Not revised
Akira trotted tiredly to the indicated place (as Marude had ordered), where there was a man dying at the moment or just an arm and something that reassembled a leg. The destroyed buildings rushed beside her. She was running even with her wounded and spent body because he was dying and she would lose him just like her dad. Just because he got too deep in his job. Akira turned a corner and saw the wreckage everywhere. Of course there was a lot of wreckage, everyone could hear when the buildings came down and they were in the main battlefield. A pair of figures stood out from the havoc, one a lot more familiar than the other.
"Amon!"
Akira limped toward Amon and the corpse beside him. She contemplated the situation, assessing the damage and solutions in the back of her mind, but she didn't even notice, because he was alive, he would be fine. He had his head up, and was moaning lowly. His chest was covered in blood Akira hoped wasn't his own and, distantly, she thought his leg was crushed under a broken pillar. Having made as sure as she could that Amon was alive at the moment (he could be already be too wounded), her blue piercing gaze shifted to the corpse beside him. It too moaned, and now that Akira was nearer, she noticed whatever it was, it was shaking violently. It was quite tiny and pitifully thin. It looked weak. The white hairs on his head covered in grind and blood. It looked weak until the moment the female saw the mask sat just beside them, grinning it's lipless grin at her innocently.
Eyepatch.
The investigator didn't feel when her hands reached out for the communicator on her vest. When her mouth moved to ask for back up and a medical squad with droning tone, nor when her hands tightened painfully tight on her quinque.
He– It, she mentally corrected herself, had helped in the murder of her father.
Then why was Amon alive?
No, Amon hadn't just lived, that implied Eyepatch had spared him or that they were in some deal. It was more about how Amon had survived, crushed under tons and tons of concrete.
Now a couple meters closer, Akira could clearly see Amon's leg stuck under a large piece of solid concrete, bleeding profusely. It could be easily moved with the help of a pair of CCG soldiers, but, while Amon was in no way weak, his strength wasn't strong enough to push it off on his own, even if combined with hers.
He was feigning unconsciousness, but that wasn't as important as it was interesting or right down stupid. Maybe the ghoul enjoyed eating it's pray alive and would wait until he woke up, so Amon was making time. Akira knew it was a stretch, but it was the only reasonable answer (and the only one that wouldn't throw her in a moral conflict in the middle of such and important moment).
That didn't need her immediate attention though. Eyepatch was staring right back at her. It's eyes were deep, strong, but over all, they were sad, scared. She was drowning in a mercury vortex, and on the other side, the crimson stung her eye at the contrast of coal sclera. It's features were surprisingly... soft. He looked young, but mature in a way Akira couldn't describe. Damaged even. She would have never imagined that face was behind the mask. She was staring at him so hard, she might burn a hole in him.
If only it were that easy.
The silence was deafening between the three, and the tension was almost palpable. They stood still, contrasting with the ghoul's thunderstorm of tactical analysis and the emotional one she could feel behind her eyes. She would never admit emotions though. She wasn't expected to. You left some stupidly high standards, didn't you dad?
The SS rated ghoul was slowly lifting itself up with four shaky limbs, like if it didn't move too much she wouldn't see it.
Her stomach tensed in anticipation and, she would never admit, dread. It had helped in the murder of her father after all. Would she be strong enough? She had to, because there was a high price Akira would make sure Eyepatch would pay. The silence was killing her.
Akira lunged forward, quinque in hand. It was fast enough.
The tip of the sharp end of her weapon was impaled in it's torso, and went through it's abdomen. It had barely missed all the internal organs, since the ghoul managed to partially dodge the coming attack— No, not dodge, it had swayed from exhaustion and got lucky. It was certainly frustrating, but that didn't compare to her confusion.
The ghoul's eyes were glazed over, but more importantly, they were red and puffy. He wasn't crying, but a pair of tear tracks shone under the light of the moon. He had been crying. What for? Was he crying for himself? For his friends, or allies? For his foiled plan?
