Instead, his eyes sweep on over to Yuri who so happens to be wearing that gauze of hers. ]
I also assume it was a memory of yours, given the current pattern.
...Is your gauze supposed to—
[ Even though Blade asked like that because he might figure it could be a curse thing (is it with any tact? Perhaps not, but...), the memories that dare to attack others right or left do not exactly seem intent on offering much reprieve.
'To breathe is to suffocate, to live is to struggle endlessly, looking for a reprieve that arrives, only to be cut shot. Agony swells until it feels incomprehensible; the ability to shatter, pieces falling at one's feet with no one to pick up the jagged blades except one's own hand. These are the thoughts that swell pervasively cling to the body of this corpse that still walks forward—no not quite that, but a weapon.
One seeking total oblivion, complete release from this mortal coil...but not only that.
VENGEANCE.
Who else would it be? The drag of these feet across many worlds, across many stars, across many cities, and places and the dregs — and his mind stops whirling, as his steps cease to creep in the darkness. There is a man who continues to run from his past.
There is a man who insists that what has happened has nothing to do with him. In the distant background, of words being repeated, recounting the sins, as if commanding him to remember them, there is one who knows the truth. One this man refuses to face...Dan Feng, who now dares to call himself Dan Heng.
There he stands, steps taken perhaps careless or cautiously — perhaps he already knows.
That Blade is tailing him. Has been, ever since he has landed upon this wretched world, where the skyscrapers reach into a sky that seems to be covered by the night of darkness; only illuminated by bright city lights. The place is inconsequential. This isn't the first time Blade has set upon him, after all.
His crimson sword feels weightless in his hands as he steps closer, and closer, and closer still — then the young man (the ancient Viyadhara) turns to face Blade clear in the face, shouting meaningless protests. His words are drowned out by the red haze in his head, slowly driving him towards a destination even he cannot name.
Air almost seems to give as Blade's sword can only slice towards this one. The one he'd hunt to the ends of the universe. One he'd always recognize that would dare to obscure himself from his culpability.
This one.
They dance, and maybe Blade says something. He doesn't remember.
"Enough hiding. It's futile...you must know it."
That is all he says. That is all he needs to say. The man seems rife, finally, from a certain apoplexy granted to him because of the simple fact he is made to confront this past again and again. It fuels the way he fights expertly with that polearm of his, twirling it, striking back at Blade mercilessly, without any desire to give quarter. So much unlike their first fight, where Blade had to keep pushing him to make him realize he must fell him properly to stop the battle.
But, surely, he remembers? The muscle memory, that real memory, it drives Dan Feng to unequivocal victory, as the spear sails through the air, its target true, piercing painfully through Blade's chest. No matter how many times, no matter how much pain runs through this broken body...
Blood spills inelegantly to the ground.
And as for Blade, he laughs, again and again, ignoring the look of horror on the other's face. Or is it a form of dismay? It's a pity that this time, his efforts truly didn't stick.
He can only wonder...would it ever?
Either way, he watches the way the other pulls the spear out, the taste of blood thick in his mouth, the way his body slumps to the ground, vision sweeped in red as the other retreats is clear.
No hiding. No hiding...does he think he can hide for long?
No one can hide from him. No one can hide forever. That is the truth; this is what Blade thinks as he feels the claws of death temporarily grip a hold of him, before they are inevitable to release him again, thanks to what is inside of him—'
And just like that, the memory ends, practically rude of it to begin in the middle of a conversation, but that is just how it is, it seems. ]
cw: suicidal ideation, violence
[ Not that Blade seems bothered by it.
Instead, his eyes sweep on over to Yuri who so happens to be wearing that gauze of hers. ]
I also assume it was a memory of yours, given the current pattern.
...Is your gauze supposed to—
[ Even though Blade asked like that because he might figure it could be a curse thing (is it with any tact? Perhaps not, but...), the memories that dare to attack others right or left do not exactly seem intent on offering much reprieve.
'To breathe is to suffocate, to live is to struggle endlessly, looking for a reprieve that arrives, only to be cut shot. Agony swells until it feels incomprehensible; the ability to shatter, pieces falling at one's feet with no one to pick up the jagged blades except one's own hand. These are the thoughts that swell pervasively cling to the body of this corpse that still walks forward—no not quite that, but a weapon.
One seeking total oblivion, complete release from this mortal coil...but not only that.
VENGEANCE.
Who else would it be? The drag of these feet across many worlds, across many stars, across many cities, and places and the dregs — and his mind stops whirling, as his steps cease to creep in the darkness. There is a man who continues to run from his past.
There is a man who insists that what has happened has nothing to do with him. In the distant background, of words being repeated, recounting the sins, as if commanding him to remember them, there is one who knows the truth. One this man refuses to face...Dan Feng, who now dares to call himself Dan Heng.
There he stands, steps taken perhaps careless or cautiously — perhaps he already knows.
That Blade is tailing him. Has been, ever since he has landed upon this wretched world, where the skyscrapers reach into a sky that seems to be covered by the night of darkness; only illuminated by bright city lights. The place is inconsequential. This isn't the first time Blade has set upon him, after all.
His crimson sword feels weightless in his hands as he steps closer, and closer, and closer still — then the young man (the ancient Viyadhara) turns to face Blade clear in the face, shouting meaningless protests. His words are drowned out by the red haze in his head, slowly driving him towards a destination even he cannot name.
Air almost seems to give as Blade's sword can only slice towards this one. The one he'd hunt to the ends of the universe. One he'd always recognize that would dare to obscure himself from his culpability.
This one.
They dance, and maybe Blade says something. He doesn't remember.
"Enough hiding. It's futile...you must know it."
That is all he says. That is all he needs to say. The man seems rife, finally, from a certain apoplexy granted to him because of the simple fact he is made to confront this past again and again. It fuels the way he fights expertly with that polearm of his, twirling it, striking back at Blade mercilessly, without any desire to give quarter. So much unlike their first fight, where Blade had to keep pushing him to make him realize he must fell him properly to stop the battle.
But, surely, he remembers? The muscle memory, that real memory, it drives Dan Feng to unequivocal victory, as the spear sails through the air, its target true, piercing painfully through Blade's chest. No matter how many times, no matter how much pain runs through this broken body...
Blood spills inelegantly to the ground.
And as for Blade, he laughs, again and again, ignoring the look of horror on the other's face. Or is it a form of dismay? It's a pity that this time, his efforts truly didn't stick.
He can only wonder...would it ever?
Either way, he watches the way the other pulls the spear out, the taste of blood thick in his mouth, the way his body slumps to the ground, vision sweeped in red as the other retreats is clear.
No hiding. No hiding...does he think he can hide for long?
No one can hide from him. No one can hide forever. That is the truth; this is what Blade thinks as he feels the claws of death temporarily grip a hold of him, before they are inevitable to release him again, thanks to what is inside of him—'
And just like that, the memory ends, practically rude of it to begin in the middle of a conversation, but that is just how it is, it seems. ]