“ KILLING “ // look man just,,,,, just /do it/
Send “ KILLING “ for a drabble of my muse killing yours!
❝ Kill her, Gin. ❞
He had heard such a command many times throughout his decades of service under Aizen. Gin grew accustomed to clean-ups, to the messy murders required of him, and before he was even named Lieutenant his hesitation to strike was non-existent. To prove his worth, to show his devotion, Gin had slaughtered many as a mere child with unshaken precision; he’d not show any remorse, he was a snake in a boy’s skin (that’s what he told him when they met, that’s what song his numbness sang, it was a cold and hollow tune and just convincing enough to work). The traitor wouldn’t falter here, with this young girl, either. Not now, not with him finally being so close to his goal. She was going to die.
But that didn’t mean he'd enjoy it.
❝ ———-‘course, cap’n Aizen. ❞
Shinso glistened as Gin released it from its obscured sheathe, whispering a soft whistle as it swept outwards in an arch, then pointed forward in a dip of his wrist to align with her heart. Her powers of healing and shielding wouldn’t do her much good—-idly, Gin wondered if she could heal herself if he didn’t kill her in one hit… but the concept of testing that theory on her with some torture-esque curiosity rotted in his throat. She was just a girl, hopeful, patient, forgiving, warm eyes, wild hair, and a sunlit smile—-she earned a painless death.
A quiet utterance of his Shikai’s activation left little time for the girl to raise her guard. For her to react, at all, was a gift not many targets of Gin’s bite had in their last moments. How honorable, then, for her to even manage to raise her hands in the final cry for refuge, for the words of protection to summon an orange gleam far too easily shattered——a futile effort spoke of her optimism. Shinso skewered her chest through and through. Warm shards of light rained like struck glass as its wielder was felled, sprinkling the ground around her falling corpse. A stinging sweep and Gin’s weapon swiftly returned, lowered in certainty at his side.
He did not shy away from his aftermath, no averted gaze or distancing steps, nor did he seek to change the topic with idle chatter—-no, Gin stood in the midst of his work with a calmness ill-suited for the deed. A smile. He did not feel, he did not feel, he did not feel.
