Dis Aliter Visum - Chapter 103 - 2,717 words
Note: slight NSFW. beginning written entirely to muddy waters on repeat. also based on hinoai's dream.
Beta-reader: Lea Summers, Jo and Gold
Chapter summary: The Scarlet Eyes
Chapter 103
Kurapica gasped softly as the Spider Head slid a hand up the outside of his thigh, pressing into his naked skin. The blond pushed up to kiss his mouth, letting out a soft moan when Kuroro's tongue slid against his. He was already reacting, and there was no hiding it, as he was completely naked. It didn't matter. There was only Kuroro with him, and Kurapica had already bared all of himself to the older man. He wanted to show all of it to him: the light, the darkness, the pride, the fears, the courage, the fractured pieces, and the parts of him that he was slowly putting back together. He knew Kuroro would accept it, take all that he could give without judgment, and then reach in for more.
Kurapica wrapped his arms around the older man and pulled him down as he laid back onto the plush mattress. Kuroro followed him, crawling over him and leaning in to bite at his throat. Kurapica arched his neck, opening it up to his lover's attention, letting out a deep moan. The Spider Head slid between his thighs and pressed against him. Kurapica's hips moved of their own volition, seeking more contact. They were both silent - save for the gasp that the blond let out as Kuroro slowly entered him, pushing in, deep. He didn't stop until he was fully inside.
Kurapica closed his eyes and arched his neck again, opening it up for Kuroro to bite again, hard enough to be painful, but the blond didn't mind. He welcomed it, the pain, the pleasure, all of it. Kuroro slid a warm hand up his thigh and grabbed at his hip, holding him in place as he pulled back, then thrust in sharply. Kurapica let out a strangled little whine and pushed into it. He loved the way that Kuroro pressed inside, hit his pleasure spot every single time. They moved apart, back together, slowly, rolling like waves, pleasure gathering. It was slow, more sensual than anything Kurapica had ever experienced with the older man. It felt good, although there wasn't the desperation and need that usually fuelled his encounters with the Spider Head. It was as if he was living each second in slow-motion, feeling Kuroro's hand press lightly against his skin as it slid down to the back of his thigh and pulled at it as he thrust in again.
Kuroro licked and sucked at the bite on his throat and rolled his hips again, making the blond take a shaky breath. Kurapica knew he was vulnerable and knew, somehow, that Kuroro wouldn't harm him. And so he arched his back and opened his thighs wide, lifting his hips into it as the older man pushed in again. This time, Kurapica moaned, and Kuroro kissed his jawline, then pulled back to reach his lips. Their mouths pressed together, they rolled their hips and Kurapica gasped as the older man nibbled at his lower lip. They moved slowly, and it felt amazing, in a different way than their usual frenzied lovemaking.
Lovemaking. This was what it was between them now, and they were both giving themselves willingly; falling together, yes, but in a way that made Kurapica feel both terrified and confident. How these two conflicting emotions could take possession of his soul at the same time, Kurapica simply didn’t know.
Kuroro was tracing a path down his throat with his mouth now, and when he reached the blond's chest, he pushed himself higher with one hand on the mattress, forcing Kurapica to let go of him. The younger man let his arms fall to the mattress, wide open. Kuroro's other hand went to Kurapica's mouth. The blond took two fingers into his mouth and gave them a light suck, then Kuroro let his hand slide down the side of his throat. Kurapica arched his neck and rolled his hips into Kuroro's push. He let out a soft sigh and Kuroro slid his hand down his torso. His palm settled over Kurapica's heart and he pressed down.
Kurapica arched into it, open, defenceless, accepting. When Kuroro's fingers pressed into his chest, he knew what was happening. He welcomed it. His lover's fingertips reached inside, pushing through skin, muscle, flesh. Kurapica could feel blood rolling down his ribs, warm, ticklish, pouring onto the mattress in small crimson rivulets. Kuroro's hand closed around his heart and squeezed. The blond gasped, his eyes watering from the pain and the intensity of the moment. Their eyes met and Kurapica smiled.
