Disclaimer: As usual I do not own Noir, nor any of the characters. Characters I do own I will specifically state so.
AN: Due to lack of something better to do, as well as some of my own ideas incessantly nagging me, I have decided to continue this. Honestly, I don't know exactly where I am taking this, but I do have a fairly good idea. As such the plot is not necessarily set in stone (as of now).
NOTE: Currently I DO NOT HAVE A BETA! If you are interested please email or pm me, stating why you wish to be a BETA for me and if you've had any experience.
About reviews? As always if you're going to say something really short IE: "I loved it!" or, "I hate it" please don't review in the first place. I am looking more for a critique of my work so I can improve. If you don't wish to do so, that's perfectly fine with me. If you do, I am eternally grateful. Regardless it will NOT effect how often I update and if I do so in the first place.
Anyways, on with the story…
Temptress of the Night
Chapter 2: Into the Abyss
Usually when someone awakes to another's presence beside them, they are either relieved or horrified, inevitably feeling a small sense of comfort in the fact that they are not alone. For loneliness itself is but the most horrid of creations that we as human beings have ever brought forth into life, it drives even the most formidable of souls over the abyss and into madness. Like a slow-acting poison, it floods the veins igniting a perpetually increasing corruption. It doesn't kill fast, it doesn't even destroy; it swallows you alive; leaving you to suffer eternally in the void.
Much like my feelings for you.
Beside me lays the sleeping form of Kirika in all her naked glory, basking in the blissful euphoria of oblivion. Oh how I wish to vomit! For someone so beautiful she represents everything I detest, everything I once wished to obtain, and everything I now wish to destroy. And yet somehow she is something I could never live without. She is my poison; she is my destroyer, the epitome of everything I no longer possess.
"Kirika… Fuck you." The words leave my lips, a soft whimper compared to my usually frigid tone I saved specifically for this person before me. I hated her. I wanted to kill her. And now I love her, oh how thin the line between love and hate has become amongst these emotions.
Is it truly possible to love someone without feeling some depth of hate?
To be with her, no.. to love her will mean my demise. It is inevitable. In our line of work, as assassins, as creatures of the night, love is not something we can afford. Through this warmth, this semblance of heaven, the senses will be dulled, skill slowly slipping away giving way to attachment; to weakness. Yes to love means to eventually suffer.
I guess I've already accepted that. Otherwise she'd no longer be able to draw breath. Still, my attachment for her, for you, is something I would do anything to preserve.
Anything.
It's that very fact that unnerves me so. It's that very fact that causes my limbs to shake in fear; something that you brought into my life. You brought me fear. You brought me hatred. You brought me despair. With every step into my heart you took, another bridge shattered and crumbled away, the pieces falling into the black abyss of my emotions. Another support system burned away in the fiery inferno of your wake, as you stepped inside me to cradle my heart against your own, and then you squeezed. Inwardly convulsing, the pain returned but I was no longer alone.
And for that I love you.
There is something about it that encases my heart in a sheathe of ice, lacking all the warmth of life and yet sustaining an invisible near fragile-like appearance in the darkness. Only for you will my heart melt. And for the rest of the world…. For the rest of the world my heart will remain frigid in hatred.
A tender hand creeps around my waist, abruptly breaking me out of my thoughts, pulling my body down back into the soft confines of our bed. Hazel eyes blink back at me, as if piercing into my soul, all of my darkest secrets divulged in but one moment of eye contact. Then your lips curve into a soft smile. "Good morning, Mireyu."
"There's nothing good about it," I attempt to snarl back into your face, catching myself before the anger can take a hold of my actions. In all honesty I should be livid that this girl, now a matured woman, has exposed the darkest, most vile, aspects of my being for the world to see. But I can hardly find the anger inside myself any more. Oh there are still parts there, mind you, but the icy near blade-like texture of the feelings has dulled into a more enduring nature.
Sighing, I catch my breath. "Don't you remember what today is?" Upon seeing your blank stare the answer is apparent, "Do you truly try and piss me off, or is it merely just a side affect from your callous nature?"
