To the Darkest of Nights We Go

~Dystopian AU ~

Chapter 79

Written By: RinoaDestiny

King of Fighters, Chizuru Kagura, Kyo Kusanagi, Iori Yagami, Terry Bogard, Andy Bogard, Mai Shiranui, Blue Mary, Rock Howard, and Joe Higashi all belong to SNK


The rooftop was expansive and Kyo parked himself on the side facing away from the Ikuno border garrison. He felt drained and numb – Iori's final torment evoking unfading horror – which left him sitting here, the magatama once again in his hand. Words jostled in his mind, seeking dominance and yet again, he found himself staring out, seeing and unseeing.

There was haziness in the distance, a perfect mirror to his state of mind; Kyo couldn't tell if the hovering obscurity was manmade or natural. His thumb moved over the curve of the Yasakani jewel, like the individual bead clacks of a rosary while a sutra was chanted. There weren't any soothing mantras or scriptures here. Instead, devastated scenery filled his view and there was no sound.

Stillness. A world temporarily at rest.

He tilted his head, hair spilling over into his eyes. Brushing it aside, Kyo sighed and let his hand fall against sun-warmed concrete. Up here, it stirred memories of years past – of skipping classes and sleeping alone, arms folded. Yuki would come find him later and wake him, if he hadn't already done so. Would smile and wait, so that they could walk home together.

Through active streets, greeting classmates along the way.

Yuki would kiss him, a gentle peck, before turning towards home.

He'd smile, make sure she arrived safely, and then walk down the streets, returning to his. Come home, greet and be greeted by his parents and spend the remainder of the day doing whatever he pleased.

A good life back then. A life taken for granted.

The locket around his neck – the first of his dead, gunned down before him.

He'd been inconsolable for a month.

It'd taken patience, compassion, and unspoken quiet sympathy, but Chizuru and Iori had endured and together, had pulled him out of grief. By then, O.R.O.C.H.I.'s escalation had ramped up, requiring less tears and more action from him. He'd suppressed his mourning and got to work.

Again and again, he ran his thumb over the magatama's smoothness.

Kagura-san was…. He still remembered the first time he laid eyes on her. A terrific fighter with class, but nosy and roping him in with Yagami to fulfill their destiny against Orochi was annoying. He hadn't appreciated that and made it known. Chizuru had brushed it aside, steering him and Iori towards a direction that inevitably led to their first confrontation with the god. A confrontation that sealed Orochi, yet landed him in NESTS' hands – a lingering trauma – leaving him scarred and disturbed. Finding his way back took years and even now…

Even now, he still remembered.

Chizuru had been guardian, older sister, and mentor – all those at once. He hadn't, back then, realized how difficult her role was. How taxing it must've been, putting her all in and hoping he and Iori would see why. She was stronger than them – it was true – and it couldn't have all been because of her lineage. The Yata clan, responsible for sealing Orochi away. A Shinto shrine priestess, taught and trained to carry out the rituals and rites.

She'd been the last of her clan. Now, she was gone and Orochi must've relished their loss.

The mirror around his neck – the second of his dead, a life given in sacrifice.

It was the whole reason why he and Iori made it to Ikuno.

His thumb stilled, callused skin against the jewel's curve.

Kyo glanced down at the magatama – at its serene surface, green as spring leaves. Iori had pressed it into his hand, bestowing its full power upon him and dying, mentioned that Orochi couldn't come back. A heavy charge – a responsibility owed to the dead – and one Kyo wasn't sure how to fulfill.

Iori had…had suffered…

He couldn't vocalize the word, let alone think it. Horrifying to consider even without knowing the details, the why and how. Iori's pride shattered, ground into dust, leaving the man he last knew. Yagami had been afraid of rejection – of being cast aside – and the knowledge of how Iori perceived him hurt. Yet, he understood and that worsened the feeling.

Yagami hadn't told him, because doing so was shameful. Admitting it happened, while he was helpless to prevent it.

It brought clarity to certain things Iori said while in the subway station. About wanting someone dead. His rage and frustration boiling over, spilling forth in a traumatic rant. It made sense now, reflecting back.

How it wasn't enough, killing those soldiers, because what could ever mend that loss? Iori's final expression of shame, clearly seen in his face and Kyo had been allowed to see it. An ultimate trust of sorts, although he didn't understand at the time.

Iori trusted him, dying, giving all of himself in his own way. To see him through – to bring him here to this point, knowing he wouldn't be there for it. It was no less a great sacrifice than the one Chizuru gave and…

Something stirred in the recesses of his mind – it pulled, nagging – yet eluded him, skirting the edges of memory.

The magatama in his hand – the third of his dead, another sacrifice freely given.

Divinity and mortal vessels.

His talk long time ago with Kagura-san. His dream after Yagami's death.

Something he felt he should know, but couldn't figure out yet.

Kyo looked at the treasure and closed his fingers around it, enclosing it within his grip. Raised his head, staring out at the familiar and unfamiliar – everything colored by grief and shadowed by troubled memories – wishing for nothing more than silence. Silence to think. Silence to mourn.

Behind him, the sun rose high, casting his shadow upon the rooftop.

Iori had been the last of his line. Like Chizuru, his clan was non-existent now.

Kyo shivered.

As Kusanagi clan heir, what did he have left to offer in this war?