A/N;
Oh ya, Spoiler Fic A-hoy~
Just thought I'd throw that out there since I'm usually pretty adamant about avoiding spoilers in my fics. But you know, it's kind of hard to do with this since the main character's basically THE Spoiler haha.
Well my internet reached it's cap – And I've been very intrigued by Zenon's speeches and the Worst Ending of Disgaea 2, so I figured why the hell not.
I'll most likely drop this since I don't think I have the skills to do it properly, but it's nice trying (Maybe someone out there can give me some hints or ideas on where to improve/what to do).
Character technically belongs to Nippon Ichi.
Italic segment's from Silent Hill 3. 'Walk on Vanity Ruins'.
In here is a tragedy, Art thou player or audience?
Be as it may, the end doth remain: All go on only toward death.
An assortment of harsh scraping sounds echoed around the floor, bouncing off the warm, crimson-coated walls. Three wretched noises chorusing, so simple in their melody yet so bone-chilling in their origins.
Breathing, every few breaths straining to intake the thick, almost wet air from around, rushing and sliding down the throat after each gasp and choke. In between the splutters for oxygen, so graceful was the rhythmic pace of the chest raising and falling, only disrupted by those drawn in rushes for air. Simply to recover, to provide more for the body – No gasps ever in regards to horror, disgust, let alone any pitiful sobs.
Oh, the shuffling, the limited attempts to keep footing on the ground and move forward. While the floor was solid and hard, a familiar, slowly cooling liquid was slathered practically from wall to wall, the shuffling feet only making the grotesque area look similar to a child's finger-painting trial. With every small slip and quick stop to catch themselves, the collective blood seeped to the few untainted corners of the halls. Shuffling past the carelessly constructed piles of corpses, past the ripped out innards of the previous inhabitants, hazardously scattered across the ground in a passionate frenzy.
They paused, breathed deeply, then continued. The loud, scraping sound carried on – Metal carving a crude line for the blood to pool. Two swords, drowned in blood and lingering remnants of crushed bones and once pulsating vitals.
Those two blades had torn apart more beings that one night than they had to each of their previous owners. Slaughtered, mercilessly, painting the mansion in a wicked tint. Pooling, tainting, dripping onto the clean white finish of the lower levels through the floors. The horribly intoxicating scent of death seeping through the cracks.
The wielder of the blades, dragger of the feet on the bloodied ground and breather of the shuttered breath continued to walk on past the unexpected assault that had been sprung. An assault launched by her, in the middle of the night, with no cause that could be seen by anyone other than herself. Caught in the moment of bloodshed, overcome with the anguish and need to release her wrath – Readily hunting for another to strike down with her will, senses alert yet…
She heard naught the sounds of her breathing and scraping – Her ears had fallen deaf some time ago, after the cacophony of agonized and fearful screams. After begs and whimpers, pleads for lives to be spared. After the repeated striking of the blades… The snapping of bones, tearing of flesh, muscle ripped asunder, whether by blade of by teeth. The rush of blood and the soft dripping of the marrow from the shattered and disjointed-
She shuddered, feeling a wave run through her body. Heart pounding, and the pleasurable chemical being released in her brain. Should she try and deny, or follow the impulse? Too long she had turned away, blocked out what she knew was true. Her god given gift to kill, to massacre, to beat down those who dared cross her.
"They all betray me…" Forgotten blood that had lingered in her mouth seeped past her lips as she spoke, dripping down her chin. She licked her lips, savouring the delectable essence that wasn't her own. She growled lowly, jaw snapping shut.
"Everyone I've ever known…" Hissed through clenched teeth as her feet began to drag again, hearing returning.
"… No more…" Her eyes narrowed as she concentrated. The sound of struggling, clawing desperately at the saturated ground. Trembling, scratching, panting and choking back cries of pain.
Then near silence. The pitiful, weak attempt to stay undetected as he, only slightly masked by the missing lights above, lay still. Hushed breathing, or so he tried, despite his chest having been cut open. If he could just get out, find help, he could make it.
"You cannot hide!" She screeched into the darkness, voice breaking from the overpowering hatred welled up inside, "Fool! Under this roof, I am your death!"
Her eyes focused in the darkness, glaring spitefully into it. There was no way out – And it was clear that he knew it, making no more attempt to escape. Just pitiful, wounded sobbing.
She stepped into the shadows, turning him over with her foot.
His face was covered in his own blood, and the blood of others slain around him. Tears streamed through the blood, polishing the thick liquid rather than removing it. Every time his body jerked to breath, more tears fell, and the organs protruding from the wound seemed to pulse.
Clearly, she should have pulled them out further when she had cornered him at the start. If she had, though, she would not have this chance now. This last moment to lengthen, make it last. Make him suffer. Oh, how the thought filled her with joy, playing in her mind. She hoped the memories would stay, and play back over and over.
She tossed her swords to the ground, preferring to truly get her hands dirty. She knelt down, moving a leg over his body and sitting over his hips. She dusted her hands on her shirt, a snide smile on her face. Leaning forward, she ran one hand over his injured chest, drenched in blood and covered in torn, tattered fabric.