"Never mind… Today we meet the survivors of Les Soldats, where we will attempt to come to a peaceful compromise… if that is indeed possible." I smirk, cruelly. Indeed there was little hope of any such thing occurring, and the truth was, I really didn't care. Might as well kill everyone and anyone that knows of our existent, for they are all unnecessary threats.
"Should we bring…"
"No. Leave them here. Really there is no need for such things amongst a group of people that would sooner kill us than draw another breath."
"Of course bring them, you fucking idiot." The words leave me lips before I can register what I was thinking. "We need to be prepared for anything, so yes bring them as well." Truly this woman needs to get back into her element of death and destruction soon, for that is what we leave in our wake of misery. Nonetheless, my heart still wretches as I remember the other side of her, and although I would never voice it, I am glad she is not.
Seeing her tender form draped beautifully amongst the silken sheets, a warm tingle ignites my veins on fire, before I crush it back. Now is not the time for such emotions.
Later.
Maybe Later.
Taking a hold of your shoulder I give a light push, grinning as you topple off the bed, "We do need to hurry." And it is true, there is a need to hurry… well actually it's more of a desire to. For as long as I could remember these… spineless vermin… have plagued my existence, sending their cannon fodder off to their deaths by my own hand. I mean honestly, after the first hundred don't come back, you'd think they'd learn?
But today… today we meet people behind the masks, those unfortunate bastards pulling the strings of everything in Les Soldats.
And today... Today I get to watch them draw their last breath! Sending them off to meet Shinigami, the path down into the dark infernos of Hell already paved by their minions, and now they will be the last.
"That's not fair, Mireyu," you whine pitifully, a look of amusement flittering across your velvety cheeks. "I thought we'd already established who the dominant one was in our relationship?" You whisper alluringly, a glint of mischievousness flickering in your eyes as you lean forward. "Oh come now, you were anything but quiet last night."
"Fuck you," I snarl back, unwilling to look into your eyes. Damn this girl, damn her to the fires of hell! As if changing in front of her was unsettling enough, the wondering eyes dissecting my body send cold shivers through my limbs but I'd sooner die than give her any satisfaction. "Well I'm afraid there's nothing to say… not after your pitiful performance anyways. I know how sensitive the dominant one's can get when they fail to please."
Inwardly I cringe, anger flourishing inside. Fucking girl! I retract my own walls just enough for her to glimpse what is inside, only for this? And that incessantly knowing smile of hers, why does it unnerve me so? She's a far cry to he naïve, pitiful lump of flesh she once was, now sporting some vicious fangs of her own. Baring them towards me, clearly amused at my reactions no doubt. "Well maybe I was a little too gentle with you," you speak aloud, never breaking eye contact as if peering into my very soul, "Perhaps tonight I'll bring out the whips and chains?"
And then I do see red.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" I shrieked, "I knew you had hid parts of yourself, but to change this much? And in one night?" Venom laced in my words, "What is there I don't know, what else are you hiding from me?" I scream, glaring to your now perplexed form. My previous thoughts seem to be incorrect, I am not going to Hell; I am in Hell… How is it possible for one person to change so suddenly? I almost prefer the cold, murderous part of you to this…. Almost. The reclusive part of myself hidden away pushes me back into suppression, back into the confines of my own mind. Outwardly I bare a look of cold indifference, one laced with traces of fury, but inside there's hatred. Convulsing, and pulsing, it surges throughout and I can feel it taking over once again. I have always found my own observations of my surroundings to be startlingly accurate, and it is upon these attributes that my deadliness arose, for they were never wrong…..
Never wrong. Until now.
You who has changed so much, who has thrown and tossed away every judgment I unconsciously placed upon you, is once again tearing asunder my perceptions. And once again the pain is coming back, in waves of horrific anguish it washes over, a cold and frigid sorrow shaking my very bones. Burning my soul to the core, and flooding my veins in the agony of utter confusion and mistrust. Again and again it surges, battering against my solid defenses, returning stronger than ever. I want to scream, I want to cry, but where is my voice? Where are my thoughts? This agony stripping me of my flesh, ripping apart my heart into scattered pieces, allowing time for it to mend only once again to shatter.
Where is my light?
Oh gods, where is the pleasure?
