Diclaimer: I don't own the characters or the series. Amano Akira does. I'm just playing with them for a bit.
Twisted Desires
You know it'll lead to nothing good, yet you allow yourself to be drawn in anyway.
You should know better. You do know better. Every cell in your body is screaming against it, telling you to pull away, pull away or attack forward to put an end to this absolute travesty, don't you know that this will be your end and do you even care when it comes down to it. Nevertheless, you don't listen to yourself, to your basest instincts, to the way every part of you is telling you to back away from the danger.
The danger of being surrounded by him.
You hate him anyway, don't you, you hate him and despise him with your entire being, nothing would please you as much as seeing him lying bleeding to death on the ground and knowing he was brought down by your hand. Even so you find yourself unable to launch that final attack, to rush forward with everything you have to bring about his end, and even though you clash and attack and block and neither of you is backing down you can't help but notice that neither of you is exactly attacking as hard as you could.
His eyes seem to beckon you and it irritates you beyond belief, he shouldn't be looking at you like that, he has no right, nobody has that right, and the next time you step back for a secondary lull in the battle you taste a splatter of blood on your lips. You smirk, the red of his blood staining the expression even more vicious than it would be otherwise.
He smirks back.
You've long since lost any concept of time or even place, you have no idea how long you have been fighting him, you can hear your body screaming for mercy in its exhaustion but you ignore it just like you ignore your surroundings. It doesn't rightly matter where you are at the moment, it matters not to him and therefore you have little concern for it, either, the walls and ceilings and floors are mere optional hindrances in your desire to play with him and he could change them at a whim anyway so it doesn't benefit you any to look around yourself. Your instincts will warn you of danger, anyway, your instincts and flames and nobody is better at detecting illusions than you, nobody is better because nobody hates them more than you do because nobody could possibly hate him more than you do.
You hate him, from the bottom of your heart do you hate him, and he knows it. He knows it perfectly well, and every smirk of his is a hand reaching out to close around your heart, closing around your hatred, and as surely as that hatred belongs to him it appears your heart has become his possession as well.
You hate him, you despise him, you loathe him to the point of obsession, and in some twisted corners of your heart that obsession turns into the kind of burning desire that keeps you attacking again and again and again even as you taste his blood on your lips because you will never back away, never from him, not even when you know you should before it's too late.
You know you're in over your head already, know there's no way out of this battle, no way except for the death of one or both of you or perhaps defeat through your desire, if you did defeat him you don't even know whether you'd kill him or simply ravage him until you both lie panting and sweating. Looking at his smirk, you suspect he is yet to make that choice, either.
A shiver runs down your spine, and you aren't sure if you're excited at the thought of his death at your hands or of his body pressed close against yours. Or perhaps, some truly twisted part of your mind reminds you, perhaps you are thinking of your own death at his hands.
You block another attack before launching yours, and decide that at the moment, it doesn't matter.
It might be the same thing in the end, anyway.