Notes: Disclaimed -YYH © Yoshihiro Togashi: criticism welcomed
He could understand why Karasu had wanted Kurama, such a kind, caring, accepting creature with fire and stance to take more than healthy or sane to do so. The kitsune was like a dog: beat him and still he returned, with never a want for compensation. His green eyes begged for the abuse, and his smile was satiated when Ani Toguro obliged.
Gouge him, slash him, pour his blood in swaths across the floor, Kurama accepted every delighted whim of the demon with naught a whimper.
Really, logically, by now the kitsune should be dead, but he breathed and moved and stained lips curled in compliment the more often and more forcefully Ani tore into him with sharpened clawlike fingers.
He wasn't stupid, the delusion had faded. He knew that the lovely fox in front of him obviously wasn't his foe. Kurama was gone, as was the rest of the world. The end could pass, and he wouldn't know of it.
There was nothing for him outside the fog. His traitorous brother was long dead, his new companions abandoned him, everyone had vanished. He could feel it – no one existed except for him and his fox.
Though, now, he could further comprehend Karasu's infatuation, a connection with the deceased demon. Why he didn't want to harm Kurama's face. It was really a pretty thing, in an insane, masochistic sort of way. Emotion showed plainly on his visage. He was willing to please no matter the cost.
Kurama needed him, as he needed the kitsune. It was a symbiotic relationship, both sides feeding off the other's psyche, a sadomasochistic dance through the mist. Everything was balanced, and physics were denied to keep it that way.
Neither spoke, as it wasn't needed. The dependance was all that was necessary. They understood one another in ways that were better than words could form, or others could grasp.
Whenever, wherever reality was didn't concern him. This supposed torture imposed upon him for all eternity was a delightful reprise. Trapped as he was, Ani Toguro did not mind, nor did his pet.
Let the world crumble. Allow life to disappear as it would. It didn't concern him, it never had.
Another slash, another spray of rich, red blood, and another happy moment spent in oblivion.
Everything was finally, truly picturesque.