Ah, alas! With the end of finals and the holiday season keeping me busy, I was unfortunately unable to update last week. But the story's schedule should keep up it's regular weekly basis again from here.

I hope you enjoy, and have a lovely day!

The scream that ripped from Suzuya's throat was one that left Izaya rooted in place. It was such a beautiful sound, the emotion so raw that… even he could almost, almost feel it, too.

"I've been meaning to meet up with you again, Izaya," the God of Calamity said with glowing eyes of cerulean, a gaze that could cut diamonds. They flickered as Suzuya's scythe came down on him – of course, he dodged. The clearing was filled with the sounds of metal on metal. Izaya returned to himself, pulling the Prophet from its sheath. It was so dark by now, he could just dimly see where Suzuya and Yato were fighting. But every so often, he could see the flash of Yato's luminescent eyes, showing him exactly where he was. Mouth twitching, Izaya jumped into the fray as the rain began to come down again. Eerily, he felt sure that Twelve's eyes were watching him.

Izaya wanted to remark upon Suzuya's evident attachment to Twelve, but something stopped him. He thought he heard laughing among the clashing of sword on scythe on sword, and laughed harder when he realized it was his own. The informant brought down the Prophet in a hardy swoop that made Nora quiver beneath his crimson blade – Suzuya swiped downwards and made the god jump backwards just in time for the CCG officer to only draw blood. "DIE!" Suzuya screamed. "Go to Hell, God, BURN IN HELL!"

"Hey, Suzu-chan," uttered Izaya as Yato lopped off one of Suzuya's legs by the knee. "Do you think the world will end in fire, or in ice?" The albino caught himself with the butt of his scythe, regaining his balance before he released another battle cry as the scythe came down on Yato again. The god swiped it away with increasing ease. "What do you think, Yato-kun…?"

In the midst of battle, he went unheard. He found it interestingly… nice to be fighting alongside someone like Suzuya, as wildly as he was behaving right now.

"You're fighting with too much emotion," Yato commented flatly as he deflected another of Suzuya's swipes, blocking Izaya all the while. "You're surprisingly strong even after losing your leg, but what difference does it make if you're not fighting effectively?" He knocked Suzuya backwards and turned to Izaya. "Troublesome." Rebounding off of a rock, Suzuya jumped at the God of Calamity whilst using the scythe for his leverage. His single red-slippered foot was aiming for Yato's head. Izaya was aiming to skewer him on the other side. Smiling, the god threw his sword into the air and caught Suzuya by the ankle, swinging him around and attempting to knock him into Izaya. The informant dodged, jumping onto a nearby rock while Suzuya's remaining leg was broken before he was tossed like a ragdoll to the side. Before Izaya could come down on him, he was gone, sword in hand.

All the informant could do was keep up with him, his heartbeat roaring in his ears. Rolling thunder surrounded them – the lightning would light the scene vividly for a split second before all went dark again and Izaya was left without any trace of night vision. Look for his eyes. Predict his movements.

Out of the corner of his vision, Suzuya was using his scythe to get back onto his only leg, but the torn ligament and broken bones wouldn't allow him to move his weight. Yes, out of the corner of his vision, he watched Suzuya collapse. Try again. Collapse. Persistent kid, he thought in approval, but it was distracted and distant. He needed to pay attention. If Yato disappeared from in front of him, then—behind him!

Izaya whirled around to empty black. Did he close his eyes to throw me off? No— Izaya looked up to a lightning-stricken sky, and Yato was waiting for him. Izaya just barely raised his sword in time to block, but it sent him to the ground, the air knocked from his lungs. His head spun from the impact, and the next thing he knew the Prophet had been ripped from his grip and tossed to the side. The only thing he could get through his own head was the urgency of the situation he was in. I could die here. I could die. That's inconvenient. He flipped out his switchblade from his pocket and jabbed Yato in the gut with it, feeling it sinking into his abdomen. Izaya grimaced as Yato backed off and he rolled over, gasping for air he staggered to his feet. Quick, I need to get that sword, or—

"How does this feel, Izaya?" Yato's voice was behind him – Izaya whirled around and swiped at nothing. He clicked his tongue. "Your teammates can't help you right now. The first one is dead, and the other is…" – Yato smiled cruelly – "…incapacitated. Can you fight for yourself?"

Izaya took a step back, one step closer to the Prophet. His switchblade was gripped tightly in his hand, pointing to the God of Calamity. He was smiling, or at least he thought he was. He chuckled drily, taking another step backwards. "You're hardly being fair, Yato-san…"

Calmly, Yato followed him, step for step. "I know you're headed for that precious sword of yours. It won't make much of a difference. The fact that you're going for it; the fact that you're still fighting… Well, it only says that you don't want to die."