As Kuroro pulled at his heart, blood welled up in the back of his throat and his whimper gurgled through it. He couldn't breathe. Another thrust, and Kuroro pulled his heart another centimetre. Kurapica could feel the pull at his aorta, could feel the tear as Kuroro pushed inside of him and pulled at his heart again. Roll of hips, a pull at his chest, veins tearing open, taste of blood, pain. His vision blurred from tears, he watched Kuroro tear his beating heart out of his chest. He watched with dimming vision as his lover held his heart in his hand. The blond couldn't hold his breath any longer. His lungs burned from lack of oxygen. He took in a large breath and felt blood slide down and it hurt - gods, it hurt! As his vision went dark, he saw his heart beat once, twice, and then it stilled, cradled by Kuroro's hand.
He knew no more.
Kurapica sprang up with a cry of pain, disoriented and confused. The noise immediately awoke his companion. Kuroro sat up, slower than he had. His dark gaze was questioning, concerned. Kurapica looked all around him, his heart beating a staccato rhythm in his chest - his living, breathing chest. They were in the car still, seats down. Outside, it was grey with the mist of predawn. He could hear the drizzle pitter-patter over metal and glass. His breathed in deep, painful gasps. His chest hurt, as if in memory of the dream.
“Nightmare?” Kuroro asked softly, his voice barely audible, careful.
Kurapica nodded, then shook his head. He didn't know how to explain it. He knew it couldn't be considered a nice dream, but it hadn't been frightening either. If anything, Kurapica was more concerned with how calm he had been in the dream, how accepting. Kuroro was literally killing him - or maybe it was a metaphor for his feelings that had developed for the older man. In any case, Kurapica had taken it all, had accepted the pain and even death, only because it was at the hand of the Spider Head.
That was worrying him, now that he was awake. It couldn't be a good sign.
Kuroro was still watching him carefully. His gaze was heavy, and the blond could nearly feel the gears turning in Kuroro's mind as he tried to understand Kurapica's conflicting response.
“It was a dream,” the Kuruta finally acknowledge. “I wouldn't call it a nightmare, but it was rather disquieting.”
Kuroro accepted this with a nod and reached to the side of his seat. He pulled the handle that would raise the backrest, and Kurapica followed suit.
“Do you want to leave now, since we're both awake?” Kuroro asked, already reaching for the key, which was still in the ignition.
Kurapica nodded.
“I don't think I could eat right now,” he said. “So unless you're hungry, we might as well go now.”
Kuroro twisted the key in and started the car. Kurapica settled with his head against the window, trying to sort out his thoughts. It was a mess right now, and he had expected to struggle with his plan, but he had underestimated how hard it was really going to be. His dream only highlighted how convoluted his feelings regarding the Spider Head had become.
Around mid-morning, their path started winding around copses of trees. It was becoming quite difficult to find a route that was large enough to let the car through. By the time they stopped for lunch, it was clear that they would have to continue on foot. They ate quietly, then Kurapica watched Kuroro lock the car securely. The older man noticed his gaze and had a wry smile.
“Hardly anyone ever makes it here,” he began.
“Anymore,” the blond cut in.
“Anymore,” Kuroro agreed, not a twinge of guilt on his face, “but that doesn't mean I won't make it harder for anyone who happens to pass by to steal the car.”
Kurapica didn't really care. He didn't think they'd need it anymore. He shrugged and turned away, starting off in the direction of his old village. Kuroro followed close behind. He was quiet, but the blond could hear the sound of his boots on the forest floor. He knew these woods like he knew himself - though he had been rather shocked with himself in recent months. The calls of birds, the chirping of crickets, the rustles of the trees were all painfully familiar, and he rubbed at his chest to try and ease the discomfort. His ribs felt too tight and it was a fight just to keep breathing.
They walked for a few hours, hiking up steep hills, then down into rocky valleys, green and grey with vegetation and stone. When they reached a narrow path cut into a cliff face by a stream and thousands of years, Kurapica stopped.
“I will continue alone,” he said, not looking at the Spider Head. “Leave the Eyes here.”
“There are a lot of them,” Kuroro said. “You can't carry them all. Besides, digging alone would take a long time. The ground is full of roots and rocks.”
“Nevertheless,” the Kuruta countered, his eyes on the trees he could see between the steep slopes, “I will go on alone.”
“Kurapica,” the older man began, his tone like that of one trying to reason with a recalcitrant child.
The blond bristled, but he forced himself to calm down. Getting defensive would only delay him further.
