The lack of words was almost upsetting. Then again, why would there be any uttered when there was only a single person that remained alive?
A man stood before a fresh kill, but this kill was different for someone like Shikiya. He laid at his feet intact and unaltered by malicious intent. Curious, considering how well known it was for Shiki to play with and consume his prey. The only disfigurement was a single clean decapitation. In fact, his white scythe was still implanted into the ground from when the killing blow was delivered. There wasn't as much blood as there should have been either due to the severe cauterizing effect the scythe had.
Perhaps what was most perplexing about this victim was the way he died smiling. It was gentle; almost thankful.
Time? The tengu wasn't sure how long he was standing over the body. He seemed to be having trouble willing himself from the position of his hands in his pockets or from the deep frown that etched his aging face. All he could do was continue staring while seemingly lost in thought.
Eventually a soft sigh escaped him while his hands rummaged. As per usual a cigarette and lighter were pulled out. Right now he was craving his rolls of good tobacco and clove buds more than ever. He needed something to distract him from emotions he hadn't felt in so long.
Shiki had been watching this target for a while. He wasn't anyone of importance to be on someone's shit list. Quite the contrary. He was very kind, sweet, but had the curse of some of the worst luck he had ever seen. The tengu thought this would have been an easy meal as it was self preparing due to the misery he naturally and persistently lived through.
Instead, Shiki was met with a sour taste of deja vu. The events he saw the other live through… He was almost sure he had gone through the same. A happiness the victim thought he had, only for it to get torn from his hands. The struggle of trying to claw and cling for it there after. The sorrow and anger he slowly drowned in as he failed, yet walked as a living ghost due to regrets and wishes keeping him from taking his own life.
It all turned Shiki's stomach in such a mysterious way, as he was never one to feel pity or any kind of connection with his victims.
And so, for the first time in hundreds of years, the tengu granted someone peace. A merciful act, as Shiki's guts told him what would happen to this man if he didn't intervene. His first kill without any malicious intent. He could still hear the harrowing shrieks of despair the other gave off as he lost himself to grief within his final moments.
A burst of thunder suddenly webbed through the sky. Being interrupted from lighting his cigarette, the feathered being looked up.
"What. You got somethin' to say, too? Well damn, an answer for this shitten mess would be fuckin' swell, wouldn't it?"
In answer, it began to rain, which quickly grew heavier by the second.
Groaning, Shiki rolled his eyes before looking down at his lighter in defeat. Well, so much for having a smoke. That's when his attention shifted to his left sleeve. Feathers fell and piled there, and the darkened pigments of his hand began to bleed out. His eyes widened as his corvid-like properties fell and pooled into a puddle at his feet.
At that moment he realized it; he didn't feel hungry at all. All the rage and regret that lingered within like a deeply embedded worm also fell away to mingle with the sheddings of black feathers and ink. He stood there as a mere human in the truest sense. Not a trick or a glamour, but an actual human. Even though he wasn't sure why or how, it was certain; the curse was lifted.
Now a light brown, his eyes shifted back to his scythe. What normally was a warm and bright ivory now pulsed dimly. It revealed its details for the first time as that light ribboned away into distant particles. The handle and blade were ordinary but delicately carved stone. A look you would expect to see in a graveyard. Nothing sharp or powerful. Otherwise there was a vining rose with white blossoms that clung around it.
Now human, he couldn't help but stare at it with a new found clarity. That quiet moment would be interrupted by his own soft laugh. Gradually, it became hearty. Louder. It continued as he clutched and gripped at his own hair, until that laughter slowly became marred with that of pure insanity. It echoed along with the rolling thunder.
Even with the vanquished sorrow, can the broken truly be fixed? The mind is a fickle thing, and yet life continues to roll on.
