ooooo you do yandere guilty gear stuff? Could you please make some headcanons for Ky? Thank you in advance!
Divine Love — Yan!Ky Kiske HC x Reader
A/N: finally had time to finish this—thanks for the request! been looking for an excuse to do yandere strive hehe. since there’s no general prompt I decided to wing my own idea—there was a lot on my mind so it stems away from HC into a mini-fic…oops? Anyway, hope you like it! feedback always appreciated. maybe sol or asuka next?
WC: 3.2k
- A prodigal swordsman in his youth, Ky Kiske was a polished gem that rose amongst the ranks in the Sacred Order of Holy Knights. His commitment to fighting alongside humanity to end the Crusades awarded him honor and nobility—he was a man who was recognized as a hero, a powerhouse that rivaled the Guilty Gear himself.
- Yet, no matter how much recognition he was given, that would never take away the burning images of horrifying expressions, unmoving bodies, and blood-soaked hands.
- The end of the Crusades was welcomed with open arms by humanity, and Ky Kiske could not help but consider society’s naivety. Their ‘peace’ was forged from mountains of corpses littering destroyed land, with some unable to be recovered. It was not only war that forged him, but war that shaped humanity, too.
- The joy, the celebrations that placed people like Ky at the frontier made him sick. As his name rung throughout the land of Illyria—thousands chanting his name to the heavens—Ky merely stared emptily.
- Then, the day he was crowned king, standing amongst his peers, he felt the knot around his heart trembling violently, as if the strings were snapping one by one.
- You are crowning a killer. You are crowning a killer that reaped more lives than could be remembered.
- The people Ky Kiske fought so hard to protect, the ones who he wanted to save so that they would never face a sorry fate that matched his mother’s, then threatened the life of him and his son.
- Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting. Perhaps Ariels was right.
- It was on a whim that Ky, wrapped in ragged clothes and cloak, visited a small town in Illyria.
- His kingly life that adorned him with beautiful white coats and an egregious amount of riches came at a price of remembering civilization’s transgressions as well as his own. One day, those same nice white suits would be dyed red as he slayed more beings over and over and over and over—
- If the next war brewing came to fruition, would he remain the same?
- Where did he stand?
“Your suffering is not in vain—we hear you.”
Your words were soft-spoken as you handed a familiar woman a piece of bread and a bottle of water. She bowed as she took the food, tears welling her eyes.
“Bless you, bless you,” She repeated, hands clasped around yours.
“May all that is holy be with you in these trying times.”
The battles with Ariels was a reminder about war and its consequences. The fragments scattered just along the borders of Illyria suffered the most—which is where you exactly resided.
The capital is too engrossed in its affairs that happens within its imaginary wall that they never noticed how you and your people have suffered. To get help from them could take months, or years—that is why the Church acts in their stead instead.
And in their stead they shall, for they have already taken initiative in providing donations to the public in need.
Picking up another piece of bread, your eyes stray away from the others to a hooded figure standing a few feet away. As if they sensed you, cold, blue eyes match your gaze and you cannot help but shake slightly. They had been watching for awhile from a distance, yet they never moved towards the Church at all. It is with honest conviction that you stride forward with hands fully spread out to help those in need.
The blue eyes shake slightly, as if almost baffled by the action. They do not shift their gaze, and do not make a move for the bread.
You smile gently. “If you are in need of something, perhaps start with this?”
The person’s lips twitch and you can make out their nose scrunched from a little beyond the darkness veiling them. There was one beat, then two, before a voice finally graced your ears.
“I would like to ask a question.” The voice spoke, sounding gravely tired but of a sophisticated timbre that flowed through your ears like water.
You nodded encouragingly, hoping you successfully masked your surprise at the stranger’s sudden inquiry and manner of speech. Were you imagining the man’s formalities?
That didn’t matter, regardless.
“What value is there to life and certainty?”
You blinked, pondering for a few moments. A heavy question, indeed, but one that you were familiar with. After all, it had been contemplated so often that the answer came almost as second-nature to you.