"Come now, Miri, I was only kidding…" you whisper alluringly, breathing hotly against my neck. "But as you said, now is not the time for such…. Trivial… matters." Walking away to secure the tight bindings across your chest, "For now we shall destroy the last bonds that secure us to this pitiful world." I finish, all the while taking inventory of our weapons.
"Hmm, and then what?"
"Does it even matter?" I ask. "We are, and always will be, killers. There is no justification for doing what we do, because it is through justifying our sins that humanity is lost forever."
"We could always stop, you know?"
"Can we? Can a heroine addict just give up the needle on a mere whim?" My voice bristling with painful realization, "We are the same. We can not deny that."
"But neither do we have to accept it!" Looking up into my eyes as if to embrace me, " I am not saying we should do anything, but…. What we decide to do now, I want it to be without regrets. I am tired of living through the sins of my past"
"Agreed..."
Three men. Only three men. Do they take us for fools? Three measly men staring intently, perhaps even smugly, against the divine wrath of Noir. Oh how they must wish to die, and we will happily oblige in their masochistic ways, all to eagerly.
Pitiful really. "No," you speak as if reading my mind. "They are not alone." No sooner had you sensed it than a wicked chill ripped through my body, a cold blade pressed tightly against my bare neck as if to part the skin. It was not the feeling of the blade that scared me so, no, but the malice behind it. And without turning, without even knowing the identity of my attacker, I knew this person ached to spill my blood. To taste it.
"Remove that little dagger, before I remove that body of yours from the world of the living," my partner hisses. And quickly enough, the blade is pulled back by the delicate hands of a goddess, or so she appears to be. It's that very fact, more so than her ability to remain undetected by both of our senses, that displays her blatant ruthlessness, and above all else, danger. For evil is the most frightening when it masquerades under the ploy of innocence. Or in this case, beauty.
You have chosen your weapon as dangerous as ever, Les Soldats.
"Really now," she whisperings lovingly, "You're a feisty little one." The dagger, I can now see, is in actuality a Wakizashi, stylized in the infrequent designs distinguished as the lost era, it takes no genius to know it's truly one of a kind. Or maybe not, I correct myself upon seeing an identical copy by her other side.
"Oh you like these, do you?" The woman grins "well they like you too hun," before one of the men cut her off. A brutish, ugly creature, one whom should have no place standing amongst the beauty of a goddess. "Seras do act like a pet and stay quiet." Swiftly she bows down, long crimson hair cascading over her shoulders, and although the men cannot see it, a dark look of fury adorns her angelic face.
"As you wish."
"Now that that nuisance has been taken care of, we can get down to business." The man in the middle speaks with, strangely enough, an air of caution. No not caution, there is no fear in his words nor his stance, but with an underlying sense of control. Keeping his emotions in check, something truly extraordinary for any human to accomplish in this age of madness, he walked forward. "You who are Noir, you who are sin, the black hands of divine wrath, what are your intentions?"
I sneer, "If you are here to ask us that, then are you not afraid?" The two men by his side fidget, whether in anger or fear, it is unknown. And yet it has become apparent enough in their stiff body movements, with the nervous shifting, and their eyes darting around for the faintest of movements, that we are viewed as a threat after all. "If we were truly no threat at all, I'd imagine you'd have had us killed already. So why is it we are still drawing breath?"
Still maintaining his façade of calmness, "You misunderstand. Your position as Noir no longer concerns us, however yours skills do." He smiled, however it held no malice or ill intent, unlike his subordinates. Truly, he is a worthy leader, I grudgingly admit, and judging by his demeanor he is no fighter. And yet he still finds the audacity to face us!
"You wish us to train replacements?" Kirika questions, speaking for the first time and drawing the attention towards her. Ignoring the glares sent her way; she returns a look of cold indifference. I smirk. A cold-hearted bitch to the end, indeed.
"Smart one you are, Kirika." He speaks, blue eyes blazing in amusement, "If I remember correctly you are more than proficient in all manner of weaponry. So yes, your skills will be invaluable to us."
"Kashin," the woman suddenly speaks, "Be careful of that one," her slender fingers pointing towards Kirika, "she is far more dangerous than you believe." The woman called Seras states before turning her attention to my partner. "And you… that would not be a wise decision." Much to the bewilderment of everyone, including myself. "They have come prepared, it is the only reason weapons have not been drawn yet. You have been lured into their trap."
