[NERO]
Everything is so dark. Can't see, can't hear, can't feel. Where? Where, where, where, where? When? Why? What is happening? Is something happening? Everything is so dark, so cold, so suffocating. Suffocating, can't breathe, can't move, can't hear see feel can't move can't move can't breathe hard to think hard to think everything is coming together too fast too slurred everything. Is. So. Dark.
Was falling, then falling, falling, falling, until it all stopped. Then falling, falling, falling once more until it all stopped and it feels like floating. Not flying, no, but floating. Like atop the water or in the water, like back then when jumping into the beach is fine, diving beneath the waves is okay and there's nothing wrong with that.
There's something wrong, there's something crawling beneath the skin, like bugs, insects, needles crawling beneath the skin, eating away, bite, bite, bite, bite at the flesh that heals too slowly, at the flesh that burns and burns and burns with each bite, bite, bite, bite. There's a noise, a screaming, and it hurts, hurts, hurts there are insects beneath the skin biting away at the flesh and it burns and it hurts and then they're drinking blood, red water that gives life, is life, and it hurts, hurts, hurts, hurts-
And I looked, and behold a pale man. Blue is the robe that clothes him, and moonlight makes his hair. His back is to me, and there is pride in the line of his shoulders. At his side is a sword, wrought from beauty and steel and ice, and it sings a death song, a haunting and bewitching tune. This man is important, and he knows it. And I know it as well.
I know not of him, but I know I should know of him.
"Who are you? You are not me." I ask of him, I ask his back.
He neither turns nor moves, yet his speaks. His voice is that of ice, of steel, of something cold and hard and unforgiving and cutting. Yet I know it. I should know it.
"Who are you?" He asks me in return.
I cannot answer him.
Chains are made to restrain, to stop, to trap, to immobilized and can't move, can't move, can't flee, the need to escape, to run, to get out the claws and tears under the skin. There is screaming and crying, beg, beg, beg, beg. Why beg? Beg for it to stop, stop, stop, let go, stop, please, it hurts, stop, please, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, please, please, please stop. But it doesn't stop, the pain doesn't stop, it doesn't, and there's screaming and crying and begging for it all to stop.
It doesn't stop. The chains aren't moving, the insects and the needles are back and they hurt a lot, they keep taking, they don't stop, they don't stop. Sometimes floating, sometimes sinking, sometimes it's too much, sometimes it's not enough. It's all confusion, too much confusion, can't keep up, can't think, hard to think. There's screaming again, screaming and crying. Someone is talking. Who? Who is talking? Who is screaming? Who is screaming, crying, talking, talking crying, screaming, crying, screaming, talking, talking, talking, talking, talking, talking-
Quiet. Everything is quiet. Everything is quiet and shut up , shut up shut up shut up, the silence is too loud, too annoying. It's the quiet screaming this time and make it stop make it stop make it stop, it's too loud, it's too annoying, stop, stop, stop, please stop, please, please, please, stop-
Faces bleed together, faces I know and can put a name to.
Credo.
Novena.
Kyrie.
They're important to me, I know, and I know it well. These faces are the faces of those who I hold close, who I value deeply. I speak to them with a rough tongue, with even rougher actions, but they're important to me, the very few treasures I can call my own.
Credo who guided me, who taught me, stood in the place of where my missing father is. He took me in when no one would, taught me when no one would. He helped me onto my feet, and though he didn't hold my hand, he watched over me. He spent his precious prayers over me, asked his Savior of blessings for my sake. Credo is a brother, a friend, a father, and a teacher all in one, and thus he is important to me.
Novena who keeps reaching out, holding her hand to me, waiting, waiting, always waiting for me to take it, no matter how long it took me. Because in the end, I would always take her hand, because she is important to me as well. I made walls of steel and blades, cutting, sharp, dangerous, but she never cared. She slipped through those bladed walls, lets herself be cut on purpose, all to get to me. She reached out, and waited for me to take her hand.
Kyrie.
Kyrie. Kyrie. Kyrie. Kyrie. Kyrie.
Kyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyriekyrie-
Kyrie is important. She is soft, and warm, and lovely, oh so lovely. I fell for her the first time I met her, all those years ago, and every day I fall deeper for her still. Her voice soothes the demons screaming inside my head, eases the pain out of me. She smiles at me like I hung the stars and moon for her, smiles like the sun. She's all I see, all I'll ever see, and I wouldn't have it other way. I hope she'll have me, and only me. I don't know if I can take it if I lose her.
Then I saw a figure in front of me.
The figure had Kyrie's body, but Novena's eyes. They're wearing a plain white dress, with long brown hair falling to their waist. A crown of gold sits on their head, with golden chains hanging down and chiming softly. They approach me, and they talk with Credo's voice.
"Wake up, Blood of S-"
There are other voices now. They call a name. Nero. They call out to Nero. Voices that cry and sob and plead. Nero, won't you save us? Nero, won't you see us free? We're suffering, we are hurting. We shouldn't be here. Won't you let us go? They voices call out to the one called Nero, who wakes, slowly, but surely. One bit of his soul at a time, waking up, fixing itself, filling in the missing gaps of his soul. Everything hurts, and it's hard to think, but the one who is called Nero wakes.
'Nero, please, help us, it hurts.'
"What should I do?"
'Kill us. We shouldn't be here. Send us back. Send us back by killing us. Please.'
"You want to die?"
'It hurts less. Please, Nero.'
The one called Nero nods to himself, eyes bleeding red and patches flesh flaking away to reveal blue and red scales. The back of his head splits open, two ivory stumps pushing out, covered in blood. People screamed around him, panicking and afraid and confused, but the one called Nero doesn't hear any of it. He speaks to himself.
"Okay. I'll kill you. If I can make it hurt less."
'Please.'
A phantom of blue appears behind Nero's human-demon-inhuman body, looming over the young man. People are screaming, running, panicking, hiding, crying, fleeing. Nero holds a hand out.
It's the man in blue. The one who carries himself as king. I am afraid of him, then, for his face was mine, and my face was his. His eyes are cold, colder than anything I've known, and they glitter with hatred and malice.
"Take her." He says, smiling cruelly. "Take her, and become a legacy of death and destruction."
I don't want to.
"You don't want to?" He laughs, and it hurts to hear it. "But you desire power."
To protect. To save.
He laughs again. "Foolishness. But… you amuse me. Take her, then." The King in Blue fades into the darkness of my mind. "See if she answers to you."
I take her.
The sound of glass shattering rings throughout the facility, and the ground shakes. A light with the intensity of the sun coalesces in Nero's hand, forcing people to hide their faces, turn their eyes away.
Nero looks down at the object in his hands, eyes that are red and unseeing.
"Give me… more power." Her murmurs.
The light dies away, and Yamato reveals itself, whole, unblemished, unbroken. The screaming in Nero's head and the screaming around him intensifies, and Nero looks up, looks at the people in white surrounding him.
He unsheathes Yamato.