XXVIII. Fire
The dilapidation in Syaoran's eyes was inevitable.
If there was anything that Seishiro knew for certain, it was that disappointment and strife were predictable human emotions.
When Syaoran recalled the true identity of his beloved, Seishiro felt nothing.
When said beloved fell into the clone's arms, the sakura blossoms of her being disappearing as if by witchcraft, his cries of anguish and unspeakable torment fell upon the hunter's deaf ears.
The truth was that he had been in awe of what he had witnessed. It had a long time since Seishiro had seen anyone under such distress, such primeval instincts ripping at the core of someone, with he as a spectator – even as his eyes were wide with disbelief, his body wrapped under the same bone-crushing blackness that had enveloped the other onlookers, he could not help but feel exhilarated by the horror that had taken place.
There was nothing like it.
The feeling when your entire world was slipping through your fingers.
The sinking feeling in your stomach when something horrific has occurred.
The tremendous weight of emotion writhing under the surface, kicking and screaming to be released, only to finally be released in such duress of passion that it was deemed masochistic.
Seishiro knew the blaze of such emotion.
He had experienced it himself, and in turn he had given that experience to so many people.
That was because the people, those who were supposed to be human beings, who predictably had no idea of their own fates, deserved it.
They needed to feel it so that they knew that they were alive.
He had felt it.
So should they.
They should feel the crushing disappointment, the gradual deadness of self, the deadening of the soul that he had felt many times before.
In this, as soon as they realized this, Seishiro would end their lives. Prolonged misery was not in his taste for those who were not worth it.
It was soon after the girl had been taken away by the black-haired bespectacled minion of Fei Wong Reed that he realized this: The fire of destruction was moving quickly, lighting the spokes of the wheel of destiny aflame.
Without saying goodbye to anyone, not even his brother who he had recently uncovered to be someone not quite as foolish as he surmised for most of his life, he left.
The flames of the fire in his cold being licked him continuously – he had to go.
He was not needed there – he would not find the vampire twins there.
He had to go elsewhere.
It was the fire of it all that had exhilarated him, which would eventually lead him to his prize, and which left him scorched, burned, and wanting more.