“Kuroro,” he said softly, “I need to do this alone. This is my quest, my pain. It is not for you to see. No matter the help you provided up until now, coming with me will not right this wrong. You still feel nothing for this genocide. You coming with me would only add insult to injury. I need to be alone with my ghosts. Leave.” He struggled with himself, but managed to add, “Please.”
The Spider Head was silent a long, uncomfortable minute, then he finally inclined his head, and Kurapica could finally breathe. Wordlessly, Kuroro conjured his Skill Hunter and from there got the Fun Fun Cloth and all that it contained. He then sat down on a fallen tree trunk and took a book out of the luggage that had appeared along with the Eyes.
Kurapica finally turned to look at him, but Kuroro didn't look up from his book. And so began the task of picking up as many containers as Kurapica could carry, and bring them a fair distance, before returning for more. It took quite a few back and forth, and as he finally returned for the last ones, Kuroro finally spoke up.
“I'll wait for you here,” he said, looking up from his book to fix an unreadable gaze on the Kuruta. “I will wait for you right here.”
Kurapica nodded.
“I will return,” he promised, then focused on his task.
He carried them about halfway to where the ruin of his hometown lay, then glanced at the pile of containers he'd amassed there already. He did a quick count and, reassured that all were accounted for, he trekked the rest of the way with those he carried. Charred remains of houses and huts still showed deep black against the forest green. Grief hit him, like a hole deep inside of his chest, a dying star, slowly imploding. He set the Eyes down and kept his eyes on the ground as he went back to get the rest. He refused to let himself fall apart.
He had a task to do, and he would see it done. He would fall apart later, after it was done.
If he survived.
He doubted he would.
Back and forth he went again, this time without Kuroro looking on. It helped some. Once all of the precious containers were gathered near the first house, the blond made his way to the mass grave where his family and friends now lay. He stood there for some time, watching the grass that had grown over the harshest tragedy of his admittedly short life. Grass didn't care that it grew where blood had bathed the ground, where Kurapica's loved ones had lain dead, empty eye sockets staring, unseeing, at an indifferent sky. Such was the cycle of life and death. Kurapica had known that. He'd known, but he hadn't known, not until he'd returned to hollow, burnt out shells of houses and over a hundred corpses staring up blindly at the heavens. He hadn't known until the pain of loss had surged over him like a tsunami.
Now he knew. He knew and wished this eternal cycle had remained safely away, in the careful detachment of words on paper, in the distant, clinical gaze of historians relating eons-old calamities. The shovel he'd used to bury his dead was still there, the wood grey with age. He grabbed it and wiggled the shaft to make sure it was still solid, despite having been left to the elements for a few years. It seemed to hold, so Kurapica started to work.
The sun beat down on him mercilessly when he began, and progressed through the sky to dip beyond the horizon as he worked. Night fell and he could barely see for a time, but then the moon came out, bright and not quite round. He dug deep, wanting to make sure no one would ever touch the Eyes that had cost his people their lives, and by the time he was done digging, he was down to his tank top and covered in sweat. He didn't care. It was small a price to pay to protect the only thing he had left of the people he had loved.
He didn't know what time it was when he finally climbed out of the hole he had dug and opened the first canister. Time had never really meant much here. It was a foreign concept, born in cities where people rushed about. Lukso's heart beat to a different rhythm. There would be no need for the metal and glass containers, or the protective liquid. The moment his fingers touched the first delicate eyeball, he felt something in his chest break into a million minuscule pieces. He fought to contain the pain, and placed the eye down into the hole he had dug, murmuring a prayer that spoke of earth and wind and trees. With every pair, he murmured the prayer again, and each repeat made him a little stronger.
He kept his mind on his family, his friends, even the tribe members he had not gotten along with. They each deserved peace, whether Kurapica had retrieved their eyes or not. Not all had been disfigured in death, but each had suffered. When he had emptied every container, he put shovel to earth and covered the eyes that he no longer could see, now that the moon was getting so low in the sky. He erected no temple, no memorial to the dead. Their temple would be the earth under his feet, the sky above his head, the mountains that surrounded the valley; their memorial would be the silent trees.
He threw the canisters into a pit on the far side of the village, where the tribe had once gotten rid of trash, then shovelled more earth on top of it, to bury them too.
He took one last look at what was left of the houses of his people, then turned towards the east, where Kuroro waited for him. He could do with some sleep, but he knew sleep would not come, not until this was all over. Squaring his shoulders, he turned his feet eastwards and walked away from his past and towards his end.
