WARNING: Not for the faint of heart or the squeamish. Turn away if the thought of carnage and torture are unappealing. If you read it even after being warned, please note any reviews stating how disgusting this is will be ignored and most likely reported. Thank you.
A/N: I was in a strange mood. Was listening to Lux Aterna by Clint Mansell and this little gem popped up. Again, if torture and carnage are unappealing, please leave.
Manifestation of Madness
It is amazing how white buildings can be when painted in brilliant red. Splashes of colour that draw the eye away from the mediocre lines and the repetitive shade; lines and dots converging into a story that can only be told by the prone bodies that allow their paint to dash the pure white of the buildings' walls and doors. There are so many of those painters; over a dozen. And they are all so still.
Tsuna stands amongst the blood, his eyes wide and unseeing. His hands are by his sides, small pulses of flames keeping the gloves alive. His pale face is speckled with the same red blood, but he doesn't seem to notice. His eyes slowly drift down from the sky to focus on one of the prone figures.
"Why?"
His voice echoes in the street. It is broken and hoarse, as if he had been screaming for too long. His eyes skim over the figures, and he can feel that same scream bubbling up in his throat, demanding to be let out.
"Ah, so this is where you were hiding, Vongola."
He turns, eyes lighting upon the final member of his family, the one he had hoped had gotten away. Little Lambo, tears silently streaking down his face as he looks at Tsuna, makes a slight motion, as if to reach out. But the one who spoke lifts the blade to the young boy's throat, stilling the Lightning Guardian.
"Kikyo," Tsuna answers, eyes narrowed slightly. The pulse around his hands grows, matching the thrum of his heartbeat. He can't feel anything at the moment; no remorse, no terror; nothing. All he feels is that pulse, growing steadily larger the longer Lambo is held at blade point.
The man in question smiles, that half insane grin that seems to grace all of Byakuran's minions. Tsuna doesn't take his eyes off Lambo's terrified face. Kikyo snorts, digging the blade farther into the soft tissue of Lambo's neck, "Last one, Vongola. What will you do once we've killed off the last of your family?"
Tsuna doesn't answer. Instead, he shifts his weight, preparing to leap forward and do everything in his power to wrench Lambo away. His eyes flash to one of the dead bodies near Kikyo's feet. His heart is suddenly in his throat and he can taste the beat. It hurt.
"I count seventeen. You lost that many and it was so easy!" Kikyo is taunting him, all the while keeping that sharp blade tight against Lambo's throat. Trickles of red blood run down the white throat. "What will you do, Vongola? What will you do if I just happen to –"
Time blurs. Fast becomes slow and slow becomes fast. One moment Lambo is shaking, pleading silently for Tsuna to save him, and the next he is on the ground, more red splashing onto a white canvas. But it's too slow for Tsuna's taste. Lambo's last look, the hope and fear mingling into a dagger that pierces Tsuna's heart; the silent scream that echoes out from the Lightning Guardian's throat as it is sliced from his body; the slow dim of light from Lambo's eyes as he finally takes his place amongst the growing white-and-red painting.
Tsuna snaps.
The pain is too intense; his heartbeat is overtaking everything. He hears the distinct thump like a drum, and the pulse of power flies through him in frightening waves. He is no longer Sawada Tsunayoshi, heir to the Vongola name, no-good ninth grader with nothing to live for. He is madness incarnate.
Kikyo has no chance to move. Tsuna is on him in a flash, eyes glowing that deep red that sings for blood and carnage. Forward momentum causes them to crash to the ground, Tsuna on top and snarling like a beast. The fire snaps from his hands, a creature that is untameable and demanding as much death as its master. Tsuna happily obliges.
Unable to move due to the sheer ferocity of Tsuna's attack, Kikyo can only stare as the younger male leans forward, lips brushing against his mouth, "One heart for the one you broke."
Tsuna's hands slam into Kikyo's chest, the fire from his gloves slowly eating away at the clothing and skin. With a soft little hum, Tsuna looks Kikyo right in the eye as he melts muscle, sinew and bone. A maniac grin overtakes his features, hardening his eyes and aging his face.
Kikyo screams.
When two neat, bloody handprints have been formed in Kikyo's chest, Tsuna sits back. But he doesn't remove his hand; with a flick of his wrist, he melts away another rib, making room for him to grasp the frantically beating heart. Kikyo is panting, his eyes wide as Tsuna carefully pulls the bright organ up, stretching the arties and veins almost to their breaking point. And then the smile is back.