"Alright, you caught me!" Izaya cried, and let out a bark of mirthless laughter. He spread the arm not holding his knife out. "So I don't want to die! I have a will to live! Call me a human – how dastardly."

Yato smiled. The lightning flashed. "But you're not fighting for yourself, are you?"

Izaya's brow furrowed. "I'll be honest – I was expecting to be scolded for my selfishness. What's this, now, Yato-san?" He took another step. Yato followed suit.

"You aren't living, Izaya. You do nothing but live vicariously through other people, don't you? You take pleasure in watching people instead of experiencing things yourself."

"I can admit that I take pleasure in watching people," said Izaya, "but I've had my fair share of experience—"

"No, you haven't," Yato cut him off, taking a threatening step and making Izaya back up two paces. The thunder rolled. "That's not the kind of experience I'm talking about. Izaya, you find your happiness through the experiences of other people. In your realm, I'm almost positive that I wouldn't find you on the front line but behind the scenes… isn't that right?"

"What's wrong with being behind the scenes?"

"You don't appreciate what it means to be alive at all," Yato said lowly. "Otherwise you would have been utterly devastated when Shizuo died. Your heart would have ached for Psyche and Tsuki. It would have killed you to not have stopped Yoh Takami from killing Yukine, having known exactly what that plot was. You can keep your knife at hand even in bed, but that doesn't mean you're fighting for yourself – it just means you're paranoid. Maybe you're so scared of death because you're nowhere near fulfilled here in life. You don't know how to live for yourself. You could tell me all sorts of things about me, couldn't you? You could analyze me down to the core of my uncertain existence, couldn't you? So then, what could you tell me about Izaya Orihara?"

Izaya's eyes narrowed.

"Well?" asked Yato. He paused. "What can you tell me about yourself? Is there anything to be said? It's not so hard to read you, after all. But Izaya Orihara is not living. He's using other people to be alive."

Izaya made a move to grab the Prophet under the light of the electricity above, and suddenly his hand was impaled, Nora piercing through his palm and into the ground. Yato had him pinned. A pained sound escaped him, but then Yato's free hand was at his throat. Nora was pulled from the informant's hand, and Yato lifted Izaya by the neck. His vision fading, the rolling thunder sounded so far-off, like an avalanche somewhere in the realm of his prefrontal cortex, or maybe his occipital lobe. He couldn't tell.

Without expression, Yato put Nora in the ground and ground his fist into Izaya's gut, sending the informant flying backwards into the nearest tree. He couldn't help but vomit red, his insides screaming in protest to Yato's violation of equilibrium. Yato didn't even permit him the chance to purge his own insides, gripping his neck and pinning him to the tree, now, blood still oozing from his parted lips. For a moment Izaya's consciousness slipped, but then he was back, still struggling to breathe – he was trying to keep up with everything that was happening to him, but it was becoming alarmingly difficult.

In an attempt to cut Yato with his switchblade, he found it being pulled from his hand thrown irately to the ground. "You think you don't need other people," said Yato. "You're wrong." He dropped the informant, and Izaya slumped to the ground, blood rushing back into his head at last. He was breathing hard with his bad hand clutching at his stomach, trying not to choke, trying not to vomit. He used his good hand to try and wipe at his mouth, running with blood. The iron was smothering his taste buds. "You're starving for the love of humanity, right? You've said it yourself. And to be so selfish while not even understanding the worth of life…"

"You—" A cough cut Izaya off, but clearing his throat, he tried again. "You—don't seem… to take life too seriously, now, do you? Yato-san."

Yato's gaze merely pierced him, impassive. Izaya wondered when that look had become so distant.

"Hey, Yato-san, is this really what you wanted to do?" Izaya smirked weakly, his teeth stained red. "You were so mad at me for being a monster, right? And yet here you are with blood on your hands… Can you really call this justice? How many people have you killed?"

"More than you," Yato answered flatly, pointing his sword at him. "But you're a human; you can sin. I'm God; I can do as I please."

"That being said, I've never actually ki—"

"Shut up."

Izaya closed his mouth, smiling thinly.

"I think I've made my point well enough. Is there anything else you'd like to say?"

"Aw, you're even giving me last words?" he asked in mock appreciation, and Yato lifted his sword, eyes burning. Izaya backpedaled immediately. "No, really, Yato, is this what you want? I'm the last living member of your original team! Does that mean anything to you? I just want to end this game, is that so wrong?"

