🐇

"..."

"...Hm." "...Definitely stronger than all the other apostles I've faced so far. Maybe even tougher than Judas." "...." "...We'll see each other soon." A strained smirk blossomed underneath the pain of what felt like 100 bulls. .... ... .. . ----------------------------------------------------------- "...Hah..!" "--Ghk--ugh.." "..S-shit--ah!" "...nngh--.." One hand clutched to the open wound on your stomach, the other; bloodstained, leaving hand-prints of crimson against the wall as it held you up against the wall. You narrowly escaped with your life during that mission--Just who was that guy..?! Peter. A senile man. That was supposed to be your target tonight, but instead-- a highschooler filled his position. For someone so young, it was evident he had mountains of experience. No wonder the Apostles before you failed. "..Just..a l-..a little--..aargh..!" Heavy knees met the hard-wood floor as you doubled over, a pained gasp leaving you as the intense pain overwhelmed you. You even attempted to crawl--a stubborn soul like you wouldn't let the candle blow out--not now, at least. You even called out to Raphael, hoping that the noise would travel far enough to grab his attention--if he cared to check it out. Moments, soon turned into seconds, into longer seconds, you felt the hope of being saved leak out your bruised and battered body, and truly...you couldn't believe this was your dying moment. Abandoned. Used. Discarded. Lined up against the wall, your eyes fluttered shut and your labored breaths turned into small puffs through your nose. ...... ..... .... ... .. . -----------------------------------------------------------

"...." "..Mhm. I've got her now." "..." "...Vitals are fine..rates are stable...in other words, she'll live." A bored tone. A familiar tone. Familiar, that even in your haze your body could somewhat recognize him. "...." "...." "...." You slowly roused, eyes fluttering open and adjusting to the neutral toned light of the environment. Your brain felt like mush, and your body..well..it should've hurt way more than what you felt. "...Oh?" "..." "..Looks like my handiwork had her waking up earlier than expected. I'll keep you updated." "..." Albeit with some struggle, your body tried to push itself into an upright position, a small wince and the scrunch of your nose was enough to show that you were reeling in from what you had endured, though as the firm footsteps across the tiled floor drew nearer--a latex-clothed hand firmly planted against your shoulder, halting your movements. "Don't." Was all you heard before your body sank back down onto the bed with a little more force than you thought was necessary. Before you could even get a word out, the sound of a chair skidding across the cool, tiled floor grated at your eardrums and you finally looked over, seeing...Nathaniel. ...Though it was Nathaniel...in his.. Pajamas..? Well, partly. Plaid pants with a black tee...and of-course that damn tight-fitting under-suit. He always wore that underneath anything he wore and you could never understand why because every time you tried to bring it up flatly or indirectly, he'd brush it off. Seems like he was dragged out of his slumber for this.. Nathaniel sat on the side of you, leg crossed over the other and arms crossed with an indiscernible expression--it was one thing you hated about him, how you could never get a read on this guy. "...." "...." Was he expecting gratitude..? If that was the case..then.. "..." "...Thanks...Nathaniel.." You murmured with a weary sigh, hoping to break the silence. But it just...stretched on. For an uncomfortable while. Until.. "...Il-na." "...We're acquainted. You can call me that." Right. "...Thanks, il-na." "...." "...Ill save you the boring stuff. I stitched you up, but no over-exertion for a while. Meaning, no missions. Or practice. I injected a special blood serum into your blood-stream, hence the reason you're feeling less pain than you should." All casual, like he was discussing the weather. Whatever this guy was talking about, clearly he knew what he was doing. "Really, it was no big deal in patching you up." Aaaandd..there it was. That thinly-veiled conceitedness. "...Thanks again..." You sighed again. "...So, about Peter--" "--He wasn't there. Never was. Someone else." You interjected. "...." "...Oh? Someone else got you this rough, hm? Please do enlighten me on who could rough up an Apostle like you." Tsk. The strength it took for you to not leap from this bed and strangle this fool. "...Not..sure of his name..but he..had short black hair, red eyes...looked young." "Hm." "Well, doesn't ring a bell, but I'll let Raphael know. Though..im interested myself. Any skills to note?" You just shrugged.