Did it matter at all?
Most investigators of the CCG made the mistake of thinking of ghouls as unfeeling, ruthless killers, and while that was mostly true, they also had 'emotions', and Akira wasn't stupid enough to think they didn't have them. They missed their loved ones, they could hate each other, they killed themselves and cared for their young. That was why there were people that were ghouls' allies, because they didn't expect them to be so feeling, so human.
But that didn't mean anything: Animals as naive and useless as rabbits could die of loneliness, and that didn't make them anymore human or deserving of living. Foxes could eat rabbits all they wanted and no-one would have the obligation to care.
Right?
It had been certainly unsettling the lack of any sort of noise of acknowledgement to the new pain, but what was even more unsettling was what Eyepatch did after the blood started pouring out of it's body that slamed on the floor with the impact.
It smiled... But it didn't reach his eyes.
The smirk was forced, and not really happy. He had tried to look smug, but he just looked relieved. Maybe he thought he could defeat her easily. Maybe his backup was just around the corner. It had, at least, startled her. Even if she had expected it, she wouldn't have thought that sad tear-stained face would smile so wickedly.
Eyepatch ripped the quinque from itself like it was nothing. Like it did it everyday for breakfast. She gripped the quinque with all her might, should the ghoul rip it from her weakening grip. Said ghoul's reaction counted on the strength of her grip. It pulled the quinque, making her stumble like a newborn deer, and kicked her awkwardly bent knee.
She couldn't stop the gasp of escaping her lips, but Akira ignored the pain, shifted her weight. Her wounds complained with more chips of dry blood. It didn't matter just have to go faster.
She lifted her quinque over her head and swung it at the piece of stupid flesh in front of her. The investigator swayed, but the whip continued its course to hit-
Concrete.
Eyepatch had rolled away in the nick of time, and Akira had her whip down, leaving her vulnerable from virtually every direction. It was exactly why inexperienced investigator's weren't supposed to use whip quinques, they were too much time on offense and not enough on defense. The problem with whip quinques is that it made them forget that no matter if they were on defense or offense, they were always in danger, and she had just forgotten.
She braced herself with dread for the Kagune to shoot out of the ghoul that lay on the ground just a meter beside her and impale her unprotected back. I am sorry father.
But it didn't come.
She opened her squeezed eyes (When had she closed them?) to see the ghoul stumbling just out of her quinque's reach. Like fate was telling her it was it's destiny to live and to continue to destroy and kill. Like her father's death had meant absolutely nothing and that only Rabbit was responsible. Like Eyepatch just wouldn't pay and that it was his place to not do so.
Hell no. Akira put her subluxed knee in front of her. That damned ghoul would not just run away. She limped fast. It would not just escape her. Faster. Eyepatch was going to pay. Faster, and faster and-
She tripped over her damn subluxed knee. Over her weaknesses. Over her dad's death. Over her inability to make someone pay. Anyone. Oh god anyone but her.
Thump. Crunch.
"GHAAAAAAAAH!" A scream came from the floor in front of her. So broken, painful, desperate, despair, loneliness...
Oh god. Oh god oh god. The truth hit her like a bucket of cold water. The water washed away her denial.
Eyepatch had spared Amon. He may even have saved her partner when she didn't. He was too young, he was too hurt... he was- he was-
a ghoul.
Just a ghoul.
Nothing more than a beast.
The youth was slumped on the cold hard ground, panting, shaking once more. Akira stood up slowly, it seemed the monster wasn't getting up for a while.
And Akira planned to keep it that way.
The creature directed it's dead gaze up to the sky. Like begging for something- anyone to help him. But, no, monsters don't deserve help. Even if they are so human, and helpless, and pained and- and-
No. Not anymore, not ever.
Akira advanced slowly, limping all the way. The ghoul didn't seem to notice, now shuffling away with desperate cries. Cries that didn't pierce through Akira's soul... They Did Not. His frantic movements rattled the wounds over his body, and the movements came in small bursts of energy. More panic than energy if she was being realistic. He was hyperventilating by the time she reached him. The ghoul lay on his back gingerly and pulled his legs up in a defensive manner.
