Written a long, LONG time ago.
I don't own Guilty Gear. Yadda da da.
Through his own self indulgence did Sol feel something he shouldn't.
He had done it.
After years of knowing the annoying boy, he'd finally done what was most alluring.
Alone he sat, one leg dangling off the pew. His surroundings rubble filled inside the broken down church. Its pillars no longer a brilliant white, but a stained rust color with splotches of charred black. A spectacle of mixed hues; gold, violet and scarlet filtering in through the chipped and broken stained glass. A forlorn battered vision of Jesus Christ stared down upon the crown of his head.
Sol ignored the surviving monument in favor of chain smoking. One could say it helped him think.
Somewhere across the city, he knew a certain someone who hated him beyond the bounds of death.
What he had done was of course, though a temptation from years before, an act he wasn't proud of.
Yet he knew better than anyone else the rules of 'What's done, is done.'
The bulky brunette frowned, much like he had been since a few days ago.
His finger flicked, the gray ashes from his bad habit falling to the floor in a pile he seemed to be collecting. Silently he adjusted his back against the sharp edge of wood he leaned against. One leg was propped up, his wrist carelessly resting on top a denim covered knee.
Solemn was his nature. All that was left was to finish his age old project and objective. No more prattling about God and 'His Grace's love' from a headstrong blonde. No. That was impossible now.
At first Sol had figured he just needed an outlet. That outlet was supposed to be Ky Kiske. The enthralling idea of robbing the boy of his innocence had startled him in the very beginning. The fact Sol had began thrumming around with the idea itself was… Odd.
In time he had come to accept it, albeit not entirely fond of it. Then again, it was his nature to simply accept the obviously horrendous side of something.
This slight infatuation of course wasn't his top priority, as his life span was timeless. There were other obligations he'd sworn himself to. Nothing else.
The fact there was supposed to be nothing else was what allowed his freedom of sorts. In the end however, he never could achieve such a ridiculous notion of freedom. That was something the fire tyrant knew from the beginning of his existence as Sol Badguy.
Sardonic mirth pulled his lips half into a sneer that grinned at the same time.
It was then that he heard his name and the deathly cackle of thunder that called to spill his blood.
He really was grinning now.
END