so he tried hard, the great hero, the revolutionary with no filter in his mouth loved and hated by the world in shambles ━so hard he could feel his braincells shatter in a fingersnap, for blood had already started to flow off his scarred mouth alongside anger, despair, a desire to just give a last try after a last try when moments before there was nothing but resignation to a fate that was just written in lines of code embedded within the very tissue of their reality.
( the burden of the guardians was an ugly one, an oh so ugly one. )
and with the taste of metal and debris in his mouth he had taken already another punch from the baroness, his grip almost there to leave his dented sword to fall away, but not yet ━not when the sight of rose’s bleeding, lifeless corpse was just looking at his own shaking carmines with her dead lilacs as eternal reminder, and each exchange would just foment his rage, his desperation, not when there was so much he wanted to do, not when his own breath was still ragged and the groans heavy as they dissipate in the air.
he felt huge hand grasping at his dirty white hair and lift, effortlessly, nails trying to sink into his scalp and reach the bone ━his figure barely struggling in the numbing pain, sure of a few ribs being busted and one of those piercing his lung as each attempt at inhaling air only caused more ache, so much more ache. his trembling orbs went from the lost grip on his weapon to her other monstrous hand holding it and up to her face ━and boy if he felt like giving a new definition to how facing death felt like.
her grin resembled an anglerfish’s. wide, extremely gifted in teeth, and ready to chop his head away with one bite while smearing away her most likely cheap fuchsia lipstick, which wasn’t the scenario he hoped for ( never was, but alas it happened, carved in timestone, unchangeable ).
but the sight of pointy shades, caught on the side while croaking for an insult or two ( “ you will never be victorious━ ” ), even more painful.
You lived, you died.
You come to a new place, live, die, and leave again.
What the actual shit was this now, waking back up to find himself in...shit, as usual. You will sigh, not knowing about the surroundings for a couple of minutes as you grasped at your chest--not so holy anymore, huh?
At least, until the sounds of battle reached your ears, looking up to see an un-fucking-believable sight. Your eyes will narrow at the sight, letting a grumble of concern, explicitly stated as:
Shitty katana equipped--scratch that, katanas are the fucking best so who gives a rat’s ass--, you could only look on at what happens, silent as you approached. If you could perhaps strike the aggressor from behind, then the not so little dude he saw would be slightly less about to be killed.
Damn city limited what you could do, but at least you were approaching the other’s location. It might take time, time you didn’t have, but you would at least try. That’s all you ever did--try. Tried to do the right thing, fucked up, story of your life.
You can’t say anything, for the first time you’re actually speechless--no witty remark, no comeback, only a furrowed brow and a hand gripping your katana.
Looking at the one about to attack the one with those oh so sweet shades, you immediately judged her to be a bitch. A bitch among bitches, if you will. Queen bitch...yeah, sounds about right.
Dammit, hopefully you can reach their location in time to be at least semi useful.
snowghoul
theartofmadeline
andulkaphoto
2087
vaporwave