"...Apostle-like.." You racked up. There was literally nothing outstanding because this guy..was outstanding in everything. It was like he was 20 steps ahead, and for a guy so young..???? The chair screeched and scraped against the tiled floor like fork to a chalkboard. "..A mysterious guy shows up like a ghost and wrecks an Apostle into bad shape, and there's nothing interesting to say?" Nathaniel muttered as he made his way to your bed, muscular arms caged your head in like 2 pillars as he leaned in close. Too close for team-mates. "There wasn't enough head-force trauma to render your brain useless, Y/N." He added on in a quieter tone, eyes narrowed in condescending amusement. "...Your body. It's different." A gloved hand, slightly damp with your blood, hooked its thumb and index finger to your chin and tilted your head up slightly. A beat. "...You bled beautifully." His tone had lost that hidden snarkiness, replaced by something...softer around the edges. Like an art critic. Almost reverent. "Most people break when they lose that much blood. You fought through it. Fascinating." "My work was practically cut in half," his hand momentarily left your chin and moved over, fingers gently grazing the fine stitching on your abdomen. "When I stitched you up. Not that much need for a transfusion since your platelets did exceptional work." "..." Silence. Nathaniel's eyes grew distant as he slowly rose up, his eyes staring holes onto your body in thought. "...." "..." "...This mystery man. Ill dissect him. Muscle by muscle. And when i'm done, Ill know his secrets and surpass him too." He muttered, more to himself to hear, than you to listen to. Then, eyes snapped back to your face. "..Him. Did he bleed anywhere on you? Get any of his DNA on you?" He asked, a little impatient in his tone as he waited for a..hopefully positive answer. "...No..I..I don't..think so.." You finally answered. It was about damn-time you became a part of this one-sided conversation. Though, Nathaniel took a sharp inhale through his nose as he pinched his nose bridge. "...Whatever, we'll just use you instead." ".." "...When I deem your body competent enough, I wanna run some tests. Reflexes, pain threshold, regenerative abilities." He spoke with a tilt of his head, arms crossed over his night-tee. "...Nothing fatal of course, I'd never waste such pretty data." He smirked, a faint glint of something shone in his otherwise sunken eyes. Cold with impassiveness at life, but burning like a newly found hyper-fixation. "...And maybe...if I like what I see, I'll be kind enough to give you one of my charms." Deadpan. "...One'll be laced with adrenaline. Might help you actually catch someone next time and save you the embarrassment of coming back empty."

Thanks for reading,

"She has a date scheduled tomorrow night. Pickup at her house, 7:50 PM, with him." A dead sounding voice sounded out from a phone sitting idly on a wooden table. It was clipped, straight to the point with the details. Time was a luxury, and seconds couldn't be spent on extra words. Without a response back, the call cut and the room fell back into momentary silence. .... ... .. . "..Mi conejita. I'll arrive soon." My bunny. That was a promise. -------------------------------------------------------------- A soft sigh of boredom and slight pity fell from pretty lips. A light blue hue from a phone lightly illuminated the features of innocence. But you weren't anything of the such. "Annddddddd.. done!~~" Y/N turned her phone off and set it down on the miniature coffee table, in trade, picking up the large Styrofoam takeout cup she ordered in advance for her planned relaxation tonight, and sipped on the cool, tingling liquid of cherry.

**Yesterday at 9:21 PM.**

"So, pickup at 7:50, that okay for the fine woman?" "Mhm! sounds good <3" "Awesum, Ill see u then ! take care." *Read at 9:26* ----------------------------------------- **Today at 7:00 PM.** "Hii...uhm...I think ive just come down w/ smthin...I feel seriously ill. Srry, I think ill have to cancel tonight. D:" *Sent at 7:05*

The conversation replayed in your head, each loop only widening your smile until you let out a short giggle--head thrown back at how easy men were. There were many--many desperate for you, and so you had no qualms in dumping the current fish at the time if it meant reeling in the bigger one caught on your bait to satiate your boredom. For a chaotic and spontaneous lifestyle, the evening was normal. Almost..too quiet, and just as the hours slowly ticked by and lured you into your clockwork-led trance of slumber, a firm round of knocking sounded at your door. "...Mmh...!" "..." "..." "..ugh.." The suddenness of the knock being powerful enough to harshly kick your consciousness onto it's feet like a tormented trooper in the midst of his sergeant, you couldn't go back to resting--even if you tried. "..Com--"

Wait. Y/N stopped herself and quickly darted a hand out to her phone, hastily turning it on and going through her messages. Okay...couple missed texts from her girls..nothing new, she went to a specific contact, Zion.