Beta-reader: Lea Summers, Jo and Gold
Chapter summary: The Scarlet Eyes
Chapter 103
Kurapica gasped softly as the Spider Head slid a hand up the outside of his thigh, pressing into his naked skin. The blond pushed up to kiss his mouth, letting out a soft moan when Kuroro's tongue slid against his. He was already reacting, and there was no hiding it, as he was completely naked. It didn't matter. There was only Kuroro with him, and Kurapica had already bared all of himself to the older man. He wanted to show all of it to him: the light, the darkness, the pride, the fears, the courage, the fractured pieces, and the parts of him that he was slowly putting back together. He knew Kuroro would accept it, take all that he could give without judgment, and then reach in for more.
Kurapica wrapped his arms around the older man and pulled him down as he laid back onto the plush mattress. Kuroro followed him, crawling over him and leaning in to bite at his throat. Kurapica arched his neck, opening it up to his lover's attention, letting out a deep moan. The Spider Head slid between his thighs and pressed against him. Kurapica's hips moved of their own volition, seeking more contact. They were both silent - save for the gasp that the blond let out as Kuroro slowly entered him, pushing in, deep. He didn't stop until he was fully inside.
Kurapica closed his eyes and arched his neck again, opening it up for Kuroro to bite again, hard enough to be painful, but the blond didn't mind. He welcomed it, the pain, the pleasure, all of it. Kuroro slid a warm hand up his thigh and grabbed at his hip, holding him in place as he pulled back, then thrust in sharply. Kurapica let out a strangled little whine and pushed into it. He loved the way that Kuroro pressed inside, hit his pleasure spot every single time. They moved apart, back together, slowly, rolling like waves, pleasure gathering. It was slow, more sensual than anything Kurapica had ever experienced with the older man. It felt good, although there wasn't the desperation and need that usually fuelled his encounters with the Spider Head. It was as if he was living each second in slow-motion, feeling Kuroro's hand press lightly against his skin as it slid down to the back of his thigh and pulled at it as he thrust in again.
Kuroro licked and sucked at the bite on his throat and rolled his hips again, making the blond take a shaky breath. Kurapica knew he was vulnerable and knew, somehow, that Kuroro wouldn't harm him. And so he arched his back and opened his thighs wide, lifting his hips into it as the older man pushed in again. This time, Kurapica moaned, and Kuroro kissed his jawline, then pulled back to reach his lips. Their mouths pressed together, they rolled their hips and Kurapica gasped as the older man nibbled at his lower lip. They moved slowly, and it felt amazing, in a different way than their usual frenzied lovemaking.
Lovemaking. This was what it was between them now, and they were both giving themselves willingly; falling together, yes, but in a way that made Kurapica feel both terrified and confident. How these two conflicting emotions could take possession of his soul at the same time, Kurapica simply didn’t know.
Kuroro was tracing a path down his throat with his mouth now, and when he reached the blond's chest, he pushed himself higher with one hand on the mattress, forcing Kurapica to let go of him. The younger man let his arms fall to the mattress, wide open. Kuroro's other hand went to Kurapica's mouth. The blond took two fingers into his mouth and gave them a light suck, then Kuroro let his hand slide down the side of his throat. Kurapica arched his neck and rolled his hips into Kuroro's push. He let out a soft sigh and Kuroro slid his hand down his torso. His palm settled over Kurapica's heart and he pressed down.
Kurapica arched into it, open, defenceless, accepting. When Kuroro's fingers pressed into his chest, he knew what was happening. He welcomed it. His lover's fingertips reached inside, pushing through skin, muscle, flesh. Kurapica could feel blood rolling down his ribs, warm, ticklish, pouring onto the mattress in small crimson rivulets. Kuroro's hand closed around his heart and squeezed. The blond gasped, his eyes watering from the pain and the intensity of the moment. Their eyes met and Kurapica smiled.
