"The Breath of God"

part 1

a Weib Kreuz fic by Mirrordance

don't own anyone.

Plot: When Ken dies, an angel gives him the chance to take over someone else's body to live again…

Ken's P.O.V.

      I took a bad hit.  Just one, single hit, but it hurt like blazes and I think it might have been killing me, if I hadn't decided to take things into my own hands.

      The mission wasn't as easy as what we've been getting lately.  Nothing comparable to Takatori and Schwartz, but it's not exactly a breeze either.

      As usual, it was the four of us against the world, and none of those men I was fighting missed my sore spot.  I could see the gleam of triumph in their eyes as they took advantage of my weakness, and even more elation when I sank to my knees and was no longer able to fend off their blows.

      "Ken!"

      That was Omi hollering, and in my mind's eye I could see him pausing from his own fight to go take a look over his shoulder at mine, or anyone else's.  It's a talent, I think, for your mind to be in one place and your heart in another.  He always seemed to know if one of us was in trouble.

      It happened sooner than I could think.  There was a gun to my back, and the wielder was telling my friends to either surrender, or I get the bullet.

      There was ominous silence then.

      "Don't--" I pleaded brokenly, before getting the butt of a gun on my face.

      My friends, bless them and curse them, laid down their weapons and raised their empty hands slowly.

      "What are you doing?!" I heard myself yell, and it was a desperate sound laced with hysteria.  "They'll kill us anyway! Stop! STOP!" I begged and begged and placed everything I had into those cries.  "You are not going to die because of me, understand?!"

      They weren't looking at me anymore, which was a positive sign that they heard me.  But they didn't want to heed to that.  It reminded me of how much we've changed, the four of us.  It started with wary strangers, and now we were friends to risk our lives for each other.  It reminded me also of a similar situation some time ago, when Omi was in trouble and Yoji and I wouldn't leave without him.

      Now I'm wishing we had stayed strangers.

      Now I know how Omi felt, as he watched us come back for him, then get shot down.

      The four of us were on the ground, on our knees by now.  I still had the gun to my back, and the more skilled of the hired thugs that were sent to dispose of us after we killed their boss surrounded our team in a lose circle.

      It was going to be a massacre.

      That was when I realized I didn't want to die.  I always thought I wouldn't mind, but now that it was here, my mind kept flashing towards the bright sun shining down in a vast field of grass.  Like a quick slide-show I saw bits and pieces of the good things in my life.  There was the comfort of the flower shop.  And though I complained a lot, I actually liked the female presence there.  I saw my apartment.  It was always a mess, but I loved coming home to it.  The neighborhood kids' faces also came to mind, the way they looked after winning a game that I had coached, blind admiration in their eyes for Ken-niichan, something I wasn't very used to.  Then there were my friends, who were going to die with me today because they're so fucking stupid.

      The man who was holding the gun against me, I heard him chuckle.  There was pure evil there, pure glee.  It gave me more fear and regret than the thought of losing my life, or my friends dying.

      And I should have known that was because he was going to give me a bargain that would make me lose my soul instead.

      Someone slapped a gun into my slack hands.

      I looked at him blankly, wondering what the heck I was supposed to do with the thing, if not shoot their brains out, which was of course, out of the question as the gun on my back suddenly increased its pressure.

      "Lock and load, kid" the man said behind me.  I could hear his smile.

      "This is how it works," he said, "you kill them, I spare your life.  You don't, I blow you away right here and now.  So raise the gun.  You're all going to die anyway, like you said.  But I'll give you a chance to live."

      It sickened me.  It really did.

      But I prepared the gun.  I raised my arm, and somehow it wasn't shaking.  I've made my decision.  At this proximity, I would be shooting Omi at point-blank-range.

      Except I wasn't shooting him.

      I dropped the gun practically on the palm of his hand.  I made sure I gave the gun to him, as he was the marksman.

      There was a moment's hesitation.  His, and the men's.

      Two shots rang through.

      I heard the thump of the man behind me as he fell to the ground, though I hadn't heard my own.  I was swallowed by an incredible black, and for a moment I thought that was what dying was like, until I realized I was encased in Yoji's arms, which had caught me, and the darkness was his coat.

      The first shot, I'm sure, went through the man's head, as Omi's skill was undeniable.  The second went through my back, as the dead man's hands tightened on the trigger.

      I couldn't breathe, and I attributed this to two things: first, that I was dying.  Second, Yoji was clinging to me so tightly, as if believing that if he held on long enough, I wouldn't slip away.

      I've heard some things about death.  Fantastic light at the end of a long tunnel, or maybe the feeling of flight as you leave your body.  It, for me, was none of those things.  It was a moment of perfect clarity before seemingly eternal darkness.

      I could see, from over Yoji's shoulder how the fight has progressed.

      Omi, he was crouched on the floor, making inhumanly accurate use of the bullets on the gun I gave him.  Ran, he somehow got his sword back, and was moving in a blur of black and red, like poetry.

      Then it was over.

      There was just the four of us left, and soon it would just be the three of them.

      Omi was looking at me with sadness in his eyes.  And tears.  Omi always had a lot of those.  Ran, on the other hand, wasn't crying at all.  At least, from what little I could see of his face.  His head hung low, gaze averted from me though I knew he was watching from the corner of his eyes, as he always did when he pretended disinterest.  I couldn't see Yoji's face.  And though I could no longer feel the pain of my wounds, there was an acute, poignant feeling of warm wetness on my shoulder, where he rested his face and the corners of his sunglasses pressed annoyingly against my flesh.

      Then I was over.