"Please… No, Don't…" Such a pitiful request, barely above a whisper.
He would scream – She would enjoy it. She would make sure of that.
She opted out of taunting him, left he find some strength in defying her once again. She traced the open, bloody would, earning a shout when she applied pressure. Still not good enough, in her mind. Such a weak response would not hint the nerves, as if still going out of his way to deny. She pursed her lips, slipping two fingers past the pinkish, red-twisted
So sleek and warm, slippery and moving from her touch. Ever so hard to get, something not too unfamiliar to her. Her fingers twitched, and without warning, she drove her fingers deeply inwards, piercing through the thin outer-coating of the large intestine.
A horrible shriek, far too pained to hold onto the simply whimpers and murmurs of agony. The sudden, horrible inflaming pain, so excruciating, and so demanding for it cease. Anything, he would give anything as he screamed, not able to feel the back of his throat become hoarse over the unbearable pain elsewhere.
"Do tell me, does it hurt?" She purred gently, pulling her hands apart, listening to the underlying sound of tearing and the running of liquid,
"Don't do this, Zen, please…!"
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, grinning as the cries fell on her ears. Her grip loosened and she drew her hands out that tiny fraction. The unintentional illusion of hope as she took another deep breath, arching her back before growling deeply. She turned her hands, fingers gripping the bone of his rib cage that had been split apart.
She looked down on him, meeting his desperate eyes with her own - engulfed with malice and bloodlust.
She held tightly, and with a sudden swift motion, threw her arms back and up. The cracking and shattering echoing out into the air, down through every small crack and tiny crevice in the building. The blood and the likes spraying, adding another layer to the drying coats that already encased the wall – And everything oozed and seeped.
And the shrieking. The pained, dying scream that church bells could not drown out.
No intelligent words, just voice gripped by unbearable and incurable pain, begging for recover, for it to all be how it was two hours ago.
Dare she be poetic? She pondered for a moment, watching the man under her writhing in pain. She opted against it – She would leave his heart untouched, least some and analyze the bloody mess. Any cried of this being a fit of passion would anger her to another massacre.
The breathing became hindered, more so than it had been. A welcoming of death, perhaps, the only sure escape.
"D… Dammit, Why…"
The last pathetic wheeze of a question, and then it was over. Nothing but a hollow shell as the body went limp. He was dealt with, now. They had all been dealt with, now.
She rose a hand to her lips, licking the red trickle of liquid from her fingers. Grabbing her swords, she rose to her feet, skirt caked in blood. She glanced downwards before flicking her view to the darkened stairwell at the end of one of the paths.
It was time to leave, she supposed. This floor, at least. Into the empty abyss that was the mansion, abandoned with the fresh corpses, soon to rot and putrefy. To be alone, until someone, struck with curiousity or a small link to someone within the dwelling decided to intrude.
"I will deal with them," Her voice dripped with the repulsion she felt at the thought, "If a fool comes close… They shall die."
"I am Zenon."
Stringy, wirey white hair splitting at all ends in any and all directions, sunken eyes and deep wrinkles. Shaking hands with bony fingers, weak limbs flailing as the energy to shout was found.. Even with a heckling voice, worn over the years.
An old demonic fortuneteller, calling and yelling too loudly to be ignored. Whether truth or fabled ramblings, the words shook the little one who was the target.
"The only thing that shall ever follow this child will be death!" The old hag wailed, swinging her arm close to a small girl's face, "Death and destruction! Heed my words! End the fiend's existence, before it's too late!"
The young child tightened her grip on her father's leg, closing her eyes and looking away from the shouting maniac. The shrieking mystic had caught her completely off guard, as she had simply been following quietly after he parents prior. Her mind in the clouds, wondering wistfully about the world around her, downtrodden by an unknown feeling in her chest.
But it had shook her further.
"Hush, Zenobia…." Her father soothed, stroking his daughter's hair gently.
Her mother simply sneered and laughed, amused by the old teller's fortune. "A child to bring death and destruction?" She quizzed, "And tell me, what exactly is wrong to ask that of a demon? Sounds simply like someone to walk the path of an Overlord."
She grabbed her daughter's hand and began to walk, the child's wings flicking in a moment of panic.
"When the world falls, you shall be one to blame!" The elderly witch yelled, staggering towards mother and daughter.
The mother struck her with the back of her hand, sending her crashing to the ground where she showed no sign of rising.
"Wretched idiot!" The mother growled, glaring viciously at the downed old creature, "Be gone."
Her daughter gave a soft short of surprise as she dragged her forward, bothered and annoyed by the played out events. The girl's father uttered nothing, casually following the two, but watching for any other individuals with shaky sanity.
As much as he'd love the thought of his little girl to be strong and ruthless, the cries of that with a dozen screws lose did little to scare him. Death and Destruction, what a fool.
A/N;
It's 3:11am, so I'll probably be rereading over this and fixing it some time soon when I'm fully awake LOL. I, I need to sleep. So bad. I bet there are a LOT of stupid typos ;A; Please forgive me haha.