A KHR oneshot set in the Future That Never Was, this is centered around my OC, Bellatrix. Admittedly, this isn't one of my best, but I had this scenario running around in my head so strongly that I even had a dream about it. Trust me, that shit is so much more fuckered up than what I'm writing.
I hate illusionists and Mist flame users. Well, most of them. Marmon was alright, up until they committed suicide via one of Bel's specialized knives, and Mukuro is… tolerable. But others? I despise them. I have since I was forced to wipe my fiancee's memories of me via my secondary Mist Flame. But that's besides the point. Let's move on the true point of this, ne~?
I hate illusionists. I think as I roll out of the way of yet another spray of bullets. Goddamn Byakuran and his guardians. I was on one of the rare missions with a few of my people, gathering intel, and these fucking Millefiore bastards pop out of fucking nowhere, taking down Cearbhall in the process, and this whole shitstorm starts. There's blood everywhere, one the ground, streaking my teal hair a rust brown, on my hands, my uniform, my comrade's bodies. I ran into a nearby building, and as my guns were running out of ammo and would have run out long ago if it weren't for my Cloud flames, I grabbed a semi-automatic rifle from the body next to me, immediately shooting at the enemy behind me.
"Merda! Where the fuck did these culattone come from!?" I muttered to myself, frowning at the weapon I was using. While I has trained with and am able to adequately use most weapons, smaller blades and handguns will always be my forte. The rifle I'm holding has about twenty more pounds of weight than I'm used to, I'm being forced to use it one handed, and it's already bruising my upper arm from it's recoil. It isn't long before I'm practically cornered, and I empty the clip in the rifle into the chest of the man in front of me, grab his handguns, reload as fast as I can, and swiftly take out the remaining Millefiore men outside. I see a shimmer of indigo on the peripherals of my vision, and I whirl around. Fuck!
The man behind me is standing, with a body off to his side with familiar bullet holes in her chest. I only glanced at it, but the sapphire hair and empty black eyes spoke for themselves. Sloane. This Mist fucker just made me kill the closest thing I have to a sister. My lime green eyes glowed purple, my cloud flames roaring with the need to hurtmaimkill the mother fucking bastard that made me kill my sister. He was the only one left, just as I was the only one left on my side.
Contrary to popular belief, Classic Clouds aren't the worst clouds to piss off. Inverted Clouds are. And, other than the Cloud Arcobaleno, I can easily claim the strongest fucking Inverted Cloud flames there are. Now, Inverted Clouds are fucking difficult to piss off, but this guy? He went past making me pissed. I'm fucking furious. I reach for my flames and grab the illusionist's throat with my hand, lifting him, choking him as I use my flames to increase the potency of his stomach acid, making it beyond what his body can hold without serious repercussions as I watch his body eat itself away from the inside out. It doesn't take long, partly because he's already half dead, partly because I made the acid so strong, partly because my flames are burning him with the acid. I watch dispassionately as what's left of him burns to ash before I turn to to the body of Sloane. The anger at the mist fucker dissipates suddenly, and I stagger over to the corpse that used to be my sisterfriendFamily and drop to my knees next to her. A quick temperature check reveals that she was most likely dead before I shot her full of lead, but guilt still fills my heart because what if she wasn't What if she was still alive and I killed her ohmigod what did I do?! I drag her head to my chest, tears falling as I allow myself this short mourning time before I have to retreat, tell the others that I'm all that's left of the Cloud Division of the Varia now, that I failed. Five minutes later, I force myself to stop crying, to pull myself together because, meagre as it is, I have enough information to satisfy Boss for now, and there are sure to be patrols or something around here soon because there was sure to be someone who knew we were coming. I stand up, my final tears falling as I give my heart-sister the best burial I can out on the field and my flames burn her to ash and bone so those Millefiore bastards can't do something to her; so those bastards can't taint my memory of her. Then ice runs in my veins. They knew we were coming. That means we have a mole.
All right, so I have it on good authority that this needs to go on longer, but as this is all I have for now, If enough people want me to continue (or if I get another urge to write something like this) I will.