because my friend james (mythoftheslayer on tumblr) sent me an ask when i asked for ships to write, and he sent me mukumondo and since i apparently can only write sad fics about death i did this. this was meant to be mukondo at first but i threw a bit of character study (i think) in because i felt like it
title from houdini by foster the people
"I invoke the mighty summon spell! Help! To me, godly spear Gugnir!"
At the time, the words coming from the bear's mouth would've made no sense to any of them, but now?
Now, those words set a sense of dread in their stomachs, the nausea creeping up, twisting inside of them and clogging up their veins until they doubled over from the reality of it all.
Junko Enoshima had just died.
There was no question about it.
A deep, dark dungeon, so it turns out, was a nickname for a dozen spears flying out, impaling the model one by one.
And she froze, aside from spasms wracking her body.
"H-Huh? This.. wasn't supposed to.." she muttered, her eyes wide.
"W-Why...me?"
There was absolutely no traces of doubt that Junko Enoshima had just died. That she'd been impaled, right?
Mondo Oowada stood there, his face fluctuating constantly; confused, angry, sad, shocked. All of it, but more so, he felt like he'd had the air knocked out of him.
Because, because, this- this wasn't right; this wasn't right, it was wrong, because when Mondo saw Junko's face, clear eyes wide and her face twisted in horror, he didn't see Junko Enoshima.
No, he saw someone else.
Someone completely different.
And it confused him, it scared him, it rattled him to the core.
All the times he'd seen Junko preening in a mirror, or babbling to Sayaka or Celes in the cafeteria; it all felt like a lie.
He didn't mean to do it; he really, really didn't.
Impulse is a wicked feeling.
The kid, Chihiro, had the strength to reveal himself to Mondo, to reveal a secret that had likely been gnawing away at him for centuries.
And he was a strong kid. Stronger than Mondo.
Stronger than Mondo was when Daiya died (when she died)
And he was furious, oh, he was so fucking furious;
(Why, why did he have to pick Mondo?
In hindsight, Sakura was a much better option)
Because this couldn't happen
It couldn't
It couldn't
It cou-
And he smashed the kid's head in, but he didn't even remember it.
The motions were there, his hand grasping the dumbbell and swinging down, but it was fuzzy, like a dream.
Mondo's mind flickered briefly to Leon, his blue eyes widened in horror, voice hoarse from screaming, pleading for his life,
"I didn't mean to do it!"
"I-It was self defense, it doesn't count!"
"Get me out of here!"
And a shudder rippled through his body; would he be like that? Would he sob and shriek for the chance to live?
He shouldn't have to.
Mondo and Leon were different.
He wasn't a baseball star, whose ambition drew him into deception, deception from an idol with a sugar-sweet smile.
He was a gang leader with regret and blood on his hands.
Far too much blood.
Yet, after shifting Chihiro's body, the realisation kicked in and caught him in a chokehold, wrapping and constricting him
The poor kid didn't deserve it, he really, really didn't. He just wanted to trust someone; anyone.
Trust is for fools, was something he came to realise
Because, if there was one thing this situation had taught him, was that the world truly was a place where it was dog-eat-dog.
And Mondo stared at his feet, ignoring the shrieking from Kiyotaka's mouth.
Kiyotaka wasn't pleading for himself.
Leon's presence was felt here, but it was wrong.
He was wailing now, begging for Mondo's life.
And Mondo felt cheated, because for a split second he realised that was his role.
And through his friend's screams, he turned his head to the side, avoiding the incredulous stares of the others - people who didn't deserve to be here, people who were innocent, guilt-free.
Away from the broken sobbing of Kiyotaka.
Away from the portrait of Chihiro, eyes - dead eyes - burning into his head.
And he was shameful, he was weak, as he looked away when the metal clasped around his neck and pulled him back.
He was spinning, much too fast, and as his vision began to fade, it hit him, like a bus.
And he remembered breathing in her scent as she perched on his lap, head resting against his chest, just laying there, trying to forget about gangs and siblings and everything else in their lives and just remember each other.
He remembered speed, soaring through the streets with her latching on to his back, her eyes sharp and alert as his gang members followed suit, whooping into the night.
He remembered waiting outside her house, as she deftly wormed her way out of her sister's conversations, words grasping to keep her back at her side.
"Noone out there cares about you, Muku-chan! I'm the only one!"
All lies, of course, which is what Mondo eventually taught her.
He remembered her eyes, cold and clear, freckles decorating her skin, her face, pale and blanketed in darkness. She was so different from her sister, her lying, manipulative sister with her peach lips and blonde hair, that she'd so carefully twist around her finger - just like how she had with all of them.
He remembered Mukuro Ikusaba, he remembered the girl who stood there, confusion overtaking her as the blood seeped and her knees buckled, body lurching forward.
He remembered it all, and he really wished he hadn't.