[My Dark Side]
La! \o It's nice to see this place again. *plops self down and stays*
(Ficwise, basically this is the ending of an AU I've wanted to write for forever where Fujigaya is the Apocalypse and the other six are sentinels sent to keep him from... happening (... and plot happens, but this is the end, so none of that nonsense.) I'm a bit chronologically challenged.)
♦♦♦
Right then, right as they stepped into the light, Senga felt the overwhelming urge to cry. He had stood for centuries as a sentinel, tall and proud and strong, but now he wished for nothing more than to turn away from what lay before his eyes.
He and his brothers, fellow sentinels, surveyed the scene before them. The six of them had walked within the lands of many souls, all different. Some had been radiant in their splendor, the soul thriving with a vivacity that awed all who looked upon it. But not all of them. Others were miserable things, mere shadows of their intended glory. But this… this was tragic. This was painful.
The landscape of this soul is bleak, with the ground cracked and shattered, the craggy rock torn by ice and trees withered and deadened, as if a fire had raged across the land before it had all frozen over. The sky was overcast, harsh even as the clouds hung low on the horizon.
Senga had never seen a soul so devastated. But that wasn’t what made the sight before him so heartbreaking.
He had seen this soul once before, when the sun blazed with joy and the earth beneath his feet sang with wonder and delight. Every color had been rich and vibrant, to reflect the soul that had welcomed them all.
Now Senga could only watch as Kitayama walked ahead, treading carefully over broken rocks, ice, and the ashes of life. Senga noticed how he kept his face turned away from them all and knew that none of them would have brought themselves to look, because some things were too raw, too intimate, to be shared, even between sentinels.
They all held their breath as Kitayama gently brushed his fingertips over anything he could touch. Senga’s heart leapt in hope at the flare of color, of life, as Kitayama’s soul reached out.
There was still hope.
They all pretend to not hear as Kitayama quietly spoke, pretended not to hear the way his voice caught. “Don’t be gone. Don’t… Just. Come back.”
He continued walking, and they all trailed after him. Senga’s heart pounded in his ears, like a clash of dread and hope as Kitayama tried to coax life from the soul, wanting the patches of color that appeared to be something more than just an extension of Kitayama’s own light, more than Kitayama’s determination to make sure the story didn’t end here.
Soon they reached the center of the soul, a small grove of what had once been the most beautiful sakura trees. These were now all burnt skeletons of their former glory, though they slowly recovered under Kitayama’s touch, green and red and blue swirling in the ether of the soul and spreading along the ground.
“Maybe…” It was Tamamori who finally broke the silence. “Maybe he really is gone. Maybe he burned himself out, holding the walls up.”
Holding up the walls they’d built to trap him.
“No,” Kitayama said, voice rough but filled with conviction. “No, he’s here. Damn it, Fujigaya, where are you!”
“…Kitayama?”
They all froze, as the voice came faintly from among the trees. The colors brought to life by Kitayama leaped at the sound, whirling through the trees until they weren’t quite here or there, no sakura trees, but neither were they really even trees exactly. It was like they were from a painting, in the realm of not quite real.
Fujigaya carefully stepped out of this swirl of not quite real, moving like a fragile dream, to be blown away at the slightest force of wind. His appearance was as desolate as the state of his soul, but he stared at Kitayama with a faint spark of hope.
“Kitayama? You…”
He didn’t get much further, because suddenly Kitayama was there, crushing Fujigaya to him in a hug that was jarring and imperfect, but suddenly light flooded upon them, the sun battling its way through the clouds.
And Senga watched, because there was nowhere else to look but at this moment that wasn’t his, wasn’t anyone’s but Kitayama’s and Fujigaya’s.
“You came back for me,” Fujigaya whispered in amazement. Amazed that Kitayama would return, despite all the promises, because Fujigaya was bad. Fujigaya was the dark, the monster that had threatened to tear apart the seams of reality.
“I told you I would,” Kitayama said in return, saying that instead of what he wanted to say. About how he was sorry for every lie, every last one of them, and how he was so proud of Fujigaya for being brave. Then he said the one thing he could say. Senga had only heard the name uttered once before, when Kitayama had been forced to say goodbye. Senga would only ever hear it this one more time, as Kitayama held Fujigaya again. “I promised you I would, Taisuke.”