"Oh, you say this as if you willingly walked into," I smirk, my body aching to leap into action, "Or is it something else?" Not letting down my façade while inwardly craving to end this bitch's life, I fight back the urge. It's just something in her black eyes that unnerve me so, a dark, underlying, sense of viciousness, I haven't felt since her: since the Intercoble (spelling?). A wolf walking amongst the sheep as one of their own. Truly the most dangerous type of killers, one that is perfectly capable of stalking their prey for days, for weeks, for even years. Letting the prey slip into a self-absorbed state of security, before plunging wicked fangs through the neck. "They truly do have you on your hands and knees, hmm?" I question, cruelly smirking at the underlined meaning.
"Oh didn't you know? By reducing the prey into a self induced state of safety, it becomes so much more delicious when you stab it in the back," Seras grins, a hand playing with the handle of her weapons, tauntingly.
This woman has to die!
"Woman know your place!" the brute of a man growls, turning his head abruptly, foolishly meeting eye contact with the woman.
Perfect.
Reacting with years of perfected motion, my hand rips the concealed weapon out of the depths of my garments, bringing forth a tool of death and destruction. A tool to shed blood. With a horribly loud eruption, the temporary peace shattered as I stared down the sightlines into the woman's heart, muscles tensed as the kickback tore through my body.
Another explosion tore through the air, out of the corner of my eyes the brutish man fell, a torrent of blood, guts and bone erupting into the air. Another bang, and his head lolled to the site, a large gaping wound in his neck, more akin to a tear than a hole.
Squinting at the woman, fury and excitement coursing throughout me, I pulled the trigger again. And again. And again. In frenzied delight, I nearly squirmed, oh how pleasurable it was, I fought back the urge to lick my lips. The orgasmic high became nostalgic, as I emptied bullet after bullet into her offending image. Anticipating the slugs tearing asunder her frail form, I wanted to cry out my superiority, but it was not to be. With God-like precision and speed her body twisted around in dance-like movements, mocking me, the bullets flying harmlessly past her. For a second I saw a stain amongst her shrouds, and then there was pain.
In a flash she was upon me, Wakizashi's drawn cutting through the air in a dance of the heavens. Flowing through the vibrant motions, tracking the blades became impossible as they weaved majestically around in a whirlwind of death, using her circular momentum she brought them down in a diagonal downward slash into my neck. Pivoting my feet, I kept my right arm raised blocking the atrocious blade against the steel of my gun. My bones seem to crumble against the brutish force, pushing me roughly to the side.
Fuck!
The second blade passes harmlessly by, drifting mere millimeters above my head. Reversing her grip, Seras skillfully turns the point downward in a circular arc, losing none of her frightening momentum. With this speed, I know all it takes is a fraction of a second, and then I will die. This woman, this devil posses the speed of the gods!
Pushing myself into a crouch position, knees bent I summon all the strength inside, and repressing the searing pain of my right arm, I lurch upward inside her guard. With a hideous crack my forehead smashes into hers, leaving both of us dazed and crashing into the ground in a heap on top of each other.
With my body on top, it should be easy enough to overpower her. Using my position to its advantage I drop an elbow into her midriff, allowing gravity to take its toll, and forcibly removing the air from her lungs. A satisfying crack issued, muffled but grunts of pain. With a quick movement of my legs, I pinned hers tightly together, grinning. "You know," she gasps, "Deceit is the quickest way to kill your enemy." Stifling the gasp rising in the back of my throat, I gaze in amazement upon her seemingly subdued position before a hot; searing pain erupted in my side.
I screamed.
In all my life, never before I had felt this…. This dirtied, this violated. A searing hot blade mangled my flesh before my eyes, spewing forth chunks of my flesh. Tendons and muscles severed and torn to pieces, my heart thundered with pressure. In one movement, one mistake, my body lay crippled.
Contracted in anguish; I managed to briefly catch a glimpse of silver where my blood blossomed in the torn rags of my cloths.
My blood!
A tremor shook my body.
