riicinusâ:
አă There wasnât any apparent fear in the intruder, perhaps helped along by the fact that anyone still left alive was certainly too weak for their screams or cries of anguish to be heard all the way up on their now-mutual perch. âYou have a nice voice,â Byakuran said instead of answering immediately. âIâm glad. These moments are so easily shattered,â he turned and faced him, took him in a moment, âbut the apocalypse suits you.â If nothing else, the pretty purple of his hair in the deep red light was flattering, a perfect aesthetic addition.
Still, Byakuranâs eyes returned to the burning sky, the main event.
âYouâre on the right track, but itâs better than that. More productive. Itâs burying a rotten tomato to fertilize the growth of a beautiful flower. Once the garden is pruned, it can flourish.â He gave a little giggle. âToo many mixed metaphors? It doesnât matter, this world is over, no matter how I pretty it up.â
Yukari positively reels from the compliment, taking final strides to come and flump himself besides the winged being. Not too close, but just so that his voice floats clearly even over the cacophony of the Earth perishing below them.
âI like it.â
He speaks of the metaphors, mixed or not, they make sense to him. He envies the world its second chance, a chance to bloom stronger and more beautiful than before instead of being left to wilt and become dust in the winds of history. More than that, he envies the person with enough power to yield that kind of change at all.
âAnd where does that leave you, when itâs all gone?â
"Will you tend to the next garden with your very own hands, or does it end for you here too?â












