Time of Dying
A Hagi story based off the song "Time of Dying" by Three Days Grace
I originally wrote this 'bout two weeks before August 31st, but that was also the 1st day of school, so I forgot to post it… and then I was simply too tired to do so following… I wrote this chappy for my wonderful reviewers, and the one year birthday of the story ^^ However, because this is me doin' the writing, of course it's insanely angsty. My listening to the Kuroshitsuji soundtrack contributed greatly, as well… And it must be because I've been watching Kuroshitsuji lately that I got all poetic and descriptive O.o Reminds me of "Mezamete Kudasai" a bit
Recommendation: listen to 'Nigram Clavem' or 'Si Deus Me Relinquit'
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TIME OF DYING
Aldedron: I promised one of my beloved reviewers I'd update one I'd finished the Timeline—so here I am! O.o Feels weird not listing…
Serin: *faints at idea of listing*
Aldedron: *ignores melodramatic-Serin* Either way, I'm only updating this because they asked nicely. I don't plan on updating again until more people vote in the poll so I can make my decision on whether to rewrite, edit, or do nothing with this story. So vote, please~
Lulu: In other words, you're holding this story hostage (again). *chastising* Am I gonna hafta call you profanities, Aldedron…?
Aldedron: —What are you! My mother‽
Lulu: No
…
Aldedron: … Anything you wanna add to that sentence?
Lulu: No
…
Saya: This feels familiar…
Seras: Aldedron's an expert with creating hostage situations
Serin: *smirks* He would know—
Aldedron: *interrupts Serin* Shush!
Delein: And with avoiding the point
Aldedron: … *valiantly* I deny nothing~!
Haji could not fathom how this had happened. How this had progressed.
What seemed but an eyeblink ago—yet eternities away… In that memory, he saw a blue sky and white clouds. He felt the stem of a delicate bloom in his grasp, a flutter of his heart. He heard a rush of air as weightlessness overcame. It was a peaceful memory fraught with despair. All too soon had the world been dyed red and black with flames licking at all sanity like devils' forked tongues. All too soon had tears brimmed in those luscious brown eyes. It came out of nowhere—
Or so he had thought.
What happened? It felt as though, one minute, he'd been suffering through the endurance of Saya's absence, surviving as he was wont to do. The next: death. Bloody rivulets dripping down his chin, webbing between his fingers.
What happened? The pain… When had he first noticed it? He didn't know. Just the knowledge that, at some point, he'd noted an omnipresent burning in his throat, a hunger which no food or drink could slake. In the beginning, he'd felt perfect and whole, yet somehow degraded into a starving wolf. He could pinpoint no exact point when this progression began. Only when it took complete control. Sometimes, when he took but a glance or whiff in the direction of a corpse, blood runny on the cobblestone, the burning had intensified tenfold, to the point where he had to run fast as he could, far away—
What happened? He used to think he didn't know. But was the answer really so simple? No… no, it wasn't…
One moment, there she had stood. Aiya, the sweet Frenchwoman. She was really quite adorable. Those blonde braids and bright eyes. She seemed innocent—until she mentioned the Zoo, and if he knew anything. Suddenly, she seemed like a young child soaked in blood. Innocent, yet not-so-much. At first he saw Saya. Then he saw himself.
One moment, there she had stood. The next, she was walking forward, hesitant and wary. She held her hands up, as if to show she held no tools of danger. To show she was of no danger. Why? Those bright eyes were so dark, muddled with… fear?
Why?
Why was this so reminiscent?
Why did the burning suddenly intensify just like when he'd killed those Chiropterans? Even though no blood had been spilt, he could smell it. It was so intoxicating, that coppery scent emanating from beneath that pale skin.
One moment, there she had stood. She held the shape of Aiya, but that was not whom he saw. He innately sensed Saya behind him, asleep and helpless. Suddenly, there were not but three people in that dungeon-esque room. Suddenly, there were hundreds, and it was suffocating. Those black fabrics which blended in with the darkness, those dark eyes muddled with fear.