Breathing heavily, I fell backwards onto the hard concrete of the streets, choking in what I assume to be blood leaking out of my mouth. Dripping down steadily. How could this happen? How could this fucking happen? I wanted to scream. To lose my cold, calculating exterior, and cry my frustration to the world. This whore, this filthy little pet of the Soldats, why won't she die?
"Why won't you fucking die?" I rasp out, blood mingling in saliva.
"I would be saying the same thing to you in different circumstances," Seras retorts, brutally removing the weapon from inside my flesh, and I screamed again despite all my efforts to repress the horrid feelings. I didn't want to.. no I just couldn't… show weakness to this gross imitation before me, but in a sudden burst of anguish the pain overrode my conviction. Shattering my will with ease. "My my, not much of a pain tolerance."
"Go to hell you filthy pet of whores." Expressing a bit of joy, despite my evident state of weakness, in seeing her fidget. I guess she is not truly devoid of all emotions. No, she's repressing them like me. God that felt good to say. To bite back, if not physically, then emotionally, oh how I wished to hurt her! To grasp her heart in my hand, to see horror wash over that calm façade, and show her the true meaning of pain and suffering. Oh how I could make her suffer. No one knows pain like I do, no one knows suffering like I do. How entwined in hope, it can break and sever far stronger than any lingering physical sensations. To those who have suffered, have had hope and love shatter in the face of despair, it becomes all too easy to inflict the very pain on those before you. It becomes… almost natural. And in some sick, morbid way, it brings you pleasure.
Stepping forward the crimson haired beauty gave a swift flick of her wrists, dispelling the majestic blades of the blood tarnishing them as it sprayed sloppily against the grass and stone. With each step she took, it reminded me of how Kirika did the same, always moving forward. But this, this fear, and dread was nothing like the girl I wished to see one last time. Seras was more akin to me, I could feel it, no it was apparent enough for the both of us to understand, some nonsensical bond entwined us together in a labyrinth of darkness. Our similarities, our perverse nature to revel in destruction and madness, sweeping the land off all purity only to blanket it in shrouds of hate and suffering, our intrinsic nature to see the worst in mankind. Just one look into her eyes and I could see the hate, it became tangible. I could reach out and grasp it. Washing the land over in a tidal surge of emotions.
And through this oblivion she walks hand in hand with, a flash of the horror to come appeared inside. Pyres of madness erected by the stains of humanity. Fuck! This woman scares me. Her similarities to myself scare me.
Is this the end? After everything I've done, everything I haven't accomplished yet, this is how it ends. At the blade of Les Soldats. How disgusting. A sense of fury began building inside me, fury laced with something I'd never felt before. The fiery ages of anguish began spreading, laced together in a scorn for everything alive. This woman, this fool, she would not be the one to kill me.
No, no one else would hold that pleasure.
No one else but myself.
As if sensing my smile, the woman scoffed. And with one last feeling of regret, I murmur "I'm sorry." Before unleashing the gates of oblivion that would consume us both.
Kirika was anything but happy. Leaping into the air, she narrowly dodges the seemingly invisible weapons her opponent wielded in a frighteningly efficient manner. It wasn't the girl's skill that created the sliver of doubt inside her: it was her appearance. Kirika had been seconds away from claiming the life of the beautiful devil Mireyu was fighting, sighting down her barrel with unrivaled precision to where her target's head lingered steadily in the crosshairs. All she had to do was pull the trigger one last centimeter, then everything went to hell.
Inwardly she berated herself. She should have known from the beginning! These were anything but normal predators: they were angels of the night, bringing their barely restrained wrath down upon whatever was deemed necessary. Kirika suppressed a shudder, feeling the unrepressed killer intent the child before her emitted in a frighteningly large quantity. It surpassed the urge to kill, the desire to destroy and inflict pain, no this; this was the fury of a god!