Above them, the cherry blossoms bloomed.
♦♦♦
(Ficwise, basically this is the ending of an AU I've wanted to write for forever where Fujigaya is the Apocalypse and the other six are sentinels sent to keep him from... happening (... and plot happens, but this is the end, so none of that nonsense.) I'm a bit chronologically challenged.)
♦♦♦
Right then, right as they stepped into the light, Senga felt the overwhelming urge to cry. He had stood for centuries as a sentinel, tall and proud and strong, but now he wished for nothing more than to turn away from what lay before his eyes.
He and his brothers, fellow sentinels, surveyed the scene before them. The six of them had walked within the lands of many souls, all different. Some had been radiant in their splendor, the soul thriving with a vivacity that awed all who looked upon it. But not all of them. Others were miserable things, mere shadows of their intended glory. But this… this was tragic. This was painful.
The landscape of this soul is bleak, with the ground cracked and shattered, the craggy rock torn by ice and trees withered and deadened, as if a fire had raged across the land before it had all frozen over. The sky was overcast, harsh even as the clouds hung low on the horizon.
Senga had never seen a soul so devastated. But that wasn’t what made the sight before him so heartbreaking.
He had seen this soul once before, when the sun blazed with joy and the earth beneath his feet sang with wonder and delight. Every color had been rich and vibrant, to reflect the soul that had welcomed them all.
Now Senga could only watch as Kitayama walked ahead, treading carefully over broken rocks, ice, and the ashes of life. Senga noticed how he kept his face turned away from them all and knew that none of them would have brought themselves to look, because some things were too raw, too intimate, to be shared, even between sentinels.
They all held their breath as Kitayama gently brushed his fingertips over anything he could touch. Senga’s heart leapt in hope at the flare of color, of life, as Kitayama’s soul reached out.
There was still hope.
They all pretend to not hear as Kitayama quietly spoke, pretended not to hear the way his voice caught. “Don’t be gone. Don’t… Just. Come back.”
He continued walking, and they all trailed after him. Senga’s heart pounded in his ears, like a clash of dread and hope as Kitayama tried to coax life from the soul, wanting the patches of color that appeared to be something more than just an extension of Kitayama’s own light, more than Kitayama’s determination to make sure the story didn’t end here.
Soon they reached the center of the soul, a small grove of what had once been the most beautiful sakura trees. These were now all burnt skeletons of their former glory, though they slowly recovered under Kitayama’s touch, green and red and blue swirling in the ether of the soul and spreading along the ground.
“Maybe…” It was Tamamori who finally broke the silence. “Maybe he really is gone. Maybe he burned himself out, holding the walls up.”
Holding up the walls they’d built to trap him.
“No,” Kitayama said, voice rough but filled with conviction. “No, he’s here. Damn it, Fujigaya, where are you!”
“…Kitayama?”
They all froze, as the voice came faintly from among the trees. The colors brought to life by Kitayama leaped at the sound, whirling through the trees until they weren’t quite here or there, no sakura trees, but neither were they really even trees exactly. It was like they were from a painting, in the realm of not quite real.
Fujigaya carefully stepped out of this swirl of not quite real, moving like a fragile dream, to be blown away at the slightest force of wind. His appearance was as desolate as the state of his soul, but he stared at Kitayama with a faint spark of hope.
“Kitayama? You…”
He didn’t get much further, because suddenly Kitayama was there, crushing Fujigaya to him in a hug that was jarring and imperfect, but suddenly light flooded upon them, the sun battling its way through the clouds.
And Senga watched, because there was nowhere else to look but at this moment that wasn’t his, wasn’t anyone’s but Kitayama’s and Fujigaya’s.
“You came back for me,” Fujigaya whispered in amazement. Amazed that Kitayama would return, despite all the promises, because Fujigaya was bad. Fujigaya was the dark, the monster that had threatened to tear apart the seams of reality.
“I told you I would,” Kitayama said in return, saying that instead of what he wanted to say. About how he was sorry for every lie, every last one of them, and how he was so proud of Fujigaya for being brave. Then he said the one thing he could say. Senga had only heard the name uttered once before, when Kitayama had been forced to say goodbye. Senga would only ever hear it this one more time, as Kitayama held Fujigaya again. “I promised you I would, Taisuke.”
Above them, the cherry blossoms bloomed.
♦♦♦