That was stupid, and Akira blamed it's wounds for his stupidness before catching herself even if it was just her in her head. Why defend it? Why defend it's pride?
Because, he may not be human, but he certainly feels pain just like- No. Try again.
That was stupid, since the soldier wielded a whip like quinque. The main reason behind using one was for medium distance attacks. It thought she would be dumb enough to walk too close and be horse kicked away.
She ordered her arms to lift said weapon over her head, and they obliged, albeit slowly. Her shoulder smarted, and Akira responded to it's pleas, accommodating it to better hold their position over her head. She had time to spare.
Eyepatch would pay.
It curled to the tightest ball possible. He dry sobbed, but it was a mixed thing. It seemed relieved. Relieved he would finally die. Akira knew she should have been surprised an SS rated ghoul like Eyepatch would appreciate the darkness of the endless night and welcome the hug of death, but she wasn't. The noise was also pained, for some reason Akira wouldn't delve in too deeply.
It wasn't time to think about why Eyepatch had done it, or what were his dying wishes, it was time to make him p-
"A-Akira! Get it o-off! O-of me!"
Amon had 'woken up' at a particularly bad time, hadn't he? After all of that was over, Akira would make sure to talk to Amon about it. All of it. And most likely never talk to him again.
She turned around to look again at Eyepatch, but was met with blood covered concrete.
Her body, unable to take anymore, and anticipating Akira's rather reckless decision, shook forcefully. Her wounds burned, as if to remind her they were there, and she had to lock her knees to stop herself from slumping over.
The investigator regained control of her betraying body, but it was long gone by then, fleeing through the extensive alleys and turns of Tokyo. She was left alone with her problems: an unpaid debt, crushed hope and a crushed limb (even if it wasn't hers).
She had become distracted for a single moment, and now Eyepatch had found a way to run from it's problems.
Akira wasn't even mad. She was just so... empty. Nothing. Like everything meant nothing. Her dad's life that had been leading up to that point was all for nothing; they were just for Eyepatch (or his allies, Akira didn't care anymore) to eat and kill, nothing more. All the hardships, the joy, the despair, the regret—it all led up to that point. And Akira couldn't do a damn thing about it. She was so weak she didn't even tell the others where it had gone right away, she didn't do anything. Nothing.
Tragedy isn't as bad if fate exists. And it doesn't. Akira could have been stronger. She could have been there fighting along side her father. She could have helped Amon before all of it happened. She could have saved the pride of her dead father.
But she didn't, and it wasn't fate's fault. It was hers.
Akira walked over to Amon. She had lost enough people in her life to let anybody else go. And it certainly wouldn't be because she wanted to save the pride of her dead father or her need of coping (she never said a good way of coping).
The investigator bent down and pressed her hands softly against the wounds on his chest, with a hand on his carotid artery. Alive. Weak and unconscious, but he would make it. She pressed down on the wounds, and used a dusted string to make a tourniquet on his leg in an effort to stop his life from seeping away from him, still warm.
Maybe she should concentrate her efforts in keeping people alive rather than avenging dead people.
Her father's last mistake, she would make sure to not commit it too.
ANDDDDDD, here is the next chapter: *sharp breath intake* ChaoticSwordOfCrimisom, InfinityZero1, Isame Kuroda, LouieTheDragon, ReclaimerOfTheFAYZ, Vi-Violence, colorycandypanda, jy24, Guest, Guest 2, Evil in disguise, Jambee, Leeuwenbekje, Mirimi-chan, MoonFruit12, Noxaura Cille, Levi C. Akkaman, MiaMoore889, Nightshade1712, RedGoddessEclipse, And the other 24 people over at Ao3. (Sorreh my people of Ao3, I really don't know how to get all your names, but I'll figure it out someday)
Bring the flames!