Before she could pull that one last centimeter, this girl had appeared. Clothed in a dark, black, with crisscrossing crimson patterns, Hakama the body beneath it nothing more than a schoolgirl. Even so, despite the youngish appearance, Kirika understood not to underestimate any enemy. It is through underestimating that death truly arrives quickly swallowing everything in its massive jaws, mercilessly encased in darkness for all eternity. But the eyes! Lifeless pearled orbs reflecting nothing. No light, darkness, utterly devoid of all emotions. Kirika found her weapon wrapped tightly in what appeared to be string but upon closer detail it consisted of abysmally small links attached together by equaling small pins. Not unlike the links of a chainsaw, except much, much smaller. And equally sharper, if the small incisions in the carefully crafted gun were any indication.
Knowing full well the kind of monstrous strength and coordination her opponent possessed, and the clear disadvantage she was currently in, Kirika ducked her knees changing the placement of her gun pointing into the sky. Immediately the chain segments slipped harmlessly off the barrel, with the tension now released they hissed through the air cutting deep into the exposed skin of her shoulder. Wincing at the pain, Kirika knew it was worth it.
With her hand now free, albeit with a now weak shoulder, she quickly clipped two slugs towards the retreating figure. Two fast for her hastened shots, the bullets cracked in the pavement. Cursing to herself, Kirika grabbed the razor sharp links in her hand, barely suppressing a cry as the brutish blades mercilessly cut into her exposed palm. Summoning her remaining strength, she pulled with all her might, simultaneously firing two quick burst shots to where her opponent should appear.
With the links of her Kusari intricately hand carved and flawlessly weighted, controlling the small, but dangerous, weapon became innate. While the links inevitably lead back to a small metal plated mechanism attached to both her wrists, she could increase or decrease the amount let out at will with a mere flick of her hand. So much so the speed of the motion, in coordination with the other natural body maneuvers remained inconspicuous. It became second nature, the weapon a part of her body. In the subtlest of movements, movements no ordinary, or even highly perceptive, person could detect, she could sever entire limbs, methodically tearing apart the body piece by piece. To the normal eye, Kusari remained nothing more than ordinary string, and that's where the danger lies.
Normally this level of cruelty was beyond her, she didn't understand pain, nor emotions. Unlike her partner, she was bred for one purpose only: ending all life threatening her superiors. And despite what many thought of her, she is fully aware of the emotions she doesn't possess, as she does have a personality: one hiding behind the dangerous façade of obliviousness. She smiled. Akane truly enjoyed her work. It wasn't a true smile, of course, one that barely reached her lips, but nonetheless she couldn't deny the small waves of contentment in releasing the innate desires for carnage and bloodshed. For destruction. Yes she would follow her Master's bidding till the end of time, paving the road behind in blood.
So it became surprise ripped through her body, halting all her movements and disrupting her meticulous mindset. Kusari tightened, with little avail she was torn away from the confines of the innocuous place, and placed directly in the crosshairs of Kirika's weapon. She wouldn't miss, Akane new, the girl, woman, bitch before her was highly skilled in the art of deception and murder. Truly worthy of being blessed in the name Noir indeed.
Akane's astonishment surged forth within her body, the suffocating pressure of being this close to someone so enshrouded in darkness, raped her of the capability to move. A part of her, the intrinsic part left over from the dormant and repressed instincts of millenniums, screamed inside. In but a look, a gaze into her eyes, and she knew this person could kill. The capability, the willingness, and above all else the cold indifference so easily conveyed. A frigid wave of terror washed over her body, legs frozen in despair, she gazed into the murderous eyes of her prey. For the first time Akane felt fear.
It was strong, so strong, washing over her body she felt herself plunging downward into a sea of panic, all rationality slipping away, as fear took its hold on the inexperienced girl.
She briefly caught the sight of several brief flashes of light surging forth from the girl's hand, and a massive force slamming into her frail form, before the darkness of her heart swallowed her alive and she fell to the ground unconscious.
Kirika swallowed. It hadn't been the first time she killed, nor would it be the least. Of the little things she did know, in that she was painfully aware of its truth. But those she had killed before had been…. lifeless imitations of men, nothing more than transparent flickers of emotion behind otherwise lifeless eyes. Men tempered by the icy hands of Les Soldats, consciousness despised as it was, cruelly destroyed in such a way to utterly purge the victim of all awareness. All thought but the intrinsic urge to obey.
Obey without question.