"Let's burn away the clouds," he hums, lighting the flame in his gloves. Kikyo screams himself hoarse, unable to move for fear of ripping his heart from his body. Tsuna sends wave after wave of heat into the man's heart, knowing he's burning the blood, that he's melting the tissue, that he's killing him. And all he can do is laugh.
He gets up off the body once the screaming stops. The heart sits in the palm of his hand, a charred little block of black. Withered sticks poke out from it and Tsuna studies it for a moment before looking up. Someone had been watching the procedure. Someone he needs to kill.
The heart is placed carefully in the midst of the chaos that is his dead family. He slams into the building, climbing and leaping until he sees a telltale black cloak. The illusionist.
He's in the air and in front of the black cloth before it can fly away. His hands on are his – its – face and he's burning through the mask as easily as he had through Kikyo's chest. The face is revealed and he smiles at the horror that he finds there. Slowly, as if caressing a lover, he drags his hands up Torikabuto's cheeks, a chuckle bubbling past his lips. And then he drives his fingers into Torikabuto's eyes.
There's a wonderful burst of iris and blood and flesh and Torikabuto is screaming. Tsuna screams alongside him, alighting the flames in his gloves and watching the little bloody bubbles ignite. Tsuna's scream turns to a laugh, cold and cruel as blood and ash mix into a muddy mixture. It curls down the scarred cheeks and withered neck. Tsuna pulls his fingers free, watching the charred bobbles hang out of blackened eyelids like overripe fruit. He moves forward as the other flounders, unable to see and unable to conjure.
"Two hearts for the friendship you took."
His hand drives through Torikabuto's chest. A small gasp escapes the illusionist as Tsuna grasps its heart and pulls, leaving behind a gaping hole. He smiles as Torikabuto falls, a dying moan escaping the illusionist. Tsuna looks down at the bright heart, its blood trickling over his hand and dying it a fluorescent red. He flies back to the red-and-white canvas and places the second heart beside the first.
He closes his eyes, concentrating on the pulse from his gloves. They quickly pinpoint the next target, and he's gone, already in front of his mark before Zakuro has a chance to look up. His body is pulled from the pool of hot lava he's indulging in and slammed onto the ground. Tsuna allows his gloves to pulse once before sheathing Zakuro's body in ice, leaving his head free.
"I wonder, how you will die?"
Zakuro has one chance to look frightened before Tsuna blasts off the ice where his right leg is. The ice splinters and cracks, taking with it the frozen flesh. Blood pools and seeps into the block, dying it a permanent pink. Tsuna is laughing as he takes off the left arm, watching the red paint drip into the lava pool, sizzling as it makes contact. Zakuro is panting, his screams falling on deaf ears. He tries to use his high body temperature to melt the ice, but Tsuna simply wags a finger. He places both hands over the older man's stomach, a feral glint in his eyes.
The ice melts beneath his palms, leaving two neat handprints before it touches flesh. Zakuro is howling again, his face marred with pain, as he tries to shift even one portion of his body. Tsuna begins to hum, the blood red of his eyes shining in the light given off by the magma. The flame has already melted through the tough sinew and muscle and leaves a large hole.
Zakuro's interior glistens up at him with rich, dark blood, large intestine disappearing into the pulsing regions below. It's dark and warm and perfect for his next task. Zakuro's stomach is the one organ that is most visible and Tsuna smiles that eerie grin that seems to take after Byakuran's.
With a nod of his head, he reaches forward with both hands, forming a box with his fingers. Zakuro realizes what he's about to do and thrashes, hollow screams reaching no one. Tsuna hums as the ice begins to form within the warm cavern, icicles ascending quickly over the pulsing dark mass. He follows the progress as far as he can, until it crawls up into the lungs. Zakuro has been reduced to begging, his tears freezing upon contact with the ice beneath his chin.
Tsuna just says, oddly gentle, "Three hearts for the love I lost."
Leaning forward onto the older man's ice laden chest, Tsuna pushes downward until his hand is through, burning past flesh and muscle and bone. By the time he reaches Zakuro's warm heart, the ice has ascended. He watches it slowly take over the frantically beating organ, before glancing up at Zakuro's terrified eyes.
"I don't want to die," he manages, gulping in air even though his lungs are nearly frozen.
Tsuna's face falls; his eyes grow cold and hard, "Neither did they."