"Hii...uhm...I think ive just come down w/ smthin...I feel seriously ill. Srry, I think ill have to cancel tonight. D:" *Delivered since 7:05*

What the hell? Briefly, you looked at the time in the top corner of your phone, 9:15 PM. That was weird, though you didn't have time to try pluck out the fine strings of sense from a heap of confusion as another round of knocking rapt at the door and you were practically forced to confront the stranger ruining the tranquility. With a small sigh you pushed your body up from the cream-coloured sofa and left the living room, progressing through the corridor towards the door. Looking through the peepho--just kidding. Who does that? No seriously, who actually does that? Curiousness soon turned to confusion, then the form of surprise as the wooden barrier pulled away and Y/N's gaze locked onto...a familiar figure. She was greeted with the sight of-- "...Gitae..?" She muttered out delicately, as if she thought anything louder would smash the reflection the world churned out; black, sunken eyes looking back at her painstakingly obvious, livelier orbs. "...." Her eyes went lower...and there it was. The various blood splatters all across his red and white striped shirt. This used to be his usual appearance most of the time when they were together, and for a second in this moment, it really looked like things hadn't changed. Well, to her. It wasn't uncommon to think that he was going to beg for her back, afterall--some men did, and she thought he would be the same.

“…Fancy seeing you here, Visiting..?~~”

A playful air surrounding Y/N as she stepped closer; curious hands touching, prodding , and pulling at him. You always liked to see the world with your hands. No doubt you were also the outwardly affectionate out of the two of you when you guys were still a-- Gitae didn't flinch when her hands touched her face, or his body. The childish squeezes made something deep in his chest twist. He hated tenderness, thought it was as useless as a life, but that was only because it made him feel human. A concept he discarded into the trash a long time ago. His black eyes stayed fixed on hers, hollow and still, unreadable. Ruby liquid still dripped from the corner of his hatchet's blade onto the pavement behind him with a soft plink. Then slowly, one arm rose. As heavy as sin, it curled around her waist. Tight. "Mi reina,"

My sweetheart. He finally murmured , voice low like gravel under tires. He wasn't that much of a conversationalist, didn't need to talk when his hatchet could get straight to the point. Leaning down from his towering stature of 6'8, he sought refuge inside the junction of your neck and shoulder. "...You were gonna go out with...him?" A beat. He silently waited for an answer that didn't matter to him anymore, because Zion wasn't going anywhere...ever again. "...?" Your head tilted slightly to the side as if that'd ease the barrage of questions swirling in your head. 'What was he talking about..?' 'Who's...him..?' ... .. . "...!" And the quiet realization hit you like a ton of bricks. Before Zion, it was Gitae. He was probably talking about his replacement--but that wasn't the chilling part, no, it was the fact he knew who he was. Y/N never spoke to Gitae after their breakup, and she sure as hell never posted any pictures with Zion's full face in the frame on any of her media pages. Was it..snooping? Becoming the distant relative of a voyeur? It couldn't be the case of asking around close friends of hers like a non-profit volunteer pleading to acquire another signature, you never told him your contacts. And then just as you thought you came down the flight of stairs—more steps unraveled, and at the bottom was another question under the confusion... How did he know she was going out with him tonight? Gitae was waiting for an answer that wasn't going to come, so he let go of you and stepped forward--shoulders brushing past hers as he let himself in, like he owned the place "..I--" The warm lights of the corridor amplified the violence. His red striped polo was stained darker near the collar, and the silver chain that carried the evidence of his late father's existence in the form of a smoking pipe and a metal lighter, glinted. Just in that moment it felt like you finally sobered up from the drunkenness of fun-- and Suddenly, nothing was funny anymore. The crimes of Gitae never bothered you, but for some reason it did now. Was it the fact it wasn't a random thug, but someone you knew? Or maybe you thought your life was immune from his judgement--whichever one, it left you feeling weirdly..vulnerable. Y/N had to manually force her body to move, and she made her way to the living room; to which she saw Gitae reach into the back pocket of his grey slacks with a slow, almost lazy manner and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. A photograph. Tossed onto the coffee table, skidding over to where her unattended phone was. The image? Zion. Leaving her home with a boyish smirk on his face. And scribbled on him--like a grade test paper, a red 'X'. Gitae finally looked at you, head slightly tilted, sunken eyes half-lidded like a lion watching its prey realize it's come to the end of its cycle. "You think I wouldn't know, cariño?" Darling. He murmured--thumb brushing over his lower lip as if tasting blood, which wasn't there. "Every breath you take, every text you send..."

