Author's Note: More to come I think? ^^; I found this last night and thought I'd finish up bits of it and try publishing some... There is more but it's not nearly complete so hopefully I can get around to tying off all those little loose ends I started. ^^;; Oh and Le Verre means Glass. (Fun fact btw: Cinderella was a French fairytale originally, and in the story she originally had a FUR slipper, "vaire" (fur) sounds very similar to "verre" (glass) and it got mistranslated. Fur sounds way more comfortable as a slipper than glass now doesn't it? I always thought that a glass shoe sounded just awful...) Also, now that I read over this again, I can really see the influence of the song "Shining" by Kristian Leontiou. ^^; I was listening to it while writing... Is a good song if you want to look it up. ^_^ Anywho, my ramblings aside, here is "Consacrated to God".
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Le Verre
Fuuma was screaming but no one could hear him.
Images swirled through his mind of broken glass, shattered by the piercing scream? And blood, droplets and rivulets and drops and rivers, the metallic scent leaving a gag-worthy taste in his mouth, still wide open in a cry for help, relief, reprieve, release, anything.
The sound of glass shattering in movies is pleasing, an almost musical tone as tiny shards cheer for freedom from an oppressive oneness that was the sheet, a satisfying sparkle as beautiful as the glitter of clear pieces scattered across the floor.
In real life however, the sound is more of a cry in protest as one entity is broken, a destruction so final the pieces can never be reassembled into exactly what they were before. Shards slamming into the floor release small involuntary screams at every scar they represent, then lie still in defeat, a massacre of tiny crystalline pieces, strewn carelessly on the ground.
Kamui had been so fragile, it hadn't taken much to shatter him and now one shard was embedded deeply in Fuuma's mind, gripping his nervous system, its jagged edge slicing the bond between his thoughts and actions. The knot between his mind and body was not completely severed though, frayed strands clung desperately across a void, straining to reconnect, to not be lost completely in the darkness awaiting on either end, the nothing behind his mind, the hell before his body.
For a moment, Fuuma couldn't see anything and he thought he had blacked out again, or was about to. He decided not to this time, and struggled to resurface. His hand stung, he could still feel that. Disoriented, unbalanced, and dizzy, he focused on the pain in his hand to bring him out of the dark fog that had threatened to cloud his consciousness as it had several times before over the past several days. A cut, there's a cut across my palm. He thought vaguely, mentally probing the feeling of flesh being pulled away from flesh as glass invaded, filling a small canyon with blood. He inwardly winced as his hand gripped the shard, leaving a matching cut across his fingers.
His arm swung forward violently, unexpectedly and he felt a sickeningly squelch as the glass entered something not completely solid. A warm thick fluid splashed onto his arm and as the smell of salt and iron temporarily overwhelmed his senses he registered with horror that it was blood running down his hand, and this time it wasn't his own.
In response, another scream ripped through his ears, assaulting his senses and he shook in involuntary fear and sympathetic pain. Recognition lurched through him and he mentally gagged as he realized it was Kamui's blood on his arm, Kamui's hand beneath the shard of glass.
"The earth…"
Whose voice was that? He felt the shudder of his own vocal chords but it wasn't him talking. He wasn't saying anything, even though he was trying to. Who had stolen his tongue? What was under his tongue?
Warm salty liquid with the bitter twist of iron to it slid down his throat and red splashed across his vision in recognition of the taste. A frantic pulse beat against his lips as though trying to beat them away.
"... is wishing for a change."
An inhale pressed warm, slick skin involuntarily against his lips for just a second.
"Fu…u…ma…" Those two syllables alone sounded like the exhale of broken glass from a throat already tattered.
"A change that won't be hindered by humans."
Who was that? Who was speaking? Fuuma struggled to see past the dark veil obscuring his vision but it only pushed back in retaliation, overtaking his other senses as well. The sound of Kamui's labored panting faded away as did the smell and lingering taste of blood.
But he clung to that shard of glass, determine not to let go, so that even when all of his other senses were overwhelmed and robbed from him, the pain in his hand, gave him just the tiniest connection still to his own body.
He closed his eyes.
And woke up.
But not in a real place, or so he assumed. There was nothing around him but darkness and all he could see was himself. He didn't hear anything but as he shifted slightly, rustling the cotton folds of his clothes, he realized it was merely because there had not been anything to hear. He strained every sense, but could detect nothing beyond himself, then in frustration, he clenched his fist and winced as something bit into his palm. Opening it, he saw a jagged shard of glass with bloodied edges.
He had to get back, he had to regain control; something bad was happening and he thought maybe it was somehow because of him…
"Stay there."
That voice was too commanding to be Kamui's and yet it had the same pitch, the same cadence…
Kamui stepped into the light without a source.
No, not Kamui.
"Who…"
"Kamui."
"No, you're not Kamui."
The Other gave him a ruthless smile as he stepped forward to stand over Fuuma.
"I am, the real Kamui, the one who seeks the glory of the gods."
"How did you get here?"
"I've been here all along."
Fuuma stared at the glass shard in his hand, searching for his own reflection in it, but the semblance was faint, more of a shadow and hints at colored shapes, than an actual representation of himself, of Fuuma.
"You won't find your reflection there." Kamui hooked a boot under Fuuma's chin, forcing him to look up."All you've ever been is the one born to fill the gap." Kamui's laugh was hollow and humiliating. "It would explain your hopeless devotion to him from day one. Didn't you wonder what was so special about Kamui all along? It's because that's all you really were. A placeholder, a chest to house the rest of him." Kamui gave him a pitying look absent of sympathy. "'Fuuma' never really existed."
Fuuma clenched his fist and felt more blood well up in his palm.
"Although I suppose it's lucky for you, isn't it?" Kamui tilted his head. "You don't have to be around for the end of the world. Or the end of Kamui."
Fuuma saw it out of the corner of his eye, the blood slipping out of his clenched palm and snaking across the ground to wind its way up Kamui's leg, solidifying into a tiny, nearly imperceptible, and incredibly fragile-seeming thread.
Don't let go. He silently cried out to it, desperation pulling the string taut.
"All you have to do is fade away."
Don't let…
There was a sudden weightless feeling as Kamui's boot dropped out from under his chin without warning.
Don't…
Kamui disappeared and with him, the light. No longer able to see or hear or taste or smell or feel, Fuuma wasn't sure he still existed.