The ice finishes its task, giving off a small sheen in the magma induced light. Tsuna carefully reaches inside, plucking the crystallized organ from its place. He looks down at the blue face of Zakuro and cannot help but draw a fire riddled finger down his cheek, searing dead flesh. And then he's gone, back to the center of the canvas, placing the frozen heart beside its companions.
He looks around allowing his flame to reach out and search for others. There are two in the immediate vicinity, both short distances from where he stands. Two more stand together, but they are much farther away. Tsuna decides on the closest and rockets into the air.
Daisy is slammed against the far wall, one arm already blasted clean off. Tsuna hovers not far away, surveying the way his flesh seems to quiver and create. His other arm clutches at the pathetic plushie that he refuses to let go of. Tsuna smiles.
He's in front of Daisy now, hands reaching out to grasp the rabbit. He watches panic flare across Daisy's features, his eyes widening. His other arm is nearly full grown and Tsuna half heartedly blasts it off again. The whimper of pain is enough for Tsuna to know it hurts. The smile grows. He knows this one will be fun.
"Daisy, Daisy –" he sings, leaning forward until Daisy is cross eyed. One hand is absently stroking the rabbit's head, flames licking at the soft material. Daisy gives another whimper, as if the thought of losing such a thing is horribly painful. Tsuna narrows his eyes and watches it burn.
Daisy screams: a long, low, wailing noise that becomes progressively louder the longer the rabbit smoulders. Tsuna tunes him out, focusing now on how the arm he had blasted off has stopped growing. Instead, it simply closes the wound at the end. He flicks his fingers, cutting it off again at the elbow this time. It closes just as quickly, but refuses to grow.
The rabbit had allowed Daisy to heal completely. And now with it gone, he would only heal enough to prolong pain.
Tsuna grabs the charred block of plush and tosses it over his shoulder. Daisy reaches out, both stump arm and fingers waving wildly. Tsuna grabs Daisy's hand and sears off the flailing digits. The agony twists the younger man's features and Tsuna does it again, all the way to his shoulder. Daisy tries to push him away, fighting weakly as gasps of pain filter past his lips. But there is no screaming.
"Can you live without a heart?" Tsuna whispers, leaning close again. One hand caresses Daisy's thigh before filtering in enough power to blow it away. Blood and bone smear the wall and Daisy finally screams. His strange powers cauterize the wound, but it doesn't grown back. Daisy is leaning on Tsuna now, unable to support his weight with one of his legs gone. Tsuna pushes him back as he blasts off the other leg, this time at the knee. The bones shatter and rearrange themselves on the red splashed tile. They look like egg shells. Daisy has fallen to the floor, body damaged beyond repair.
"Four hearts for the lives you destroyed."
His hand plunges into Daisy's chest without warning, searing past flesh, muscle and bone. He grabs the beating organ and pulls, snapping it clean off, watching the veins and arties flail. Deep red trickles into the crisp white suit and Daisy is hoarse. As Tsuna watches, the ends of the erratic tubes seem to merge and twist, effectively reviving the Sun Wreath. Tsuna glances down at the heart and realizes it still beats.
"Your heart doesn't control the skill." Tsuna's eyes travel up to Daisy's hairline, and he drops the heart to the ground. His bloodied hands come up, resting on Daisy's temples. The Sun Wreath howls as fire laces into his brain, melting and boiling every tissue. His screams grow progressively slower and when he slumps forward, grey sludge pouring from his eyes, nose and ears, Tsuna releases him and allows him to topple to the floor.
Bending, he picks up the still rapidly beating heart and examines it more closely. There is no blood pumping through the red organ, nor is there any need for it to continue. But it does so, as if it still feels its master's body calling for it to live. Tsuna glares at the live heart and flies back to his canvas.
After placing the beating heart next to the crystallized one, he throws out his senses. The other one he perceived has moved closer and Tsuna can make out the flickering of Rain Flames. Propelling himself upwards, he reaches her in seconds. She is back where Daisy is and the look of utter horror on her face is enough to make Tsuna laugh. It alerts her to his presence, but before she can lash out, he surrounds her with ice.
It doesn't touch her skin, or freeze her body like it did Zakuro. Tsuna knows her ability, knows she can change portions of herself into water. As she stares at him through the thin ice shield, he laughs again. The madness has found an outlet.