“Life is an embodiment of various beings and things, encompassing the Divine One’s innovation and creativity. Life is infinite and therefore its value is inherently infinite as well.”
His eyes were fully entrenched onto yours, the beautiful blues reminding you of the vivid sky above the two of you.
“As for certainty… that is a question that will always be asked by us humans. Can I or can I not, or should I or should I not? Certainty can only be answered by beings whose beliefs are as rooted as the oldest trees that remain on earth.” You said, fingers gently curling and uncurling around the bread.
The man stared some more. You wished you could see his expression, to truly know the thoughts that plagued his mind and to reassure him of his doubts. He seemed troubled, so troubled, that your heart was aching.
“Beliefs… how does one root them?”
‘I’m lost and cannot find my way.’ Words, after all, never had one intended meaning.
“I cannot say whether there is an objective right way or not,” You said, eyes crinkling apologetically.
“But, do know this: salvation is paved by hope.”
“Hope?” The man repeated, wind swaying the hood of his cloak slightly to reveal beautiful blond hair.
You smiled knowingly, having once echoed that very same word. “Nothing can be done without hope.”
- it was after this encounter, perhaps, that sealed your fate.
- The hooded man quickly became acquainted with the Church where you resided, your eyes sweeping the room where it always eventually met the familiar torn material. For every prayer, recitation, and baptism he was in attendance and was seemingly engrossed in each activity.
- When you were in attendance, he would be present—whether you noticed or not.
That crawling feeling was back again. The one that made your spine tingle and welcomed a burst of cold wind that completely tempered your body’s homeostasis. It was after the Church’s weekly activity that you traced your uneasiness back to piercing bright ocean blues.
Your discomfort lingered as you made eye contact, yet you shrugged it off to be the nervousness from numerous gazes that buzzed around you. It ended up being a motivator to excuse yourself from the circle you were in to make strides towards the man that sat on one of the bench’s near the corner.
“Greetings,” You bowed, a small smile elevating your face at the man’s head perking up.
“Ah,” The man’s cloak shook, and your eyes noticed the gloved hands curling around the Rosary Beads.
“I am happy to see you becoming well-acquainted with us.” You nodded towards the Beads. “Has the difficulty of your journey towards belief alleviated at all?”
The man—regaining composure, you assumed, as he rubbed his thumb across one of the beads—hummed.
“It is clearer, but akin to observing a picture with an unfocused lens.” His voice was more lively than the last time—purposeful.
“If possible, I would like to learn more about faith.”
‘He is eager,’ you thought happily.
“Faith is one belief that concerns itself with following that of divine authority, such as the Divine One.” Your hand gestured towards the statue placed in the middle of the Church.
“It is a pledge to that which is holy to abide by One’s teachings. In having faith, one establishes trust with that which is greater.”
“Faith, then, is loyalty?” The man surmised.
“Correct. Loyalty is how we connect with divinity.”
The end of your teaching was followed by a few pastors requesting your presence. You quickly waved goodbye to the lonesome man, ignoring the sudden tenseness that swelled past your shoulders.
“Loyalty in following…” The man murmured, uncaringly burning his gaze into your backside.
Yes, the way your hair gently swayed as the wind blew and your sparkling smiles that enchanted his dark soul instilled a powerful sense that made his entire body tremble.
His legs shook and he willed himself not to bend his knees there and then as he greedily watched your rescinding silhouette.
- You received an invitation to visit the capital of Illyria on behalf of the Church at the request of an unspecified royal.
- The capital was big, beautiful, and bold—its inhabitants were nothing less than that.
- You, accompanied by a fellow male pastor, watched in awe from the carriage as you passed by various structures and villas.
- There would be initial greetings, then a grand party hosted by the Kings to celebrate another year of peace to the kingdom.
- Exiting the carriage and entering the palace was a different experience entirely—one that you could not fully describe
- As you continued to be enlightened, you eventually stumbled upon a blond man with bright blue eyes
Ah, wait, didn’t he look—
Catching your fellow company bowing from the corner of your eye, you quickly snapped your head down.