As Kuroro pulled at his heart, blood welled up in the back of his throat and his whimper gurgled through it. He couldn't breathe. Another thrust, and Kuroro pulled his heart another centimetre. Kurapica could feel the pull at his aorta, could feel the tear as Kuroro pushed inside of him and pulled at his heart again. Roll of hips, a pull at his chest, veins tearing open, taste of blood, pain. His vision blurred from tears, he watched Kuroro tear his beating heart out of his chest. He watched with dimming vision as his lover held his heart in his hand. The blond couldn't hold his breath any longer. His lungs burned from lack of oxygen. He took in a large breath and felt blood slide down and it hurt - gods, it hurt! As his vision went dark, he saw his heart beat once, twice, and then it stilled, cradled by Kuroro's hand.
He knew no more.
Kurapica sprang up with a cry of pain, disoriented and confused. The noise immediately awoke his companion. Kuroro sat up, slower than he had. His dark gaze was questioning, concerned. Kurapica looked all around him, his heart beating a staccato rhythm in his chest - his living, breathing chest. They were in the car still, seats down. Outside, it was grey with the mist of predawn. He could hear the drizzle pitter-patter over metal and glass. His breathed in deep, painful gasps. His chest hurt, as if in memory of the dream.
“Nightmare?” Kuroro asked softly, his voice barely audible, careful.
Kurapica nodded, then shook his head. He didn't know how to explain it. He knew it couldn't be considered a nice dream, but it hadn't been frightening either. If anything, Kurapica was more concerned with how calm he had been in the dream, how accepting. Kuroro was literally killing him - or maybe it was a metaphor for his feelings that had developed for the older man. In any case, Kurapica had taken it all, had accepted the pain and even death, only because it was at the hand of the Spider Head.
That was worrying him, now that he was awake. It couldn't be a good sign.
Kuroro was still watching him carefully. His gaze was heavy, and the blond could nearly feel the gears turning in Kuroro's mind as he tried to understand Kurapica's conflicting response.
“It was a dream,” the Kuruta finally acknowledge. “I wouldn't call it a nightmare, but it was rather disquieting.”
Kuroro accepted this with a nod and reached to the side of his seat. He pulled the handle that would raise the backrest, and Kurapica followed suit.
“Do you want to leave now, since we're both awake?” Kuroro asked, already reaching for the key, which was still in the ignition.
Kurapica nodded.
“I don't think I could eat right now,” he said. “So unless you're hungry, we might as well go now.”
Kuroro twisted the key in and started the car. Kurapica settled with his head against the window, trying to sort out his thoughts. It was a mess right now, and he had expected to struggle with his plan, but he had underestimated how hard it was really going to be. His dream only highlighted how convoluted his feelings regarding the Spider Head had become.
Around mid-morning, their path started winding around copses of trees. It was becoming quite difficult to find a route that was large enough to let the car through. By the time they stopped for lunch, it was clear that they would have to continue on foot. They ate quietly, then Kurapica watched Kuroro lock the car securely. The older man noticed his gaze and had a wry smile.
“Hardly anyone ever makes it here,” he began.
“Anymore,” the blond cut in.
“Anymore,” Kuroro agreed, not a twinge of guilt on his face, “but that doesn't mean I won't make it harder for anyone who happens to pass by to steal the car.”
Kurapica didn't really care. He didn't think they'd need it anymore. He shrugged and turned away, starting off in the direction of his old village. Kuroro followed close behind. He was quiet, but the blond could hear the sound of his boots on the forest floor. He knew these woods like he knew himself - though he had been rather shocked with himself in recent months. The calls of birds, the chirping of crickets, the rustles of the trees were all painfully familiar, and he rubbed at his chest to try and ease the discomfort. His ribs felt too tight and it was a fight just to keep breathing.
They walked for a few hours, hiking up steep hills, then down into rocky valleys, green and grey with vegetation and stone. When they reached a narrow path cut into a cliff face by a stream and thousands of years, Kurapica stopped.
“I will continue alone,” he said, not looking at the Spider Head. “Leave the Eyes here.”
“There are a lot of them,” Kuroro said. “You can't carry them all. Besides, digging alone would take a long time. The ground is full of roots and rocks.”
“Nevertheless,” the Kuruta countered, his eyes on the trees he could see between the steep slopes, “I will go on alone.”
“Kurapica,” the older man began, his tone like that of one trying to reason with a recalcitrant child.
The blond bristled, but he forced himself to calm down. Getting defensive would only delay him further.
“Kuroro,” he said softly, “I need to do this alone. This is my quest, my pain. It is not for you to see. No matter the help you provided up until now, coming with me will not right this wrong. You still feel nothing for this genocide. You coming with me would only add insult to injury. I need to be alone with my ghosts. Leave.” He struggled with himself, but managed to add, “Please.”