Furious, Bluebell curls her body and Tsuna raises an eyebrow as her hands turn to water. They slam forward, splashing into the ice. The moment they touch, they begin to freeze and Tsuna hears the surprised yelp escape the young girl. He watches the ice creep along her arms, eating up the water. She panics, stretching out, trying to cast off the ice. The more water she produces, the more ice that forms around her.
Tsuna simply watches.
There's a moment when Bluebell's eyes shine with brilliance, when she lifts a leg and it shoots towards the frozen water that is her arm. When the piercing water connects with the ice, it is immediately littered with red, her arm having reverted to normal the moment it was disconnected from her body. She howls, her screams louder than Daisy's had been. Blood streams down her shattered shoulder, seeping into her pale skin and dying it pink. She's panting from pain and the ice continues to creep.
She rethinks smashing the other arm. Her eyes are clouding over and Tsuna lowers the walls that aren't connected to her. She can't move for fear of more pain and Tsuna approaches her, his face oddly blank. When he is within striking distance, she lashes out, her foot turning into a piercing spiral of water. He swerves to the right and she follows, unknowingly smashing into the ice barrier. It immediately swallows her leg, creeping along until it is near her thigh. Her breath is frantic; little squeals of fear escape every few breaths.
"Five hearts for the future that's damned."
She doesn't understand what is being said to her. Her eyes flit over Tsuna's shoulder and see Daisy, how he is broken and bloodied, how grey sludge has congealed around his fear riddled face. She sees the hole in his chest and it suddenly all makes sense. Her whimpers grow in volume. Tsuna watches the ice continue.
They don't move. Bluebell has tried to lash out at Tsuna with her remaining leg, but retreats whenever he dodges. The ice has covered most of her lower body and has crawled up her neck. In seconds it will freeze her chest.
Tsuna waits.
Bluebell begins to panic. Her eyes fly in different directions before she makes a choice. Taking a deep, freezing breath, she turns her entire body into water. The ice is quick. It wraps around her and clinks as it comes together. Tsuna steps forward when the last piece has been covered. He can see her organs clearly outlined in the water.
Carefully, so as not to shatter the entire sculpture, he touches a finger to the ice. It melts away at his command, and when he reaches the watery heart, he carefully plucks it. Water sloshes around inside, like a perfectly crafted bubble, and he smiles. Another heart for his collection.
As he flies back to his canvas, he can sense the two from before drawing closer. The disappearance of their comrades has alerted them to misdeeds. Tsuna, instead of going to them, waits.
The first one lands just meters away, crushing one of the prone figures. Yamamoto's legs are nothing but blurs of red and black. Anger alights in Tsuna so fast he can't control it. He's moving before he can think and slams into the monster of a man, who he only knows as the Thunder Wreath. He doesn't bother with special torture tactics. His hands tear into the man's chest, past the hardened muscle and specially designed ribs. His fingers close over a rough object and he pulls.
"Six hearts for the past you tore."
The Thunder Wreath's heart is metal.
Tsuna watches the large man's eyes die. Oil spurts and covers his burnt chest, blackening the hand marks Tsuna had made in his haste. Tsuna looks down at the metal heart in his hands; watches it pump out the last few spurts of oil before it shudders to a halt. Tsuna casts it back to where the others lie. He stands and walks over to Yamamoto.
The madness is halted, and Tsuna becomes Tsuna again. He falls to his knees, his hands shaking as he presses them to Yamamoto's dead face. There are no words to describe his feelings. There are no feelings to describe his anguish. And just like that, the madness returns, cloaking Tsuna in a protective blanket as he feels the last person touch down behind him.
"Seven hearts for the madness you have inflicted."
The leader of the Millefiore looks ill, his face unnaturally pale. Perhaps it is the twenty bodies that lay upon this canvas of red, or perhaps it was how brutally Tsuna had murdered the Thunder Wreath. Whatever it was, Tsuna did not dwell.
He is behind Byakuran before the other man can defend, thrusting his hand through Byakuran's right shoulder. He spreads his fingers and allows the flames to burst, searing all the nerve endings and killing the muscles in Byakuran's right arm. Byakuran is jerking against him and then he is gone, like a shadow.
Tsuna is intent on stalking it.
They hurry around the canvas, Byakuran landing and Tsuna not far behind, before they both disappear. It's a game of cat and mouse, one which Tsuna allows the Millefiore leader to indulge in. Regardless of how quickly Byakuran disappears, Tsuna is just as fast, shadowing him. As the game wears on and Byakuran visits the places where his other Funeral Wreaths lay dead, Tsuna notices him slowing down.
