Chapter Nine: Acid Tokyo

Even I have an end to my patience, and Kuro-sama is really getting to the bottom of it. I sigh as I return to my place once again, this time, Kuro-pyon following directly behind me. The only way to finish this without another intermission is, apparently, to have him with me during the storytelling.

I reseat myself on the cushion, propping my legs up. Kurogane, however, does not take up a seat beside me…but clearly, he'd rather lie down.

With his head in my lap.

I sigh a greater sigh and smile down at him. His eyes are closed as if my scent lulls him to sleep. "Just go on. The faster this is over, the quicker—"

I cut him off before anything else can happen to make your already-wide grins widen even further. In fact, I don't think that's even possible—any wider and your faces would split in half. I smile exasperatedly and wheel my mind back to that fateful day when we landed in the post-apocalyptic version of the world we first began in.

I had no doubts that Kurogane would win the fight against Kamui. It wasn't so much faith as it was pure fact derived from even purer knowledge. Kurogane couldn't lose. It was Kurogane. That was all the explanation needed. This person couldn't lose. It was impossible. He was indestructible—he had no weaknesses, no blind spots, because if he did, I would've found out about them and used them long ago. But he didn't. Which would explain perfectly well why he was killing me a little more each day.

"What's this bullshit about me being some terrorizing creep?" Kuro-tan growls. "I don't remember any of this utter crap happening. I did NOT 'kill you a little more each day'. Are you sure your memory isn't just—"

I let my eyes lid over slightly, my face becoming serious and infinitesimally sad. Kuro-rin…

His mouth immediately closes and I can tell that he's instantly contrite. This time, I can give all of you the smile that I'm purposely angling away so Kuro-chan doesn't see it. My hand carefully strokes his hair in unknown apology. He wouldn't know that I had anything to apologize for, but it never hurts. And besides, he does have such nice hair…

And of course I was right. Kurogane did not lose. Although the sensible part of me knew that had this fight continued, it would not be without injury to a fair amount of both of them. But Syaoran was hurt, and this world was new, and we had to try to stop them from going any further.

Following that was none other than the memory that started the end—I suppose you could say. He was so close. He was dissecting my weaknesses and all my hurts as heartlessly and with so much sadism…it was like I was a spider and he was a young boy, having no clue about what it was doing to me as he pulled out each of my spindly, fragile legs one by one. He didn't know any better, just as the boy hadn't. But that didn't eradicate the fact that he did it to me all the same, nor did it vanish the fact that it hurt me beyond repair.

Kuro-rin's eyes are open wide and glaring at me. I smile at him and take his remaining real hand and bring the fingers to my lips. You already know this. Why such a scary face?

He doesn't reply. He simply closes his eyes again and says, "Go on, mage. I wanna hear the rest of this."

There's a small feeling that tells me I might be in trouble, but otherwise I don't know why he's so serious. I've already told him everything there is to tell. None of this is new.

Anyhow.

That night in Tokyo, Kurogane pulled the last leg and burned it—tossed it into the fire and never looked back at it. Shortly after, he proceeded to throw my remains into the fire.

And this was precisely how.

I heard his footsteps drawing nearer; he was returning from having spoken with the "water guardians". Syaoran and Sakura were long asleep, but I hadn't moved from my crumpled position against the wall.

"They say that out there," he nods to the side, "is some sort of balcony only with a broken in ceiling. Their kids are too young to be there so apparently we can use it if we want—for the time we're staying here."

I didn't look away from my knees. Neither did I remove the hair that had fallen over my eyes. It was a useful veil to hide behind for times like these.

"Oy. Mage. You still in there?"

I didn't move an inch. I made no sound. I wanted to be dead.

There was a small rustle of fabric and I felt him kneel before me. I felt his hand move beneath my chin and his fingers tip my face up. I felt his other hand hesitantly sweep my bangs to the side. I felt my heart threatening to break into shatters the size of atoms. I felt Kurogane blow the last remnants of these shatters away.

"You okay?" His voice was as gruff and harsh as always—but it was softer, and there was something intricate in it…something that I couldn't quite understand.

"Yes. I'm fine, Kuro-chan. I was merely pondering the answer to your earlier question." I lifted my head with a beaming smile that would put all actors to shame.

What he said next ran me through with an ice-cold knife.

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

My smile fell and I stared at him. My mouth wouldn't work and my lips would turn up. They were completely frozen, and I had no heart anymore. Kurogane had stolen it, and apparently, he was going to crush the bits into billionths of an atom. Then, he'd most likely drop the dust into a basin of that acid rain.

"Excuse me?" Perhaps…by some miraculous, wonderful chance…I'd heard him wrong. Just maybe.

"You heard me, mage. 'M Sorry."

And now he was apologizing. Why didn't he just kill me already?

I couldn't look at him. I refused to. But he didn't care. He tilted my face up all the way, and his face was only inches from my own. There was no customary frown…no usual scowl. There was only that sweet, sweet sadness—more intense than the blizzards in my homeland, but warmer than any fire.

