Alright, let's go through this again, since I got grief for not doing it before...
A) I do not own any part of WeiB Kreuz, nor do I seek to
B) Takehito Koyasu owns it all, so take up your Gluhen issues with him, because I'm sick of hearing about it too.
And now, let the chapter begin...
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
The door shut with a sickening finality that spread doom over Omi's mind. It was time to pay his penance for the many lives he'd taken. He had become just as guilty as they, and expected to share their fate in Hell. The boy half hoped that he would go numb before death claimed him…or maybe he could die in his sleep. It didn't seem so frightening that way. And maybe he could dream one last time. A passage from a book he'd read long ago flitted across his mind.
For in that sleep of Death what dreams may come... It sent a shiver through his spine completely unrelated to the poison in his body. The truth was he was terrified. Death, in all of its void darkness, yawned with gaping jaws before him, and he trembled. Not for the mystery, but for the certainty of punishment for his sins.
Almost immediately Omi jumped up from bed. He couldn't give up… he didn't want to die. His clothes felt so heavy, but he heaved himself to the floor, using the bedside table to help himself to his feet. There were things he loved too much in this world to leave behind so quickly. He had so many things he wanted to do and see… No, quitting was never an option. He'd never allowed himself that luxury.
They couldn't stop him from going. He would just have to find his own way to the nice government hotel their target was currently staying at. That was the advantage of gathering information; he knew everything he needed to know without having to ask.
He had told Yoji the truth. He needed to go. It was a matter of life and death, and not only his own if things went horribly wrong. Now timing was critical, and Omi's mind buzzed with thousands of problems and answers. He couldn't find his teammates too soon, nor could he linger overlong. If everything went right, they might never know he had left. And everything would be okay…
Omi leaned heavily against the wall, needing it even to stand. He silently thanked whoever might be watching over him that his body was not tearing itself apart at the moment, or he'd never make it. He felt so tired just walking down the hallway, but he steeled himself for the longer journey. He'd never been this bad before. But of course, the boy thought as he made his painfully slow way down the hall, he'd never let himself go for so long before.
Baka! Baka, baka, baka! he berated himself. Why had he not taken the necessary measures to alleviate this, even if it was only a temporary solution? Why? Because you hate to sacrifice an innocent, no matter what the cost to you.
Which was why he always waited for a mission. It didn't feel quite so wrong that way, killing them. They were condemned anyway. But Omi never liked bloodshed, not even when he was forced to do it. Now his reasons made the crime even worse. He slipped from the wall and fell to his knees.
Stop condemning yourself, Omi, and focus! So what was he going to do now? The boy managed to crawl for what felt like an eternity to the couch. Somehow he managed to lift himself onto it. Good timing, too. He could feel the oncoming cold, overwhelming him faster now than it ever had before.
Vertigo began to claim his mind, and the room lurched in front of him. He put a hand to his head, and could feel the blood throbbing in his temple. It felt like his skull was collapsing in on itself. He could almost feel the blood drain from his painfully tingling fingers, making them cold on his face.
"No Omi. No. Focus, you need to keep moving. Come on… come on…" He talked to himself, concentrating on his own voice, trying to keep his mind away from the tearing pain. If he could make it go away long enough to get out of the house and…
Suddenly every sound in the house amplified, making Omi shut his eyes in pain. The usually almost imperceptible buzz of electricity became an angry, never ceasing roar. His own breathing filled his ears, and his unsteady heartbeat hammered. Omi clapped his hands to his ears, but the resulting noise made him gasp in shock and drop them.
What's going on? It's going out of control… Omi felt like he could hear his own thoughts with his ears. He didn't dare speak out loud.
It grew louder, increasing by the moment. Every noise overwhelmed his brain, blocking even thought now, and underneath it all was a rush of blood. Would his eardrums burst and bleed? He'd heard about that, but had never seen it before…
The hurricane of noise ceased all at once, and Omi's eyes opened in a wide, frantic stare. Oh Kami-sama please don't let him have gone deaf… He strained his ears to catch anything, any whisper. He felt himself panic underneath the muscle-clenching pain that still wracked his body. He'd forgotten about the agony in his very bones through the noise. But now where was the sound? The ensuing silence was almost more terrifying than the ferocity of noise.
"Would you rather hear it all?" came a strange voice in his head. In a brief moment the auditory fury returned, and Omi actually fell back against the couch by the sheer force of its overwhelming power. But it was silenced just as quickly, leaving only the fading echoes of a nasal laugh.
If Omi thought he could not feel any colder, he was wrong. And the laughter began anew.
"Now now, any more of that and you'll be colder than Abyssinian."
Omi looked around frantically for any signs of Schuldig, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. Whether this was from his still virulent disease or from fear, he wasn't sure. He could feel the German in his head somewhere, but pain was blurring his concentration, and it was hard to get a firm enough hold on his self to cast away the foreign mind.
Somewhere in his mind, Omi was praying for it all to be a dream. Anyone listening… please let it be a dream. He could wake up underneath all of those blankets, and Ken and Yoji and Aya would still be there…
"Oh no, kitten. This is no dream…"
"It's your nightmare." Omi turned toward the voice, as fast as his splitting headache would permit. Materializing from the shadows like a sick creature from terrifying dreams, single amber eye gleaming in maniacal pleasure, Farfarello cackled softly. Three knives sprouted from a shoulder like perverted decoration, and bloody ribbons of a bandage dripping unheeded from arms and shoulders.
The Irishman cocked his head, and pulled one blade from his shoulder, eyes closed in twisted ecstasy. The ring of metal grinding against bone made Omi wince and feel sick. But even more overpowering was the clenching in his stomach that accompanied the strong scent of blood. It was dripping on the floor where the madman stood, the drops falling with a soft plink, plink, plink…
"Here kitty, kitty, kitty…" Farfarello said in a low gentle voice. The overall effect was more terrifying than anything else. The Irishman held out a bloody hand. Omi shuddered; his body was screaming. He felt himself rise from the couch, and he fought his own movements. He was in so much pain, but he would not give in.
The hand was still extended to him, bright red streaked and running down in slick crimson lines. The blonde shut his eyes tight and shook his head violently, despite the ache it was sending through his brain. He fought his own movement, falling to the floor as his knees gave way.
The madman lowered his hand at Omi's collapse, and started to come closer. Omi felt in his jacket for his arrows. It was a good thing he'd been prepared to go on the mission. Sometimes his foresight paid off. He had darts in the inside of his jacket, in the left pocket…
"You could have told me sooner." A quick hand grabbed his wrist and forced his arm behind him. The blonde could barely resist getting his shoulder dislocated. A hand snaked around his vision, reaching into and pulling the tranquilizers from his pocket. He could smell German beer, and his nose wrinkled in distaste, for more reasons than the fact that he didn't like alcohol.
Amidst the freezer burn in his body sprouted a more familiar sting of pain, in his arm. The empty darts fell to the floor next to him; Schuldig let go and stepped from behind the boy as he fought to stay kneeling upright. Omi saw the German toss a towel to the madman, who was watching him with vague interest.
"It's still awake, Mastermind." The one glittering golden eye never left the swaying form trying to keep conscious.
"Hm? Oh." The last thing Omi saw was a foot moving fast toward his head.