The unrelenting darkness of the Boundary opens up like a theatre curtain as he's roused out of that catatonic sleep for the nth time. It's too soon, but she won't give up. He can almost hear her voice now, cursing and spouting more orders as she does everything in her power to bring him out of the Edge. He knows that he must return, accepts this, but—
A agonized shout. Blood and ice everywhere, and glaring eyes that manage to chill even Hakumen to the bone, that sharp blade poised and ready to strike at his own brother, the Black Beast who was wretched and doomed to the acrid end of fratricide again and again.
This world's future, he assumes. While the aggressor is not fierce enough to be a challenge, he brings Hakumen unease, makes his spirit shrink in something that is not fear— shame. Disappointment. Ah, he thinks, foggy recollection stirring in the back of his mind. Those eyes are the same color as the Dark One's, he realizes, the same color as his own, or perhaps, my past.
It isn't as if he forgets, but everything slows to a crawl in the Edge, makes his head clouded and unsure. More than that, there is the feeling of discontent, the wish not to know the man standing before him, to never remember why exactly he knows every thought in his head, the feeling of innocent blood against his fingertips.
"When will you get tired of killing him?" is all Hakumen wants to ask, but there's no reason to speak— he's in a different dimension, existing alongside these memories, these eventualities, these alternate universes, and Jin would never be able to hear him. Besides, Hakumen already knows the answer better than he ever could.
"Nii-san," the person he used to be says, "I used to have feelings for you, you know. They were wonderful, beautiful feelings that made me want to go on... but you never noticed." He laughs, laughs the way Hakumen used to, fake and full of agony, before he quit altogether. "They withered and died, and now I can't feel anything anymore."
That's what he had thought, too, but it all proves to be very wrong— these years, decades, spent in the Edge had not numbed him. They should have, but instead, he feels every prickle of indignation when Yukianesa's edge glides along Ragna's cheek. Even though his feelings for Ragna are gone (they are not brothers any longer and Hakumen will soon, like always, have to kill him again), he wants to step forward and knock the blade away.
As if sensing the thought, the sword retracts, those cruel eyes flickering towards where he watches, as though Jin can see Hakumen standing right there.
And his past smiles, whispers, "Are you jealous?"
Before Hakumen can fully comprehend what's going on, it all disappears, shifts, but not before he hears the sickening squelch of Yukianesa slipping into Ragna's chest. As it should be, he knows; feelings he's forgotten the name of curl at his gut, making him weary and sick as he's left floating in the vastness of the Edge.
That too fades, or rather brightens, until another scene unfolds; this time the star is himself, truly himself, hair still gold but body broken and encased in armor. That previous him looks over what's left of the Black Beast, and suddenly, speaks. "Does it ever get easier?" Again, talking to him. Jubei's child makes him see odd things, puzzles, parts of his mind that he never wants to revisit in the first place, and forces them against him like accusations.
"Should it?" is all Hakumen can find fitting to say. He doesn't have to see it to know; he can remember the hot tears coursing down his face, self-hatred consuming him as though it was happening right now (and in some corner of this universe, he supposes, it just might be). A while ago, he had certainly been thinking back then, Ragna had been there to yell at him and hurt him, abandon him and do everything that he hated. But now, Ragna was a monster— no, not even that. Now, the brother he'd knew and loved, loved so much even after he'd given up loving, was nothing more than a corpse.
"The Boundary," he murmurs, "It's an abyss. It drains life. Personality. Thoughts." Hakumen shudders at the tone of his voice, can finally put a name to that deep despair simultaneously stewing in him. The memory dims, until all he can hear is that voice, "If I go in there, will it stop?"
He had been a fool.
The Boundary is mysterious and, for certain, never obeys anyone. All he had wanted was oblivion, death at this moment, had thought: Let them throw me into that terrible place— anything, anything is better than this. I'd rather die.
Selfish thoughts, ones he couldn't blame himself for thinking, despite how wrong they were. He had thought that being a hero shouldn't hurt so much, that there was something wrong about it, that he had failed.
Now Hakumen has retrospect, has had time and time (so much time) to think about it all. He knows pain and guilt are the payment for becoming the savior of anyone. He had never experienced anything like true agony as the Hero of Ikaruga, had never felt anything other than pride and superiority and victorious. Yet, afterwards, all he felt was empty and disgusted with himself. He had stupidly thought that being a true hero would involve saving the land from demons like himself, not sacrificing his everything (his onlything) for a people that would eventually throw him away.