The shattered remains of Daisy and the sculpted form of Bluebell cause Byakuran pause. Tsuna can see the need for him to study them, to see how Tsuna managed to kill them. But he stalls too long; Tsuna manages to grab his useless arm, wrenching it back. Flames spurt, giving unnecessary strength to the brunette. He tugs and the arm begins to separate at the shoulder, where it was already weakened. Byakuran is turning towards Tsuna, the pale shock returning to his face. With another quick jerk, the arm is on the ground and bright red paint gushes from the gaping wound. Tsuna can't help it; he laughs.
Byakuran is gone once more, but Tsuna continues to laugh, his arms curling around his stomach. The flames pulse and call, but Tsuna can't contain his delight; the need to let it all out is too strong. He knows if he stalls, Byakuran will be gone and he will no longer be able to track him. But the thought of Byakuran escaping fuels his mirth and he falls to his knees.
The giggles die down at last, but Tsuna stays on the ground. He can feel Byakuran near Zakuro. There is no need to move yet. Once he goes back to the middle of the canvas (which he will) to examine the hearts Tsuna extracted, that is when he will move. And that is where the seventh heart will join the rest.
Sure enough, Tsuna feels Byakuran dart to where his Thunder Wreath is. Tsuna is behind him in an instant, eyes narrowed and glowing like heated rubies. He grabs Byakuran by his other arm and the back of his neck, bending him forward until his face is nearly against the gaping hole in the Thunder Wreath's chest.
"Seven hearts for the madness you have inflicted," he repeats, punctuating each word with a pulse of flame. It licks at the cloth and skin, burning through and marring the flesh. Tsuna can hear the hum of Byakuran's flame, but it quivers, unsure, against his own.
Byakuran finally speaks, and the lilting tone is enough to temporarily drive away the madness, "You have become the perfect boss, Tsu-kun."
Tsuna releases him, stumbling backwards in shock. His hands itch and his heart is still thrumming madly in his ears. There are bodies all around him and the red bleeds into white; he was no boss. He had failed and had no right to be called boss. He had no right to be called Vongola. He had no right to be called Sawada Tsunayoshi.
The madness tugs at his mind and he succumbs, tossing away useless titles and just becoming it. Madness is so much easier than sanity. It takes away the burdens and sings for revenge and blood and destruction.
He is madness.
His smile returns and Byakuran takes a step back. He follows the step, giggling at the retreating Millefiore leader. It's another game, but this one is a dance. Step, step, retreat, retreat. Disappear, appear, slash, death. It's all a dance, and Tsuna knows you need a partner to dance. He reaches out and snags Byakuran's arm, fingers iron tight around his wrist. Byakuran stares down at the hand, and then quickly looks back up. Tsuna's smile grows and he knows it mirrors the Cheshire Cat.
Byakuran jerks and Tsuna pulls back, flinging the Millefiore away from him. Byakuran slams into one of the redwhitedeath buildings, tile showering around him in a dazzling display of crimson. Tsuna is on him in a second, laughing and screaming and driving both hands into Byakuran's sides. They slide past flesh as if the skin is scrambling away from the heated gloves, and he grabs a hold of two ribs. With a slight quirk of his wrist, he snaps them clean off. Byakuran is thrashing beneath him, whimpers of pain destroying the mask the Millefiore leader usually wears. Tsuna licks his lips at the fear and confusion and utter agony that is displayed on that face and leans forward until his lips hover just over Byakuran's.
"Am I your perfect little boss now?" His fingers climb up, grabbing onto another two ribs, watching the terror snake its way into Byakuran's eyes. Instead of breaking them, he burns them away, allowing the tips of his fingers to run lovingly over the bone. Byakuran has tears in his eyes and Tsuna knows he is holding back his screams.
Annoyed that he isn't getting the reaction he desires, the brunette climbs off. He drops his hand to manacle Byakuran's wrist and drags the taller man to his feet. He hums before flinging Byakuran across the canvas, and watching him slap into the other wall, his slight yelp of pain giving Tsuna satisfaction. He's then back on Byakuran, fingers dancing over his thighs and burning away the cloth and the topmost layer of skin. He holds Byakuran down with just sheer force, laughing when the Millefiore can do nothing to remove him.