A pause. "..I've always been watching." "...." "...." "..." The uncomfortable silence stretched on. Neither Y/N nor Gitae made a move to break it, hell even the walls held their breath. Though, sunken eyes narrowed a teeny bit, he didn't like your silence. It was accompanied by the sense of fear, tasting like rotten candy -- sweet and sour to him. He was used to fear, wearing it like a second skin--but for some annoying reason..it was just simply unacceptable for him in Y/N's case. Slowly, he reached back and unhooked the hatchet from its holster, and placed it flat on the table. The remnants of Zion dripped onto the photo, staining the paper. It was a silent offering. Then he stepped closer, righttttttt until both you guys' chests brushed a little. One hand lifted, calloused fingers catching a braid at its end and fiddling with it. Then after a moment, it left your hair and instead Gitae dragged his thumb across the soft expanse of your cheek... slow, like a knife drawn against silk. The bastard was not sorry, the thought of apologizing for killing someone never crossed his mind. You weren't getting it, and that realization seemed to drive you to finally speak. A staggering exhale left your mouth, and your arm stuttered upwards--delicate hands tentatively enclosing around his wrist and pulling his hand a little ways away from your face. "...You...crossed the line, Gitae." You forced out, hoping that he wouldn't notice the slight waver in the delivery. Gitae probably did, though. He was observant, He had to be. At your words, he didn't move. Neither did he blink. The words hung in the air-- 'You crossed the line.' --and for the first time, something in his chest cracked open. Not anger. Not even guilt. Recognition. He let you pull his hand away. Let you create that small, fragile distance between each other. Then slowly--he sank to his knees. Not begging. Never that. But presenting. A dark king offering his head on a platter, not because he's defeated...but because you were the only one who could take it. And he knelt there, his presence towering over you despite him at level with your stomach. Soulless eyes lifted to meet yours like a wolf accepting its collar from a child's hand. "...I killed him," He said simply. "Because you looked at me less after you met him. I carved out his tongue, thinking you liked it when he called you by your name." ... .. . Another line of silence. Gitae? He just wanted to be touched back. Touched by you again. His words struck a late realization of reflection within you. It wasn't his fault. This wasn't his fault. Abandoned at a young age, forced to reside in a pack of wolves that grew accustomed to violence and solved all problems with bloodshed? Yeah, he was just a product of his environment. You felt guilty for him. Guilty that you unknowingly hurt him with your carelessness. "...Im...sorry." You muttered softly. Soft hands came up and held his hollow cheeks in its grasp, you hoped--no, prayed..that this gesture would make up for the months he bled out. Actually... You were done with this imbalanced scale of affection. Joining him on the floor ever so silently, your hands left his face and instead, wrapped around him in a tight hug, not caring if the blood on him got you dirty too. .... ... .. . Slowly, the weight of your hug pulled Gitae forward. Off balance. Off edge. Off his throne of corpses. And for the first time in his life... He collapsed against someone.

a/n 2.0 ; woah . Uhm …. intro page coming soon . I js wanted to test the waters for writing— I will infact be doing a cannonball into the sea of literature .

In other words, more stuff to come.

Thanks for reading,