Opus Magnum
Rating: T
Warnings: Violence, character death
Genre: Tragedy, angst
Timeline: Future
Characters: Rock Lee, Teammates
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.
Decedibo ex vita tacitus.
Fero perditum testata fides vera.
-Opus Magnum, E Nomine
"They are dead."
The words strike hard and cold in his chest. Something dies with a hysterical scream. He touches them, touches cool and cooling. The snow grows red around them, heavy waves staining everything, everything, everything.
His hand comes away sticky and so red. He can't understand. He won't understand. He returns their cold and snow to his face, licks it to find vile iron and life in the taste. It is so cold when it should be so warm. It must be warm.
Their red, red life stays on his skin, flecks from his eyelashes. It rolls like kisses down his chin, taunting, taunting, taunting. He touches again and leaves trails and secret patterns across their pale, porcelain skin. Written in red ink, the last whispers of them.
He lights a pyre for them, his own pyre, his own funeral. His rage is beautiful he thinks as he stands. He takes them with his eyes, steals his last photographs to hide away. His own private collection.
And now his skin is red like them, but they're life stands in ugly relief against his face.
He gives himself everything, the last of him in tribute to them and screams out to the hateful dawn that comes just a few minutes too late.
The ground cracks and tears under his feet. His is full with the power of storms and the wind rages for him and he rages for them.
Red strikes the snow and new earth, forming angry Rorschach around him. His hands are covered in the red, so red it burns. Those that would hurt him are screaming, but they will not escape. He won't let them. They will scream forever. He will be the guardian of their secret hell.
Soon, the last stands, gibbering words that no longer have meaning. He slows, not in mercy, but because the flames are trying to take him, licking at his heels. The red and hot leaves him with only cold and grey.
This is his opus magnum. This field of death and these eight gates screaming with life.
He can feel the hounds coming. His legs numb but he can't stop. Not until this last tiny one is splattered like mud and grease across the ground. He can't stop because the earth will claim him. He can't stop because death is here, knocking at an open gate above his struggling heart.
He rips apart the last, let's salt water tears mix with red. It is so red.
He stumbles, slumps. He can't stop but he must. He needs to report back but he feels so heavy. He must live the life they couldn't but he is tired and falling and the snow feels like home against his skin.
His breath comes in gouts of red-tinted mist. The cold slithers over his stomach. Muscles spasm. He fights to stand, but all he can manage is an aching crawl to his fallen, the only ones he claims as his.
He reaches to touch one last time their beautiful faces, but his arm gives away to the cold black. He is claimed at last whispering their names as a child calls for its parents in the dark.
This is his greatest work.
I hope I did Lee and his eight gates justice…
Translated Lyrics
I will leave life silently.
I will bring the end through truly tested faith.