a fury, twining down around the entire length of the blade until it is entirely encased in brilliant luminescence.
…And then, as it always does, the degraded Sword of Damocles begins to shrink.
Pouring the shredded remains of her aura into her sword, she allows her arms to slacken, pulling her sword down from the sky that housed it…until it is as earthbound as she is.
With her powers, though greatly diminished, all the decay that has crept over it is washed away in the blink of an eye…almost as if she had never lost any part of her soul in the first place. It is as beautiful as the day she earned it, as beautiful as she rememberes, but the tears that leak out of her eyes are those of sadness, not fond remembrance.
Like all the other times, she would end up losing what was most valuable, most precious, and he would claim what he had been aiming for from the very beginning.
Full control over the powers of her Sword of Damocles. His could not be completed until he had hers as well…
…Her soul. Without it, he would not be able to control the vast powers that the swords would grant him, no matter how hard he strived…
…And after that…the very world itself. He would be unstoppable…with her powers added to his, he would be able to rewrite everything in existence…including her eventual death.
Should he ever get those three things, she would never be safe. He could revive her over and over to play in his 'games', and even death wouldn't be able to keep its hold on her, to keep her from his terrible grasp. He would control the very fabric of the world itself, and spin the threads of everything in existence to make sure that she was both beneath him and at his side, in every way imaginable, just so he could keep on finding a twisted reason for living.
Her sword's gem glows as its earthbound state activates its most ancient of abilities, and from the healed jewel once more streams ribbons of light that twist down the blade in a crisscross fashion before reaching out to encircle their vessel's body. She closes her eyes and feels him rise from his crouch, opting to stand over her and watch the process of her powers awakening in her darkest hours, in an attempt to both save and heal its host.
"This is going to be the grandest game of them all, you see," she hears him say as the light from the threads that encompass her entire body radiates through her closed eyelids, and her tired body finally gives in to the process that she can't fight, even if she wants to: blissful unconsciousness. The last thing she hears before all and every sense of hers dissolves into little particles of light is his voice, and though she strives to keep it out, to not listen, it still permeates her thoughts.
"Remember my love, this is our semi-centennial, so let's give everyone a good show befitting of our titles: I as the Sable King…and you as the Lavender Queen."