Right then. Right there. I swore that I didn't care if Ashura found me. I didn't care if I didn't do as Fei Wang Reed wanted. I didn't care about anything. I would intervene and interrupt and kill anyone who dared to hurt Sakura or Syaoran or Mokona and especially Kurogane. I wouldn't live without him. He would die because I would protect him. This would be the one thing that was close to me and wouldn't get hurt. Kurogane was indestructible.

His fingers laced through mine and brought them to his lips. I thought I felt his tongue graze the skin, and maybe even his teeth. It was gentle and even and perfect. He leaned down further, keeping his hand around mine, and met lips with me. For once, I kissed him back.

The kiss could've lasted three seconds or three hours or three days. All I knew was that after it ended, he straightened and carefully pulled me up. Without speaking, without even knowing, we simply walked straight past the bed where Syaoran and Sakura and Mokona lay, and went outside into the cool—but dry—night air.

There were no lights, so the stars were able to watch as we took off our coats and set them draping on and over the acid-smoothed stones. Kurogane and I stood against the other and again did our lips meet. He guided us down until he was seated on the broadest slab of building and I was kneeling in his lap. His face was level with my throat and that was where his lips focused next. I leaned into his hair, breathing in the scent of slight blood from the fight, dust, acid rain, and the tiniest bit of paper—from our last world.

The spreading heat inside of me was slowly creeping its way out, burning every single cell surely and definitely. We surfaced and our breathing was shockingly even—and not because of ignorance, both of us knew what was about to take place. Neither of us was unwilling. Neither was afraid.

This was nothing like my previous first times with various nobles—kings and princes and princesses and queens and ladies and duchesses and knights and even some mages. All of those were in beautiful bedrooms with cascading gauze canopies and feather beds and blankets and pillows so soft your head always floated on them. And here we were. In a world after its end and beneath the stars, surrounded by rubble and dust and parts of broken buildings—flattened and rounded only by polluted rain.

Still. This was nothing like any of those times. All of those were short but somewhat sweet, fun and very fluffy and unreal. It was like stepping into a drama and having your say, doing whatever you wanted, partying recklessly, and then stepping back out and returning to daily life.

But this? This was scorching hot and smoldering. By the end, I would be reduced to a pile of ashes, and I wouldn't even mind. If it was Kurogane, he could have his way with me until I was broken physically, mentally, emotionally. Just plain broken. I still wouldn't care at all.

And it was much, much too real.

Because as our gazes lingered on each other for an eternity, and his hands slowly removed my clothing—first my necktie, pulling it away and letting it fall to the floor; unbuttoning my shirt and letting his hands canvass my torso, warming them with that fire; lifting me ever so to unbuckle and unzip my pants, leaving me only in my underwear—we knew only one thing and we vowed it to each other: I'd rather die with you than live without.

But after that small moment of utter solemnity—of choking gravity…it was unearthly and unforgettable. It was a pause, and then retake aim and resume fire.

Our lips met and our tongues warred. Both mouths went to a thousand different places at once, discovering and teasing, satisfying and hungering. One moment my tongue was drifting around his collarbone and the next my underwear was gone, I was stark naked, and his lips were tracing the inside of my thigh.

His clothes soon joined mine—discarded and forgotten on the ground. We must have been a pretty spectacle for the sky that night—the sky that had seen this world from its creation to its end and more. Now, we added to its recollections—the forbidden lovers, one pure and good and strong, and the other evil and conniving and weak. Dark and light. Hot and cold. Forbidden in many more ways than one.

The darkness wrapped around us—absorbed us and forgave the sins I committed, even if only for one night. To me, darkness was my only friend. It hid me when my mask no longer could, when I was too tired to keep up the pretense. And since Kurogane was darkness…wasn't that what he always did to me? Except he hid me only in exchange for breaking the mask off himself.

But when he was inside me, I couldn't even frame coherency. All I knew was him. He was all I wanted and all I ever cared about—all I ever loved. We were two of the same, yet in that same, completely different. Although I'd done the deed with women as well as men, none of them fit so perfectly as Kurogane and I did. It was as though we were made for each other, which was unfortunate for him. What deity would ever pair a soul like him with a black hole like me?

It was hundredfold more than last time. The pleasure was so high, it felt as though we'd never come down. I couldn't even think of leaving. What I wouldn't have given to simply remain where I was—to remain lying beside Kurogane, his arms around me, lips in my hair…and pretend that our love would survive.


All of your mouths are open. Your eyes are latched onto my face, and after five seconds there, switch to Kuro-tan's. They switch back and forth and back and forth, as if trying to find some sense of it. You try to squeal and shriek but you can't for some reason. Kuro-puu has straightened himself into a sitting position, and I'm leaning against him.

"Cat got your tongues?" he asks, an eyebrow pulled up. One of his arms is draped over my shoulder and down my chest.