"Then why did you let Yukine die?"

Izaya stared into his unmerciful face, lost for words. He didn't have an answer. "I don't know," he said. His voice sounded pitiful to his own ears.

"I see." He raised his weapon.

"Wait, Yato-san! You could use that rage for good! We could still end the game!"

"Goodbye, Izaya." His voice was hollow – it resounded in Izaya's head like a death knell.

The informant wanted to dodge. Could he block it? Where had his switchblade gone? Fear gripped him, its cold hands holding him in place. I don't want to die. His wide eyes were squeezed shut as he tried to cover his head and chest with his arms, bracing himself for the final blow. He was possessed with the terrifying thought of where he may go when it was over. Would he cease to exist? He wouldn't mind going to Hell so long as he knew that at one time, he had lived…

He heard wet footsteps, slow and calm. It had been more than a second or two, now. Cautiously lowering his arms, he looked to see Yato walking away from him. He released the breath he didn't know he was holding. Yato… wasn't going to kill him? He was filled with a dizzying sensation, and had to stop himself from tittering.

Yato stopped walking, and Izaya stiffened. "I'm not going to kill you," the god said to him. "That would be too pleasant an end to your life. In this game, death is an escape from this ridiculousness. Here, dying is a gift. I hope your teammates find peace." A pause. "All of them," he added. "Celty, too." He looked back at Izaya with a terrible smile, lit momentarily by the sky. "I've performed my specialty on you, Izaya. Let's see how you fare with all of your ties severed." He tilted his head, closing his eyes. "Bye, now," he grinned, and disappeared with the rolling thunder, leaving Izaya alone with the immobile Suzuya and the deceased Twelve.

Breathing a long and quavering sigh, Izaya leaned back on the tree behind him, body shaking as he settled in the calm after the storm.

A-ya jerked into consciousness to find a black sky looming over him. Immediately he checked his surroundings – alright, he hadn't moved after all. But what time was it? How long had he slept? He hadn't meant to—

It's only been twenty-six minutes.

A-ya got to his feet. Was that so? Ah, that wasn't so bad… "I should return to the others, then," he said, mostly to himself. It's so dark…

It's a storm. Have you yet noticed that you're soaked?

I hadn't, he admitted, turning his back to where Yukiteru had left and returning to the thin trees. He walked slowly, feeling oddly placid. He looked at the thin canopy in idle reverence. Spending so much time among the trees in this game, he'd begun to find it strange that there didn't seem to be a single living creature besides the players themselves. No squirrels… not even birds. None of it. And yet, here stood all these trees, living in this terrible dome. If they could speak, he wondered, what would they have to say about all of this?

You have strange musings, Loner.

At least I'm musing about life rather instead of death, Serpent.

What's the difference?

A-ya smiled.

He did take his sweet time meandering through the underbrush. He supposed he'd have to find a better shelter for all of them, as he was sure nobody wanted to sleep out in the rain. Worst case scenario, they would head over to the shopping district again.

A-ya felt like something had ripped from his insides; he figured it had to do with Yukiteru. Yet this hollowed-out feeling was somehow refreshing. He felt unconcerned – he didn't feel a thing. Thank goodness he'd passed out like he did, too! His senses were sharp again… He actually felt awake.

Your awareness has improved by 54%, the serpent confirmed in approval. Of course, you can't stay awake forever…

I need to sleep again soon, A-ya agreed. And I'll do that as long as you don't do anything too rash.

Oh, of course not, Loner. A soothing tone.

A-ya couldn't help but laugh. "Using a voice like that, I don't know if I can trust you!"

Could you ever?

"Ah, who knows…?"

The longer he walked, the more Kuroha's presence swallowed his insides. He felt like he'd learned the meaning of the word vessel. The thought of being unable to recognize himself in the mirror recurred to him, and he crossed his arms over his chest uncomfortably. It was a muted discomfort. He imagined being split open like Twelve only to find that he didn't have any insides to spill. He thought that perhaps it should disconcert him a little more than it did.

It was incredibly quiet when he drew closer to the clearing where the rocks were situated. He felt the serpent stirring in impassive curiosity. A-ya wondered if he should be worried. A-ya wondered why they were so quiet. A-ya wondered why he felt alright with this.

When the trees broke and he found himself in their little gathering place, the first thing he saw was Twelve's body, lying still. He had been pulled into the broken lap of Suzuya, who had closed the lids of the terrorist's eyes. He approached them devoid of expression. Suzuya stirred, and looked up at A-ya with the same blank look. His white hair was messier than was usual, dripping with the pouring rain. A few of his red hairclips were missing. He just stared up at A-ya with nothing to say. What could he say?

