団長。

[scariotis-blog]

Death had once again threatened him, the hands that always loomed over him coming closer when another visitor would knock on his door, their fist full of hatred and their eyes screaming for his blood. They had returned; those beautiful, scarlet eyes that followed him from the afterworld. He can see moments of the past reflected in the depths of that vivid red: his hands, blood-soaked, holding a severed head and calmly looking down into the still burning eyes. Just like now, as own speed surpassed their movements and fingers wrapped around their neck.

The last condition was fulfilled.

[boundlessfury-blog]

‘Does anyone want anything?’ says the man who has stolen it all from you.

           The sheer audacity of inquiry alone would bring about blood’s torturous heat, boiling through his veins, rage swallowing his entire sense of self in its overwhelmingly selfish desires. Muscles tighten and fists are clenched, jails creaking as their stretched over his right hand. He can feel the metal press into his flesh, but the pain brings nothing but further adrenaline that fuels his grudge, his animosity that he grips between his fingers in which he will not release. Lids fall into a haunting position, glare so menacing you could feel the breath of the dead leaking through it. 

Pupils are crowded in the ashes of a past burned to the ground, and he blinks. Upon rising vision, his irises fill themselves in a vibrant scarlet, painted by the blood he wears as atonement’s burden. Everything he does, he does for justice– or so, he’d rather belief. The man who has scattered his past in millions of dusty particles, taken what he wished with no reverence for those who bear only traits of humanity, taken them, tortured them, stolen their sights and their lives, and rid of them as mere objects. He who bears no empathy is no human being.

There is no fear in death’s wake, there is no fear at murder’s edge. Boy who let his tragedies consume him, he is the one who holds grim reaper’s weapon in his hand. He has seen him face to face and ordered him, just as his enemies once have. Revenge falls at the birth of hypocrisy, yet he would not do well to acknowledge this, nor consider it wholly aside from the being who knows this truth that he chains to heart’s depths, disabling him from rising to realization. 

     “ I want my family back. ”

[scariotis-blog]

an immovable object meets an unstoppable force. the collision is strong enough to make earth shake, to make the ground shiver as cold metal slid on it, unto him, nature rotting around him with every step he took. the blood those eyes have seen, the blood those chains bathed in - it is of his kin, of a beloved friend. he could imagine it; the blood pooling on the ground, the clinking of chairs being the last sound they've heard and the wrathful eyes being the last they've saw - the same eyes that faced him now with a deep-seated hatred.

a set of quick images flash in front of him: children being taken away by their families, women and men failing to protect their loved ones, and the unmeasurable rage in those beautiful scarlet eyes as his hands, soaked in blood, held the head of their loved sons and daughters, contempling with a disturbingly calm face the beauty that laid in the undying flame of those eyes. ah, he was wrong. that is where the familiar feeling came from, and not from the stare of dead eyes floating in tubes, staring up at him, following him wherever he went until they were taken away by their sellers.

                                             uvo, did you see this too?

that scarlet represented the curses upon him made by many forgotten souls. they screamed his name for the eternity, cursing him until his demise, yet it seemed as those unceasing cries drove their sole survivor crazy instead of him. and even when the screams of children and memories of massacre pass through his mind, he remains the same. those unwavering eyes continue to look down at vengeful ones as if he was looking at a stranger he had just met, or at an old friend he hadn't seen in years - that calm smile does not leave neither. 

                                ‘ yeah i got like 12 dollars. ’ 

their answer -- their demand was nonchalantly, its absurdity didn't deserve to be acknowledged.

[yoriito-deactivated20160502]

         ❛ It has been quite a long time, has it not? ❜

[scariotis-blog]

        ‘ hisoka. if you’re here, i assume you did what I asked of you. ’ 

[hiyachis-deactivated20161226]

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[scariotis-blog]

& he chose twelve, who would follow his every word and walk behind him with every step he took. yet out of the twelve, one carried the blood of the devil within him and cared not for his lord’s well being but for wealth.

however, this story lacked of the absolute leader the masses worshipped -- and for that, it made up with merciless massacres, rivers of blood, children crying and the laughter of those who sat at the thrones of the underworld. twelve followed the leader they nominated and while it was the last thing he wanted, he didn’t have a word against it. disregarding his own wishes, he took the horsemen’s reins and led them through the endless roads of earth. 

bare-handed they were; children of the nothingness, sons of the world’s rejection. piles of grey waste were their green mountains and the dry sand was their rich grass, where they’d lay their bodies after a day of blissful ignorance. for the moment they wre born, they were already a burden for the world and thus were stripped of every privelege others took for granted. that favor was returned every day, with the deaths of many as they took everything they wanted, leaving bare-handed those who once owned the world.

there is no wrong in their actions, for they do not exist. the blood they’ve spilled was fated to be spilled, they treasures they’ve stolen were fated to be taken, the trace of corpses they leave behind their wake cannot be helped; lifes are disposable, like trash, and if a social status is the standard for whether or not you are wanted in this world, then that does not exist in their eyes.

                     ‘ i’m going to taco bell, does anyone want anything? ’