Kirika had mercilessly slaughtered these men by the hundreds, holding no lingering thoughts of regret or remorse. These men were already dead, in her opinion. Their bodies merely refused to believe it. And through killing these lifeless reanimations, it may be possible for them to find some part of salvation in death. She continued to kill; her effectiveness and dedication enhanced by the fervent believe in death she was guiding these souls to salvation.
And so she had foolishly believed that was all the deadly art of killing had in store for her. She could accomplish it completely devoid of all emotions, bodily actions and maneuvers heightened to direct precision. Unlike Mirielle, Kirika suffered no illusion in the beginning, even as a child she knew perfectly well what she was doing. The lives she took in but one wave of a blade, in but one pull of a trigger; a life would be erased, living only in memories. Reduced to ashes. Kirika's thoughts traveled to her own partner, and her inexplicable actions and behaviors. Mirielle was an oddity, at times the woman became so very…. Dark in her brooding Kirika thought it would never end. Then she learned that it was simply another part of Mireyu, it wasn't who she was: simply a product of living a desensitized life, one governed by violence.
Not unlike Kirika's own life.
Still, Kirika new violence was somewhat of a necessity. There became a point in life, when evil, when sin, became to strong in it's morbid essence for purity to survive without any corruption. That was how Noir came to life. An organization recognizing the only way to destroy sin was to become sin, and shoulder the taint and corruption selflessly on one's own soul. Kirika and Mirielle were those sacrifices.
And when they would die, and die they shall, they'd find themselves at the mercy of the very darkness once cherished and embraced deep inside their own black hearts.
So it came to be, staring down the silver-edged barrel, to the mangled body before her she felt a stab of unease. The child, for the girl's age was beyond obvious, had been a mirror reflection of the person Kirika used to be. The cold, emotionally distant and heartless, being she was in her youth. Try as she might, the feeling would not go away. Nor would it grow, it simply lingered, festering amid her confused emotions, as if feeding on them.
Inside, she wanted to feel regret. She wanted to feel remorse, she wanted to care…. But it wouldn't come. The blood soaked form before her evoked no sadness, only cold uncaring apathy.
It confused her. Why did she want to care? She did not know this girl before her, nor did she possess any feelings towards the unfortunate youth, why does she feel so uncomfortable gazing in the girl's dying body? Perhaps it was the girl's similarity to her own perverse nature that caused the unease, she hastily dismissed that thought. Her hands were stained in the blood of countless, faceless, bodies; she did not acknowledge them as people. Why should this one be any different? Never before had this happened, but Kirika found herself ashamed of her incapability to care. Replacing the body before her with that of different people she's known through her life, Kirika knew it made no difference. She could kill them all and walk away.
Another stab of guilt mercilessly pierced her heart.
Could she do the same to Mirielle? That thought surged within, crushing any lingering doubts and confusion, as horror took its place. If this had been Mirielle, could she care then? Replacing the body yet again with that of her distant lover's, Kirika nearly choked. She could see the bloodstained enigma sprawled in helplessness, left bare to the world's wicked touch, and she could smell the utter betrayal her flesh seemingly wreaked of.
And still there were no emotions inside.
Kirika nearly sobbed at that. Why? Why couldn't she feel anything?
A blinding light erupted from the shadows, cascading everything into chaos. Bathing in the shimmering glory, the world itself seem to glow, radiating in the aftermath. Chunks of debris ripped apart the ground, shattering the pavement into thousands of jagged pieces, hurtling them through trees and cars alike with massive force. An explosion rocked the ground, blanketing everything in dust and ashes.
Fragments of concrete were thrown through the air, tearing asunder anything unfortunate enough to be in their away, human and inanimate alike. Everything within 50 meters reduced to an apocalyptic state as Mirielle primed the explosives previously set. It was not an action of victory, rather one induced by pure rage and nothing else.
It was act of pure incoherence. There was no hope in surviving, rather one to destroy. Spawned by the unbridled rage years of sadness invoked, Mirielle and Kirika had planted the uniquely made C4 explosives thoroughly in the most obvious of places. Places that, although unnoticed to the untrained eye, they were the perfect places for such objects to be placed. Hence the obviousness. And it was in there, the deceitfulness lay. A smaller, more contained explosive, this one obtained through more…. Vulgar ways was situated in an utterly undesirable area. A foot beneath the ground Kirika and Mirielle stood.
