Warnings: This is dark. Please scroll to end for spoilerific WARNING if you wish.

Summary: Yuuri and co fight zombies in the Castle. Imagine this as a fusion with 'World War Z'

Notes: : I woke up with an image of Wolfram with a sawn-off shotgun and Anissina with a katana as they killed zombies, blame Max Brooks. Apologies to gun fans if I got it wrong. Story written in a day, unbetaed.

When it was over, the silence was shocking; the only thing Yuuri could hear was his breathing, sounding heavy.

"Is everyone okay?"

He turned to check his friends. Wolfram, although blood splattered seemed whole, leaning his sawn-off shotgun over his right shoulder. Anissina still held her katana at the ready, which was almost certainly a smart idea.

Without thought Yuuri slotted another cartridge into his handgun, only a few days and it had become a habit. It was fitting; earth weapons for an earth made disease and after this Yuuri would never touch a gun again.

"Shinou said these were the last of the infected." Murata said, his voice flat without inflection.

Murata was in front of Yuuri, facing away, in the heat of battle he'd gotten separated from them.

Murata flung his axe to the ground. "It's over."

Yuuri exhaled unsteadily. Conrad had been successful on the western end of the Castle; Yuuri hoped that they were all right.

They had managed to contain the infection to the castle only, Shin Makoku was safe.

He looked over at Wolfram and Anissina to share that relief, but Anissina eyes were wide, looking over his shoulder in dismay. Yuuri turned to see what she was looking at, Murata was cradling his bloody arm. He'd been bitten.

"Murata-"

"Between the eyes, Shibuya, make it quick. I promise you I won't feel a thing."

No, this couldn't be happening. This wasn't right. It was Murata who had saved them; his planning which had kept the last of them alive, without him the Kingdom would certainly be lost. It was Yuuri who should die, he'd let that last group of refugees in from earth, it was his fault.

Murata must have sensed his indecision, not that it would have been hard, he was never good at hiding his emotions.

"I'm tired, Shibuya." The raw exposed look that Murata gave Yuuri told him that his friend wasn't just talking about fatigue from the last few days fighting. "I need a rest. Don't let this end with me a monster; I want this to end on my own terms, while I'm still me."

Yuuri didn't know what to say...he couldn't. There was no cure, not from earth, not from Shin Makoku, although Kami knew that Gisela and her healers had tried, up until the end.

He looked over at Wolfram, who looked just as shaken as he felt; Anissina was unusually silent, she had lowered the katana but still gripped it tightly, her hands white.

Yuuri couldn't fix this.

Murata sighed in resignation; he didn't look surprised at Yuuri's silence.

"Give me the gun, you can leave the room." Murata's tone was gentle, like he was talking to a frightened child, or small animal.

No, nobody should have to die alone, not when they had friends around, not after so much senseless death and pain. Murata shouldn't have to do this.

"Yuuri" Wolfram said softly, his fiancé's hand gently touching his wrist. Wolfram's intentions were clear. Wolfram was willing to taking this burden away from Yuuri, if he wanted.

"No, I'll do it. I'll make it quick." Yuuri said to Murata, pushing Wolfram's hand away gently with a squeeze of gratitude for the offer.

Murata had asked him. It was Yuuri's responsibility, Yuuri was King, Yuuri was Murata's closest friend. No-one else should do this.

Murata nodded, and calmly removed his glasses and placed them neatly into his pocket, as if it mattered anymore. Murata silently took Yuuri's wrist with the gun and placed the muzzle between his eyes. With the muzzle still against his head Murata kneeled down, slow and calm, and closed his eyes. Murata's right hand was still on his wrist, steadying his shaking hand.

"It's not fair." Yuuri burst out, and hated that his voice ended in a sob.

The fingers on Yuuri's wrist stroked him soothingly. "It's not the end, Shibuya." Murata opened his eyes, Murata's thumb gently rubbing a circle on the inside of his wrist, it was so wrong for him to comfort Yuuri, for Murata to look at him that way when it was his gun pressed to his face. Everything was wrong.

"We'll meet again. We'll be friends again, in another life."

"It's not the same, I won't remember." Yuuri choked out. And nor will you, not anymore, Yuuri thought.

"It doesn't matter, you'll find me somehow. You have before, maybe next time you'll be the wife." Murata said in a slight flirtatious tone.

Yuuri forced back a choke, even now, even knowing his life was ending. How could he?

Normally such flirtations would have Wolfram huffing in indignation, but not today, and never again. There was a pain in his chest, a tightness. Yuuri didn't think it would ever go away.

"Don't…" Yuuri said, his voice harsh.

Murata's eyes became sad and he squeezed Yuuri's wrist gently.

"You're a good boy, Shibuya. You will make a great King. I am proud to have been your friend and to have served you."

Yuuri nodded, and gathered his will.

Murata closed his eyes, as if sensing Yuuri's resolve.

"Thank you, Yuuri." Murata whispered.

Yuuri squeezed the trigger, he didn't hear anything. He felt the recoil and the gentle hand on his wrist fell away and so did Murata. Yuuri squeezed his eyes shut not looking at the body on the ground, that wasn't Murata, not anymore and he would not, could not look.

Yuuri dropped the gun, and found his knees buckling; only to be caught by Wolfram. He sobbed his misery in Wolfram's arms.

Warning: Death of major character, suggestion of other character death.