You still cannot speak, but you nod robotically.

I smile and admonish Kuro-chi for teasing like that. "What?" he says. "They agreed so it doesn't matter. 'Sides. That was a pretty accurate description. You write that down or something?"

I have a fairly good memory. And I did some poetry back in Celes. Most of my self-invented spells had some sort of rhythm—it made it easier to memorize.

He shrugs. "You've always been damn scary smart. Doesn't surprise me." He looks out at you. "Apparently, though, it rendered them mute for another hour or so, so I suggest you get on with it before they start the screaming."

I laughed.

I didn't know why. That…act…it felt like…it felt like I'd just surrendered to him. Like he'd tricked me and won—won the battle, ended the war, and now he was ruling over me. He didn't act any differently, but he would. And soon. And for some reason, I couldn't find the incentive to want to fight back. But no one had been this kind to me without wanting something—a secret plan, a hidden plot. Something. I just had to figure out what.

But I didn't get to. When I saw Syaoran…even though it was a clone…and Kamui and the blood and the boy losing his mind…and his heart…

I had to stop it. I swore I would. And I swore in front of Kurogane. Kurogane himself had trained and looked after this clone—this Syaoran. I hadn't really done anything. A few pretty words here and there. I hadn't even done anything for Sakura. Just more pretty words. But they'd done so much for me without even knowing. And there love was purer than I myself would ever be. It didn't matter if their hearts were not their own.

It was no use of course. I knew that. I knew that from when I drew the first line of the primary rune. I knew that when I sensed the danger and the magic withdrawing and had dived into the water. I knew. But I tried anyway.

I wasn't scared. I'd known worse pain. And there was no pain in any of the worlds worse than losing someone when you had everything with them. Sakura was too sweet—to undefiled and unknowing—to face that kind of pain. I wouldn't ruin here. There weren't many in these worlds that could go through life without ever knowing such heartbreaking pain. Even though Sakura would have to face it soon…I wanted to stall it for as long as I could.

But that didn't decimate the pain in the least. The obscene squelching sound when his fingers gouged my eye out—the instant blackness and the awful feeling of the warm wetness dripping out of that piercing hole and down my face. It slipped into my mouth and I thought I'd gag before another darkness passed over me and covered all of my senses.

Sweet relief.

Death.

Unfortunately. No. Not quite. I awoke—who knew how many hours—later beneath a bright white light, panicking voices, and a softness beneath my heavy body. I felt disjoined…ripped from my body…I couldn't keep consciousness as it kept slipping and returning unevenly…

I knew it would be soon. I would die and the magic in the clone's eye would be gone and everything would be fine. But if I could…I wanted one last act of extreme selfishness.

I wanted to see Kurogane.

I wanted him to kiss me one last time. I wanted him to be the one holding my disgusting being as I died and left all of these worlds and joined the one I held hands with for nine months. The one I killed. My other half.

My twin.

But my pathetic attempts at consciousness were not altogether fruitless. I did hear what they were planning and concocting. And I couldn't allow it. I wouldn't allow them to go through with any of this insanity. But my weak voice was interrupted with a far stronger one. The voice I wanted to hear before my death…and I'd only succeeded in making him angry with me. His hand grabbed the front of my shirt and yanked me upward. Our eyes met—his glaring, mine resigned—and everything that'd gone on between us. From the start of this journey to now…it all added up to this choice. His choice. My choice. This moment.

What would he do?

It was clear in my eye and I knew he could read it. Save me and I'll hate you—I'll never forgive you. Let me die and I'll love you.

He saved me.

He gave me his blood and he waited with me through the agonizing pain that suddenly enveloped my every being—made me wish I were already dead, wish for sweet blackness. The fire was turning me inside out, scorching my flesh to black and searing through my veins—drying out my blood and replacing it with a need for another's.

It couldn't have lasted long, but it felt as though it was drawn out for eons—millenniums, eternity. His warm hands remained gentle on my back, and he allowed me to claw and scratch and pull at him—allowed me to put tears in his clothes and dig my fingernails into his skin.

This was it. This was the face-off, the battle that would decide the ultimate victor. And I was losing. I had no more diversionary tactics; I was cleaned out of strategies; I was empty of ammo. Nothing. Only with a miracle would I win at this point.

But as I collapsed and fell into a thankful pit of nothing—as I dreamed and drifted—I found that I had a tactic I never knew about. A strategy beyond my wildest dreams. It was the sword that would pierce through him and render him incapable of fighting back.

It was heartless and sadistic as he was and so it was perfect. I would use it, and then I would win. I would win and he would lose, and the madness would end.

But then, as I opened my eyes, slowly straightening—everything crystal clear and all pain gone from my body, all except an unbearable thirst—and said those three fateful words, "Good morning, Kurogane", the words that ruined it all…as I saw his defeated face…no regret in it whatsoever, but the sadness of a million worlds etched into those eyes…

How come the only triumph I felt was empty?