A-ya gazed at him quietly, then looked at the ground around them, picking up his discarded cape, now downtrodden, muddy, and soaked. Then he picked up what he presumed was Suzuya's lower leg. Returning to his teammates, he moved Twelve off of Suzuya's lap and to the ground, draping his cape over Twelve as a shroud of sorts. A-ya noted that the cape was black once more.

After this was done, he looked to Suzuya. "Can you get up?" he asked. The officer's head was bowed again, and he didn't so much as stir in answer. He was holding his scythe up at his side, though, so A-ya knew he wasn't unconscious. Or dead.

The dark-clad boy looked at Suzuya's legs, one pooling blood that looked black to his night vision and the other twisted at an odd angle.

"You can't get up, can you?" he asked. He recognized that he sounded perhaps a bit more monotone than even was normal for him. Suzuya didn't answer. "You're not going to answer me, are you?" There was nothing to be said. A-ya straightened up, his serpentine eyes flickering luminescent scarlet. "Oh, well," he said together with his possessor. "I suppose there's no use for you anymore, either." He tilted his head, eyes narrowing just slightly. "With wounds like that, there's no helping, is there? And I know that look in your eye…" He paused, then raised his hand. "Goodnight, Suzuya," he said softly, and they ended him with a swift blow to the chest. The scythe fell with a clatter into the rock behind it. A-ya's mouth smiled, if slightly.

He tried to slice us, the serpent commented in amusement. Perhaps he wasn't done yet, after all!

But I guess that was the only option… That's it, isn't it? He looked to the abyss of sky. I'm alone.

Mm, behind you, Loner.

"Eh?" Dully, he turned around to see a figure slumped by a tree at the other end of the clearing. He seemed to be laughing, holding his abdomen with blood running down his chin. A-ya approached.

"Ah, A-ya-kun…," he said. "You missed the most—the most terrible show… I must admit, I'm a tad bit ashamed of myself, here! Pretty pitiful—ah… What will you do, now?"

"Who are you," A-ya asked him flatly, his eyes unrelentingly cold. They narrowed just slightly. "And how do you know my name?"

Loner, what are you going on about?

I've never seen this person before.

Is that… so…

Interesting.

"Oh, come now, A-ya-kun, what are you saying?" asked the man. "I'm your teammate, of course!"

"I don't know who you are," A-ya reiterated lowly, and the informant stared at A-ya with wide eyes. He laughed with a hitch.

"You can't just forget about me, A-ya-kun—don't you remember? I was the first to follow you when you split off!"

"That was Twelve."

"I was there when you killed Roy Mustang!" he insisted, sounding more desperate with every word. "You and Rika-chan and I—we—"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said dismissively, and the despairing one began to struggle to get to his feet.

"Y-you're kidding! This is has got to be joke! You can't just say something like that… There's no way…!"

"Ah… is he lying…?"

To call him a lie would be fraudulent, but to call him a truth would be blasphemous. This one's just a fool. A-ya could feel the serpent's smile in his psyche.

The stranger seemed angry now, suddenly gripping at A-ya's black vest and yanking him closer. "You can't forget me—I'm Izaya Orihara, remember?! We started a rumor together – that's right, you and I are one and the same! And that's why—"

"Get off me," they frowned, pushing him away and sending him to the ground. Izaya went to his hands and knees, covering his mouth. Seemed his insides were trying to get him to spew red. "Kuroha," A-ya mused aloud, "should I kill him?"

Izaya froze. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't be. It couldn't be happening, no, this was insane, this couldn't—

"No, we'll leave him be." Izaya looked up into a face contorted into a grin, glowing red eyes looking down at him. "This soul may grow ripe yet for tragedy. This could be fun." They laughed, and turned to listen to the distant sounds of some kind of skirmish. That smirk twisted his mouth. "We might as well join the show," they remarked, and gave a distorted chuckle before running off towards the noise.

Izaya tried to grab at him too late, grasping at thin air. He was certain that it was the demon sneering at him at the end. He was certain there was recognition. "That… fucking—bastard!" He slammed his fist into the ground. A new horror began crawling beneath his skin. He couldn't stand it. What had Yato done?

"God damn it," he hissed, curling forward with the top of his head resting on the ground.

The clearing was deathly silent. His muscles began to relax. "It's too—quiet," he said to nobody. "…Twelve, won't you talk?" he murmured, and laid there in the downpour with nothing else to say.