"Byakuran," Tsuna calls, and the Millefiore leader glances up at him, tears of pain still swamping his eyes. Tsuna hums, "I plan on taking your heart. Adding it to my collection. But first, I want to hear you scream. I want to hear you beg for your life, even though you know it will do nothing. I want you to feel what they felt, what I felt, when you took their lives. I want you terrified."
The look in the Millefiore's eyes is almost enough for Tsuna to kill him now. But he wants to hear those screams and those little dying gasps. He wants to savour every moment that is to be Byakuran's last.
"Kikyo suffered the least," Tsuna began, bringing up his hands to Byakuran's chest. He burned two identical handprints into the skin. He didn't go down to the heart; no, he didn't want Byakuran dead just yet. He was going to have a little fun first.
His hands ascend to Byakuran's face, caressing his cheeks and lips before digging into the corners of Byakuran's eyes, "Torikabuto wasn't so lucky. See, illusionists need eyes to create their images. Without them, they're just people."
Byakuran's eyes widen one last time before Tsuna digs his thumbs in. There's a light pop and Byakuran lets out a terrified shriek. Tsuna beams, allowing his flames to turn the bobbles into ash. Byakuran is panting, his breath smelling of terror and pain.
"Zakuro froze to death. Just created a little hole in his stomach and introduced some ice."
Byakuran is sobbing now, dry heaves of breath escaping him in a highly uncharacteristic fashion. Tsuna frowns and slams his hands into Byakuran's stomach, watching the flesh melt away until he sees the first glimpse of stomach. He stops before he goes too far. The ice trick killed Zakuro much faster than Tsuna had anticipated.
Tapping a finger to Byakuran's lips, Tsuna says, "You're acting very different, Byakuran. I don't like it. What happened to the man that didn't fear death?" Tsuna shrugs and begins to hum Daisy, Daisy again before reaching out for Byakuran's elbow.
"Daisy was the hardest to kill. Didn't know he could actually regrow his body parts. Rather annoying. And how his wounds would immediately cauterize, not allowing for him to bleed out. Fascinating. But you – you will bleed."
The elbow of Byakuran's remaining arm is blown off. There is a splash of crimson and Tsuna watches it pool over the red and white speckled tile. He gets to see a painter at work. The thought tugs at the madness but he refuses to acknowledge it.
"Bluebell also froze; since she's made of water, she chose to kill herself instead of prolonging pain."
Tsuna places his fingers over the fountain of blood still pouring from Byakuran's wound. He watches ice crystals form at the bottom before slowly making their way up into the gash. Byakuran is silently begging, his mouth opening and closing, sightless eyes fluttering rapidly.
"Your Thunder Wreath crushed Yamamoto. I didn't torture him. I just killed him."
Tsuna decides enough is enough. He has yet to get his scream and he has come to the end of his story. Anger fuels the madness and he sits up. Blasting off one of Byakuran's legs, he closes his eyes as the Millefiore finally screams.
Its long, low and constant. It doesn't vary. Tsuna hums along, digging one hand into the wound at Byakuran's side, and allowing the other to rest over the burn marks in Byakuran's chest. It doesn't matter if Byakuran begs; the scream is a testament to how terrified of death the Millefiore truly is. And the longer Byakuran screams, the quicker his death will be.
Tsuna burns through the rest of Byakuran's chest, uncovering the frantically beating heart. Byakuran hasn't taken a breath; his scream is hoarse and dying. Tsuna allows his fingers to dig past the remaining ribs, until he touches upon the bright organ. Immediately, Byakuran stills, his mouth snapping shut so fast Tsuna can hear his teeth click. With a casual flick, Tsuna drags a burning finger down the muscle. Byakuran begins to scream again.
"Good," Tsuna smiles, before wrapping his hand around it and pulling. The heart comes easily, as if eager to be ejected from Byakuran's body. And then Byakuran dies.
It seems anticlimactic in a way. Tsuna sits upon the prone body, simply holding the next heart the canvas requires. His eyes flicker over the other bodies, of his Guardians and friends, and he wonders why he is still alive. He had failed. He looks down at the heart in his hands and pushes himself off Byakuran. He walks to the six hearts and sets down the seventh one.
With a small shiver, he reaches up and touches his chest. He had failed. That sentence plays over in his head. He has no one to go home to. He has no one to love. He had failed. The flames gush forth from his glove, engulfing his entire body.
"Eight hearts for the family I failed to protect."
Tsuna joins the canvas of red.