Kirika having focused all the energy her exhausted body could muster into the fight, stood helpless into the on coming blast. Picked up by the massive winds and energy, fragments and particles of debris swirled around in a haze of screams and blood. In the face of the brutal force, she was thrown aside, nothing more than a rag doll, and into a stone pillar. Bones and stone alike cracked and shattered like twigs, as her body lay twisted and sprawled in darkness.
Blind, depth, and exhausted, Kirika felt her body break against the storm of energy. Ligaments mangled beyond repair, bones crushed into jagged particles pierced the skin. Despite the pain, she couldn't find the energy to scream. Instead, a low gargle emitted from her throat, spewing forth a bloody mixture of saliva and flesh. Knowing her breathing was growing steadily labored; she figured at least one of her ribs was broken. It appeared to be a clean break, if she could still breath. No bones had slipped into the tender flesh of her lungs, which meant the swelling would be minimal, and the possibility of infection rare.
If she was treated swiftly.
The possibility, for it was not an entirely accurate prediction, in all honest it was horridly impractical, of receiving medical treatment lingered. And even then, would it truly matter. She would be out of commission for a long time, a time her strong, dangerous body would be reduced to a state of helplessness. Kirika gritted her teeth. If there was one thing she hated above all else it was helplessness. Even a child could dispatch her in such a state…. And yet a child it was who put her in this state to begin with.
She could feel the fibers of her remaining strength slipping away into the cold grasp of death, and knew she would soon follow if something weren't done. But how could she do anything? Several hundred pounds of concrete slabs lay above, entrapping her body in a sealed compartment of death. Pushing down the thought of how she managed to survive, Kirika stared transfixed into the one whole emitting brief flashes of light.
Perhaps she already did die, she mused. Quickly repressing that startling thought, she decided to focus her undivided attention on escaping. Escape from where pillars of stone consumed her life, where dust was sucked into the back of throat, slowly choking her. If only… if only she could see Mirielle…. One last time. It would all be worth it.
Reaching out her… mangled… hand as if to grasp the austere woman, and hold her close: so very close, her fingers only grasped the lingering air as darkness swallowed her alive.
A/N: Well that was interesting to write. My first action scene, and quite honestly, I am still disappointed with myself. I had envisioned a scene of grandeur scale, and got this. But I put an immense amount of effort into it. Whatever. As always, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and hopefully my next update will not take so long.
As it stands our Hero's (or villains) are in a very tight fix, and knowing my callous nature I may very well kill one of them off. Or both. Or none. As I said before, I have a general idea where I want to take this, but that is open to changes. I'll take the time to state a few things…
If you want another Lemon, I apologize there shall not be one…. There were several reasons why I included the first one. 1: it was necessary for how I want to advance their relationship, and to those of you who can read into little things, you'll probably understand why. This is one possible ending. If I continued with another Lemon, first of all I find myself rather disgusted with how graphic I was in it to begin with, but regardless it would only further categorize this story as smut. Only taking away from the plot.
More of why Les Soldats took the initiative to contact Noir will be explained, briefly. An immense secret will be brought to light, or in this case darkness, as the very world itself begins to shake in the wrath of Les Soldats.
Both Seras and Akane ARE original characters of my own, and no Seras is not taken from Hellsing. More on their states will be revealed shortly, as will a little of their pasts and role in Les Soldats.
Mirielle's reaction in the morning… Originally I planned a rather harsh confrontation with Kirika but decided against it. It would have created an undesired rift between the two characters. However, Mirielle still felt a lot of unease. She had shown the darkest, and most vulnerable parts of her, to Kirika. Something she had never done before, and thus when she is reduced to her normal state of mind, she becomes conflicted. Hence anger, and her huge mood swings. Sigh… How Kirika ever puts up with her bitchy character is beyond me in this…. Perhaps Kirika shall have a little revenge on Mirielle? Although in a completely different way. You are welcome to guess at this, and congratulations to anyone who figures it out.
Reminder: I am still searching for a BETA, message me if interested….
Written by Inuyoukess….