The Spider Head was silent a long, uncomfortable minute, then he finally inclined his head, and Kurapica could finally breathe. Wordlessly, Kuroro conjured his Skill Hunter and from there got the Fun Fun Cloth and all that it contained. He then sat down on a fallen tree trunk and took a book out of the luggage that had appeared along with the Eyes.
Kurapica finally turned to look at him, but Kuroro didn't look up from his book. And so began the task of picking up as many containers as Kurapica could carry, and bring them a fair distance, before returning for more. It took quite a few back and forth, and as he finally returned for the last ones, Kuroro finally spoke up.
“I'll wait for you here,” he said, looking up from his book to fix an unreadable gaze on the Kuruta. “I will wait for you right here.”
Kurapica nodded.
“I will return,” he promised, then focused on his task.
He carried them about halfway to where the ruin of his hometown lay, then glanced at the pile of containers he'd amassed there already. He did a quick count and, reassured that all were accounted for, he trekked the rest of the way with those he carried. Charred remains of houses and huts still showed deep black against the forest green. Grief hit him, like a hole deep inside of his chest, a dying star, slowly imploding. He set the Eyes down and kept his eyes on the ground as he went back to get the rest. He refused to let himself fall apart.
He had a task to do, and he would see it done. He would fall apart later, after it was done.
If he survived.
He doubted he would.
Back and forth he went again, this time without Kuroro looking on. It helped some. Once all of the precious containers were gathered near the first house, the blond made his way to the mass grave where his family and friends now lay. He stood there for some time, watching the grass that had grown over the harshest tragedy of his admittedly short life. Grass didn't care that it grew where blood had bathed the ground, where Kurapica's loved ones had lain dead, empty eye sockets staring, unseeing, at an indifferent sky. Such was the cycle of life and death. Kurapica had known that. He'd known, but he hadn't known, not until he'd returned to hollow, burnt out shells of houses and over a hundred corpses staring up blindly at the heavens. He hadn't known until the pain of loss had surged over him like a tsunami.
Now he knew. He knew and wished this eternal cycle had remained safely away, in the careful detachment of words on paper, in the distant, clinical gaze of historians relating eons-old calamities. The shovel he'd used to bury his dead was still there, the wood grey with age. He grabbed it and wiggled the shaft to make sure it was still solid, despite having been left to the elements for a few years. It seemed to hold, so Kurapica started to work.
The sun beat down on him mercilessly when he began, and progressed through the sky to dip beyond the horizon as he worked. Night fell and he could barely see for a time, but then the moon came out, bright and not quite round. He dug deep, wanting to make sure no one would ever touch the Eyes that had cost his people their lives, and by the time he was done digging, he was down to his tank top and covered in sweat. He didn't care. It was small a price to pay to protect the only thing he had left of the people he had loved.
He didn't know what time it was when he finally climbed out of the hole he had dug and opened the first canister. Time had never really meant much here. It was a foreign concept, born in cities where people rushed about. Lukso's heart beat to a different rhythm. There would be no need for the metal and glass containers, or the protective liquid. The moment his fingers touched the first delicate eyeball, he felt something in his chest break into a million minuscule pieces. He fought to contain the pain, and placed the eye down into the hole he had dug, murmuring a prayer that spoke of earth and wind and trees. With every pair, he murmured the prayer again, and each repeat made him a little stronger.
He kept his mind on his family, his friends, even the tribe members he had not gotten along with. They each deserved peace, whether Kurapica had retrieved their eyes or not. Not all had been disfigured in death, but each had suffered. When he had emptied every container, he put shovel to earth and covered the eyes that he no longer could see, now that the moon was getting so low in the sky. He erected no temple, no memorial to the dead. Their temple would be the earth under his feet, the sky above his head, the mountains that surrounded the valley; their memorial would be the silent trees.
He threw the canisters into a pit on the far side of the village, where the tribe had once gotten rid of trash, then shovelled more earth on top of it, to bury them too.
He took one last look at what was left of the houses of his people, then turned towards the east, where Kuroro waited for him. He could do with some sleep, but he knew sleep would not come, not until this was all over. Squaring his shoulders, he turned his feet eastwards and walked away from his past and towards his end.