This is necessary.

It is the only way for both of us to ever find any semblance of peace. That's pretty blasphemous, is there truly any peace for us sinners, for we hold not a shred of piety within us. After everything in our sick, twisted lives, here we stand where it all began. I guess it ends here too, at least for one of us. Even with the inevitability of death looming over, we both feel the undertone of love behind each and every action. The same love that we so naively considered to be our redemption but, yet here we are in this crumbling church. Just standing in this building overwhelms us with the nostalgia it provides. It's just so wrong. After all those years we were apart, here we were reunited. By that pew, we blindly received and followed commands to "keep the order". In that corner we thrived off the lies of the corrupt and killed for a false justice. Near that door, tears were shed as she refused to follow me into the Revolutionary Army.

Her words echo softly off the walls; "I don't have much time left."

I know. Her pallor reflects none of the health she once possessed, her current image a mockery of the girl I love. I promise I'll make the pain end little sister, for all of us. We can never move on unless this duel happens. Together we have always survived on our own and it is only fitting that we end this for the sake of each other. This, this is necessary.

In response, a monotonous "Lets end this."

The next sound to shatter the silence is the steel of our swords clanging together with intensity. We lunge and defend each strike, a blur of steps to the naked eye. Imagine, all our training, becoming our best weapon towards each other. There is no holding back, not a scrap of mercy towards one another. How could we show any, when we were taught to eliminate and execute with no emotion? Our entire lives we were instructed to show the aesthetic of a detached machine wired to obey. All we desire is a quick and painless end. Outside voices ring in my ears but, it's inconsequential. I'm sure I was followed tonight and my comrade understands the necessity of this. He will ensure we won't be interfered. So the battle rages on. For a split second our eyes meet.

"Sister…" I say.

"I know" she replies. Smiling at me serenely she continues on, "I love you too."

The final moments declare themselves, for whomever lands this strike will prevail. Surviving at this point isn't even a privilege. No one wants to be endowed with the pain and suffering of being the one left alone. Time stills, and I see her deference to the end. From the moment we parted all those years ago, when I chose morality over family, I knew how this would end. One of us will have to die by the others hand but because of everything I fight for I can't let it be me. Because I love her, I will finish this as swiftly as possible. The screams from the outside thrust me from my unfeeling haze and in to reality. She missed, for I am met with no immediate pain. My eyes trail down and I can see Murasame grotesquely protruding from her chest. I frigidly realize that she made no mistake.

I don't want to see it, but if I don't look, somehow it will be worse. I glance up to inspect the final expression frozen upon her pale face, dreading what I will see. A smile, a tiny upturning of her lips graces the face of my fallen sister. Something breaks inside of me and I can do nothing to illustrate it on my face. Finally, I give my full attentions to the one held back by my comrade, his face reflecting the horror a normal person would feel towards this vilesituation. It's almost comical, an assassin like myself shocked at the sight of death's hand. Cradling her to my chest, I gently hand him my sister while desperately trying to mask the shaking of my hands.

He asks brokenly "What are we even fighting for?"

"If you can't answer that yourself, you don't deserve to wield a weapon. A weapon is for those who have committed themselves to something." I reply.

I have devoted myself for standing for my fallen friends at the end of this war but, I won't tell him that. As the one alive, it is my commitment to carry the burdens of those who can't be here with me. The Revolutionary Army will win this war, and I will make it to the finish line. Faintly, I hear him leave with my lifeless sister but, I can't seem to make my body express any emotion. It appears he will be the one to lament her because I feel I don't even have the right to. Everything is just filled with a numb darkness. That perfect expressionless mask I usually desperately try to maintain has now become my prison.

Suddenly, the voice of my friend pierces through my state of nothingness; "Let it out."

I scream.