"What is it now?" Ragna does nothing to hide his annoyance, never did when it came to Jin; his face is young and exasperated, just like Hakumen remembers it best. Something inside of him clenches tightly; why bring up memories this old? He hardly had the strength to recall the previous ones, and somehow the prospect of facing his own innocence is crushing, irking, and completely laughable.
Jin frowns and hesitates, reaches out to grip at the hem of Ragna's shirt. "I want to go with Nii-san."
"What are you talking about? Where?" Ragna's eyebrows furrow again, no doubt wondering who could have put this idea into Jin's head, and the answer would have been Saya. The girl had been more malevolent than she let on, and rather than Jin one-sidedly bullying her, their relationship had been closer to sibling rivalry.
"Everywhere!" Jin says, and before Ragna can tell him about how impossible that would be, he's crying into his chest. Ragna stands there, stunned for moment before he gingerly rubs his fingers against his little brother's back, as Jin sobs out. "Don't leave me, Nii-san! You can't ever leave me!"
There's a surprised silence, and the words tumble out in that familial instinct as Ragna pulls him into a hug. "You idiot. Of course I won't." With those words, the world returns to the eternal black of the Edge.
He had been a child.
While he had technically been a child at the time, he had been naive, stupid, selfish, had adored his brother completely without really loving him (although Hakumen does not understand why he knows the difference now). Hakumen is not Jin in the respect that he accepts, understands Ragna's position as a young man; he cannot blame him, does not hate him or think of him as a liar— after all (and it hurts, hurts for some reason that he cannot determine), Jin had been the one who had left.
Those slumbering emotions more than stir— they revive, hum within him. Over a century, he's been paying this pain, been paying for his sins in purgatory, until salvation finally came.
"Were you waiting here for me? All along?"
He believes in punishment, in justice, but this is not just.
Hakumen doesn't bear to look when gloved hands curl around him and everything in him is screaming for him to kill. This Ragna is just a figment of his imagination, nothing more than another spectre come to torment him for feeling guilt in the first place.
"I'm sorry."
It's all too much at once, so sharp and painful, his emotions just as raw as when he had entered the Edge, and Hakumen's voice is somehow trembling. "I loved you. Really, really loved you." Before he can change his mind, he has to act— there is no time for hesitation, no time to let himself be eroded inside of his own head.
The sword is in his hands.
"I know. I knew."
The blade in Ragna's gut. He twists it, hard. Ragna's body crumples easily, so easily to the floor.
"Not anymore," he insists, "There's nothing."
There's no anger or hate in those eyes, just quiet resignation, acceptance. "Good." There it is again— cinching in Hakumen's chest. He falls to his knees, foolishly at his brother's side, once again unable to leave. "That means you won't feel any pain, any anguish over killing me, right? I'm happy." Ragna laughs, soft and pained, like he's actually here and dying, one more time.
Hakumen knows better than to believe the lies of the Boundary, knows better than to let himself be caught up in sheer reminisce. Ragna would never say these things to him— there's too much blood (all on his hands) between them, and no matter how regretful he is (if he is at all), Ragna would never forgive him, let alone comfort him, let alone— this. His hand is caught by those fingers and brought to bloodied lips in a kiss that Hakumen can only pretend to feel.
"I hate it when you cry."
No matter how strong he is, this is enough to break him, to kill him—
Slam. The impact of a fist against metal, and everything disappears in static.
"Damn it! Not again! We were so close this time..." That too familiar female voice growls out, like a dream, and then even that goes to nothingness.
Ah, the Grimalkin, again, always. Hakumen knows his duty is to fight and kill, and will do just that, but he can't help the twinge of resentment in his chest. She is always prodding him, always stirring him from his slumber and sending him out into the world, the past, when all he wants to do is forget.
This isn't just, isn't fair, isn't right.
Again and again and again, he must drown in murder and remembrance until saving mankind is as hard as cutting off his own limbs. The punishment has to equal the sin, but Hakumen can't understand, no matter how hard he tries— nothing, no crime could ever be so terrible as to deserve this.