He felt his eyes change pigment. They burned just like his throat.
Everything burned. It felt like he was on fire, caught in the mansion as its walls collapsed—black, suffocating smoke blinding—
One moment, there she had stood.
One moment, there she had fallen.
One moment, there she had lain.
One moment. One moment. One moment.
A collection of moments, endless, yet minute.
Since Saya had fallen into her slumber, it felt as though an eternity had passed, yet as he looked back, it seemed like so little time had been wrought from this earth.
One moment was all it took.
One moment, she was alive. One moment, she was dead.
He so vividly recalled the sweet taste of that crimson liquid sliding down his parched throat. Her squeak—before he crushed her windpipe. The delectable snap of bone which echoed against his eardrums. Her eyes grew so glassy and empty, that brightness fading into the surrounding black.
And everything was dark. So, so dark…
Suddenly, light. It blinded and pained his dilated pupils. He dropped the bloodless corpse from his grasp, scrambling into the corner like a caged animal. This room was so small—too small—! He was caged, with no escape.
There were once two people in that dungeon. Just he and Saya. Then there were three. It was too crowded. Then there were two again, accompanied by a corpse. There were three, once more, accompanied by the same corpse. Too small—too small—too small! No room, no escape, no air, no way out, no room, too small, no escape, no help, too small, too small, too small. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. Too small, too small, too small.
What had happened?
It all blurred up, then. That vivid recollection of how her skin grew dry and crinkly before his eyes became engrained, blurring out the images before him.
Too small, too small, too small.
A bright light which fought to blight out this recollection.
Too small, too small, too small.
More blood, spraying the air in a crimson fountain.
Too small… too… sma…
What had happened?
He told himself he didn't know. But he did.
…
Everyone had assembled in Joel II's office, and the atmosphere was tense.
It felt as though a dark cloud hovered overhead, suffocating like black smoke. It wore down on all's morale, giving an innate sense of despair. It pressed down, pushing one's will to the floor—beneath! Further than a meager six feet under, for what was deserved was nothing less than the fiery pits of Hell.
Or perhaps it was only Haji who felt this way. Everyone else seemed calm and collected, and even as he appeared the same in all outward appearances, in no way did he feel as such within.
Joel II had managed to contact Elizabeth, the now middle-aged woman arriving within the hour. She leaned on Joel's desk, eying all before her like the Queen of England: condescending. Were they all so incompetent?
"Well?"
"… I'll see what I can do."
Elizabeth was the expert in these Underworld ways. None other than she knew of how to handle this situation, and even she was feeling a bit overwhelmed. Such a predicament…
Red Shield was a disaster, thus far, and they'd existed for but a meager eight years, now. Already, their prime weapon was asleep in a seemingly endless hibernation, and their next best saber was all but useless now. He'd only managed to kill eight Chiropterans in seven years, and he was always too late to cover up their existences. Rumors were circulating beyond the Underworld because of his incompetence and Red Shield's inability to deal with it.
True, both were young, but that was no excuse.
They had to learn to adapt to these harsh ways or suffer the consequences.
Now was the perfect time to learn.
This was the exact reason Joel Goldschmidt jr. had so fervently sought her that almost-decade ago. He had chosen wisely.
Elizabeth turned her gaze on the blood-soaked man in the corner. It was eerie how blank he was. Yet this blankness exuded something… something so… Despair? No, it went deeper than that. Yet she sensed no self loathing or blame upon any living being. It was just an endless pit. Like that feeling of 0G before plummeting into the rapids. Right now, he was empty but of that single depthless emotion, but soon…
She would have to act swiftly.
…
With a swish of motion, Vick paced the confined space of the cigar room, unable to keep still. 18, 19, 20, 21. He circled around the chairs gathered 'round the fireplace again and again and again. 22, 23, 24, 25. Once more—just don't keep still! Can't stand still. Can't stay in one place. 26, 27, 28, 29, 30. Keep going, keep going. Don't stop. Can't stop. Don't think—whatever you do, don't think‼ 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36. Don't look back. Don't reflect. Don't wonder. Don't ponder. Don't think, don't think, don't think.