“My humble greetings to one of the Suns of Illyria,” Your companion—Peter—said, recovering swiftly.
There was a long, dreadful pause—an excruciating tremor passing through you at what you thought was the heat of the room. Your partner tapped your foot at the king’s silence.
“My humble greetings—and apologies—to one of the Suns of Illyria.” You were silently praying the noble in front of you did not pay attention to your lapse in formality.
“It is so wonderful to see you.” The king’s response came so quickly at the end of your words you couldn’t help but peek from underneath your eyelashes.
To say that Ky Kiske was simply a ‘Sun of Illyria’ was an understatement. The illumination of the room you were standing in was not of the photons transcending beyond the glass panels but of King Kiske’s exuberant smile. His golden hair reminded you of the daisies and sunflowers that lined the gates of Illyria and his blue eyes reflected the sky itself. The king’s posture, so upright and composed, rivaled that of the still lakes which oversee a multitude of beings underneath its tranquil waters.
Still, his smile did little to cease the burning stare into your body. And did little to quell your agitation.
King Kiske tilted his head. “What have you been up to since arriving?”
“Just—touring,” You meekly replied. A flash of pain pouring out of your head made you avert your gaze away from eyes seemingly tracking your every movement.
The king’s actions made you feel nervous, yet nervous over what? You silently prayed for strength, something that used to come easily to you under the roof your home’s Church.
“The agriculture and architect of Illyria is astounding.” Peter added, posturing in front of you to block his gaze.
The downturn of the king’s smile into a still-expression was immediate. It was almost as if he was just now registering the extra body beside you.
“I don’t recall asking for your input.” King Kiske’s voice was teetering beyond his collected tone, just enough for you to catch Peter flinch in front of you.
The king ran a quick hand through his hair, an expression you couldn’t quite catch now masked under an eerie coolness. Warning chimes rung through your mind as you gripped Peter’s hand tightly.
“Forgive us for the indecency but we must get going.” You said, already stringing along your companion. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”
“Let us cross paths again soon.” You did not bother to look back, fearing you might get even more sickly over that saccharine smile.
Once out of sight, you let out a shaky breath you did not even know you were holding.
- You both traveled around for a while before the party, killing time and distracting yourselves from admitting that conversation ever happened in the first place.
- There was a sinking feeling, one that started from the surface but was melting all the way down to your gut.
- It was a feeling you strongly despised, one that you did not experience even as individuals reprimanded you for not giving enough food or losing your loved ones to Gears.
- When it came time for the party, it was nearly ten times more grand than you could have expected it to be
- The vitality encompassing the gala simmered your experience earlier but did not quite eliminate it.
- At Peter’s request, you both separated—wandering the room so that you may see everything.
- You were distracted, to the point where you did not notice the blond male slowly trailing behind you, even with the crowd he carried with him.
- When it came time to reunite with Peter, you spent quite the amount of time looking for him
- He, too, was looking around, yet he was nowhere to be seen.
- With the crowds seeming ever larger and your breaths drawing shorter, you stepped out into the palace’s garden.
The flowers, illuminated under the translucent moon’s gaze, looked even more invigorated than they were under the sun.
…The sun. The mere thought of it made you feel perturbed. It was like an itch you couldn’t scratch, a lingering feeling that drifted far out of your reach. An irremediable state of mind.
On nights where you felt the most… unlike yourself, you snuck back into the church. A small sin, perhaps, but praying under the statue was all you could do to relieve your conscious. Others felt the same, too, as you united from time to time with fellow pastors—a shared faith between you all.
Under the crescent moon in Illyria’s palace garden, there was no statue to turn to. But, when you find Peter then you cou—
A sharp shriek filled the air, startling you off a fountain’s marble perch you were previously sitting on. As the screams echoed, their tone was tinged with a familiarity that you used to find complacency in.
Within seconds you were running, towards thick bushes in the center of the garden that resembled border walls. Navigating through various greenery kept your mind occupied as you continuously prayed the shrieking was of your imagination.
The next shrill cry sounded fainter, and this time you knew it was real.