He told himself again and again not to think. Yet this could not be done. What is seen cannot be unseen. What is said cannot be unsaid. What is thought cannot be unthought.
Don't think, don't think, don't think.
If only Vick knew how similar his thought process was to the one who tore his mind apart as such. They were so similar—if only he could see!
But he refused to.
Don't think, don't think, don't think.
Don't see the other side. Don't consider. Don't wonder. Don't ponder. Don't think, don't think, don't think. Don't reflect. Don't stop. Can't stop. Don't cease. Can't cease.
Can't think, can't think, can't think. Can't consider. Can't wonder. Can't ponder. Can't think. Don't think. Can't think.
"Can't" and "Don't" grew synonymous.
89, 90, 91, 92, 93.
He paced, he paced, he paced again. Circle 'round once more! Don't stop. Can't stop. Don't think. Can't think.
Once more, another circle 'round. Don't think.
—Was all that real?
Don't think. Can't think. Stop thinking!
112, 113, 114, 115, 116, 117.
Everything blurred over. Everything was dyed red and black. There was only darkness and blood. His blood ran cold, yet his body burned.
Don't think. Can't think.
157, 158, 159, 160, 161, 162, 163, 164, 165, 166.
Stop thinking!
There was no other side!
But didn't this go against all his principles?
Stop thinking, for crying out loud! Stop thinking, stop thinking, stop thinking!
He couldn't stop. He wouldn't stop.
Don't think. Can't think. Stop thinking. Keep thinking. Why won't it stop?
194, 195, 196.
Blood dripping down that pale chin, those glassy eyes reflecting the dungeon ceiling.
Don't think!
Haji.
He was just like that monster—that Chiropteran!
223, 224, 225, 226, 227, 228, 229, 230.
Stop thinking!
Why won't it stop? Just make it stop…
Flash, flash, flash—red, black, red. Glassy eyes devoid of life, just like the corpses—
490, 491, 492, 493, 494, 495.
—Stop‼
Red, black, red. Flash, flash, flash.
Don't think. Can't think.
Just stop and think!
—No!
Don't think. Can't think.
Glowing crimson eyes, aflame with animalistic fury. A flash of red and black movement—and suddenly he's in the corner, growling just like that monster.
Too small, too small, too small.
The room was too small. It was just he, a… coffin… a corpse, and a monster. Too small, too small, too small.
—Stop it‼ No—no—no‼ Stop this‼ Knock it off‼
Don't think. Can't think.
Why doesn't he stop thinking? Make it stop~‼
Red and black. Flashes of grayscale and lurid blood.
It was all too much. Vick felt his mentality crumbling beneath his feet.
874, 875, 876, 877, 878, 879, 890, 891.
Don't think. Can't think.
1045, 1046, 1047.
…
It was too late to go back, for Haji had already killed. The world seemed enveloped in darkness, now. Still, many years lay ahead in wait of the Queen's Awakening. Too many years. What was the young Shield to do? All they could. They covered up the murder; a simple enough task in Victorian France. But they knew this would happen again. What then? How long could this go on? How long would Saya sleep? The world seemed enveloped in darkness…
Aldedron: I kinda like the erratic thought processes
Serin: You do realize that most will simply find it confusing, right?
Aldedron: Yeah, I know. And I also realize how different this style is from the previous chappies. I consider this chappy as insight into how the story will be if I rewrite it. I, personally, adore the drabble-style of this chappy, but I also enjoy narrating a good, twisted tale. Which should I do?
Lulu: So THAT'S why you wrote something so confusing‽
Haji: Poetic
Aldedron: Yes, and thank you ^^
Aldedron: And if you were to read this chappy while listening to 'Nigram Clavem' on loop, it'd prob'ly make a lot more sense as to why it's written as it is…
Serin: *rolls eyes* Whatever
Aldedron: In other words, this chappy's to help you consider your vote in the poll! Please~ vote~!
Neles: *giggle* And don't forget to review ^.^!