Reaching the center, your heart sunk at familiar white robes tinged with a dark, crimson substance. The man on the floor was trying desperately to breathe, clutching his neck as more crimson drew out. Your gasp of air as you sucked in a heavy breath felt like an insult as his eyes met yours.
“Peter!” You cried out, hand reaching for him.
Desperately, his hand reached for yours, shaking wildly as his fingers sprawled out. Although fear and panic painted his features, a small sliver of relief reflected in his irises.
A small shuffle of movement from beyond the shadows made you realize you two were not fully alone, the cries welling in your throat propagating a moment too late as a sword plunged straight through Peter’s chest.
The Thunderseal, one of the eight Sacred Treasures that burned away Gears in droves on the battlefield, had splatters of blood between its white and blues. The faint sparks that emitted around the blade as it slowly pulled out of the sunken man’s chest was subservient in the elimination of its foes. In truth, the one wielding the Thunderseal is the epitome of the ‘storm’ itself—the on bringer of destruction and endless ferocity.
Encased in cloudy blue orbs was an eerie coolness; a stillness that acted as a facade for the raging tide that plagued his mind. No longer was a ‘human’ in front of you, but perhaps the true form of the man who performed the role of a king.
“With this blade I have torn lives apart; too many, in fact, that each name and face are fleeting memories unveiled only when I dream,” Ky Kiske said, gloved hand raising the Thunderseal.
Its brilliance danced under the light yet looked dimmer around the parts covered by crimson. You wanted to look away, to pretend its history was not there, but that would never take away the tragedy it brought.
“I had a purpose for fighting but it withered to the point it was unrecognizable.”
For a moment, Ky stared at his hand, gaze longing for something he could not quite grasp.
You took a step back. There was something very, very wrong with your interaction back then and you wished you left. Not only for your sake, but for Peter. The regret and fear pooling your stomach made you want to vomit but perhaps there was a chance you could still escape this. With enough faith—
Ky smiled. “I like the look in your eyes.”
“Yes, it was you who gave me meaning.” He continued, legs slightly bending.
“It wasn’t Kliff, who gave me the Thunderseal, or Sol, who I’ve fight alongside all these years… but you.
“You gave me hope.”
Your eyes widened. “No—you?”
It made a lot more sense now, the small familiarities that were piling up. The similarities the two shared… it was all connected to the same person. But, back then, he was timid; someone who exuded strength but no reason to wield it. He changed so quickly that he…?
“This is absurd! After everything I’ve taught you, this was your answer?” You cried, finger pointing at him.
“Committing murder—that’s the biggest sin of all!”
“He got too close to you,” Ky snarled, “He turned from a nuisance to a parasite so I got rid of him. The mere idea of him being so close to you…”
He drew a shaky breath, running a hand through his slightly ragged hair. Ky resumed his kneeling position a few feet in front of you, and despite being farther, you felt like he would chase you with as much ease as walking.
“The day I met you, I pledged myself to you. You are the presence I have been looking for all this time, the taste of holiness that will cleanse me of not evil, but emptiness.”
“My Goddess,” He whispered.
Ky smiled—the genuine kind—a type of smile he thought he could no longer do.
His sword plunged into the ground, the sharp scraping and clattering stronger than when he pierced Peter’s chest.
“All I ask is to be your only knight and loyal follower.”
Ky raised his head and you could see the faint blush tinging his cheeks and turbulence swirling within his eyes.
“You’re too far gone…” You murmured quietly, heart held against your chest in an attempt to still its frantic beating.
“I could never agree to something like this, especially with words bespoken from that of such a monstrosity such as you.”
His entire body flinched and he was standing upright within a flash.
“Is there more competition? Is that it?” Ky asked, ocean blue eyes widened. There was a slight quiver in his voice and visible shaking surrounding his body, as if a loved one passed away.
Ky gripped his scabbard after a minute and the trembling vanished.
“…That is reasonable. I must prove my worth to Her Holiness.”
He flung the blood still encased around his blade, clots of red scattering on the ground.
“Shall I show you why they call me lightning?”