The sound of the wind from outside the placid walls begins to pick up and a nearby branch rattles against the window to the living room. It knocks hesitantly at first before it begins rapping a bit louder, drowning out the sound of the howl from the unseen force outside. Itâs Christmas morning, but there is no tree decorated in bright lights, no cookies and milk left for the large man in red clothing and there are no presents aside from the one on the table scattered around.Â
There is no tinsel wrapped around the edges of the windowsill and there are no little elves scattered about the room. There is no laughter, no happiness, no secrets shared, no generosity and no sentimental feelings despite the fact that this holiday is supposed to signify all of those things.
With every passing second, Chiyo begins to feel less and less joyous â
âł || "Please donât go," she says in a desperate voice. The silence shatters, and, perhaps, a small part of Haise shatters as well. He tries, he tries so hard, to maintain a distance, to run, to keep this routine of avoidance an ongoing event, because he doesnât want to confront himself. He admits: heâs afraidâ heâs deathly afraid of what he is (what he was), and up until this point, he didnât need to confront this entity so directly. Around him was the ever looming presence of a team that could subdue his nature before it fully took control. Around him was sustenance that kept his hunger at bay, kept him sane.Â
But, here, no such accommodations greet him. Heâs on his own entirely.
If he loses his own ego, so be it, but if such an event involves hurting another partyâ an innocent partyâ then he wants to avoid the occurrence at all costs. Perhaps, as his superior told him, his kindness will be the end of him.
He remains silent in response to her outburst and her words following, unable to form the correct words. Actually, one sentence does for in his head and itâs what are you doing up at three in the morning, young lady? but the thought of saying that makes him feel far too old.Â
The burst of positivity is ephemeral; the dark overcast clouds his mind again. How could he act like Chiyo's father when he, for the briefest of moments, thought about eating her. If she knew about it, she wouldn't be trying to rebuild their bond so readily (the atmosphere is awkward, but he understands her intent). He feels guilty, guilty, guilty.
But some of that pureness from the girl in front of him creeps into his being. It's Christmas. It's Christmas and she's trying so hard to will herself through her fear and nervousness to reach him, and here he is trying to deny those emotions, sweep them under a carpet of cowardice.Â
Carefully, he picks his glasses off the bridge of his nose and places them on the counter behind him. Conflict brews within him; the only sign of it is his fingers rubbing at his forehead. A part of him tries to will him forward, to accept her, to forgive himself. A part of him tries to hinder him, to deny her, to berate himself perpetually.Â
Silence fills the room for a brief moment. Frigid winds outside tap at the balcony window. The sound is hollow.Â
"Chiyo-chan," he manages to form words with his numb tongue, "are you sure?
"After all, I..." he hesitates, "I almost hurt you. It isn't a stretch to say I almost killed you. I don't want you to be involved in dangerous matters, and I can say without a doubt: I'm dangerous. If the circumstances were different-- if I had support of my people back home, maybe it would be safer."
He tries to hold his gaze on her eyes, straining to keep focused as to seem earnest. Fatigue, before replaced by a rush of adrenaline, begins to creep back onto his features, and he finds it a little hard to keep his eyes wide and attentive. He hopes she doesn't see his hesitation, how he wants to accept her kindness right now and forgo his worries, because he's sure she would latch onto that and he wouldn't be able to resist anymore.Â
Bare feet move forward on the cold tile floor. One step after another-- until he's only a few steps away from the girl with red polka dot bows. He remembers vividly the look of terror on her face as his own body moved against his orders. The moment flashes back into his mind, and he can feel all the emotions rush back into his thoughts. His stance is more tense than before, and his hands are clenched into loose fists (he doesn't have enough energy to make them truly tight).Â
"I'm-- I'm not--" he breathes, "--I'm not human. Chiyo-chan, my kind... they're ghouls. I'm a ghoul. Ghouls eat humans. It's almost been a month, and I haven't eaten anything. If I go longer and longer without food, I won't be able to control myself at all. I'm dangerous. I'm dangerous and I don't need you getting hurt because of me. I'm afraid that you'd be the first victim. You could get eaten.Â
"Knowing that... are you sure you want to remain close to me?" A shaky breath. He moves forward again and takes on of her hands and holds it gently in his own trembling one. "Even though I'm  a monster... will you..."Â
        âŹÂ ` âŸÂ âŠÂ âœÂ »  His youthful appearance undoubtedly contradicted with his level of strength. Despite owning the face and physical body of a young child, he didnât struggle to support his own weight and was also able to keep the man above the ground without any problems. Platinum blond brows furrowed when he realized the dragon wasnât harming them. Flames were erupting from its gigantic mouth, but the area underneath them remained intact and safe. After he was confident that they were safe, he lowered the stranger before landing on his own feet. The solid wings sprouting from his back started cracking and breaking; then after a few seconds, the pieces began to fade away and transformed into dust. There wasnât a single trace of his wings left behind.
        âI am Koinzell. I apologize if I startled you.â Deliberately dodging the question that was directed towards his race, he moved towards the odd device to take a closer look at it. Did someone cast a spell to keep the beast locked up inside? Or did someone created an illusion? âI assumed we were under attack, but itâs fine now. I donât think the dragon can harm us.â A light and reassuring smile appeared on his face.
âł ||Â Wariness causes his body to remain tense though his own two feet are now firmly planted on the ground again. Though the other is very clearly not human, he doesn't seem to be a ghoul either-- nor does he appear to be violent in anyway. Perhaps a little confused (very confused), but somewhat good natured. After all, he perceived a threat (key word being perceived) and his first reaction was to save a bystander.Â
Haise releases a small sigh, some of his stress dissipating when he hears this Koinzell's words. His question is avoided, but he'll let it pass for now. He just needs to make it clear that the TV isn't dangerous.Â
"I'm Haise Sasaki," he introduces himself first. "That thing over there," he pauses and points to the TV still playing, "is called a television, TV for short. Using technology, it makes images appear on the screen. It can't hurt you because it's not reality." He moves to pick up the remote that he presumed was accidentally pressed to cause the entire situation. "This is a remote. It controls the volume," he turns the volume up and down, a small bar indicating the value appearing on screen, "the channel," he changes the channel back and force between the fantasy show and the news, "and the power," finally he turns it off. "Questions?"Â
Despite her present and uncharacteristic apathy, Usagi had somehow managed to muster the courage to collect herself and begin the process ofâŠacclimation. She wasnât certain if she would ever be comfortable with her current situation, but the least she could do was attempt to collect as much information as possible until she was able to figure out a way to escape this prison. Surveillance wasnât exactly her area of expertise, so she attempted to channel her inner Ami. Where would Ami-chan look firstâŠ? The answer was pretty obvious: the library.
Although Usagi wasnât exactly fond of research of any kind, it was something that she felt she had to do, so she took a deep breath and began her search for the library. There was a problem with simply wondering around such a large facility, and that was her lack of familiarity with the floor plan. MaybeâŠdown here? Well, it couldnât hurt to look! If Iâm lucky, maybe Iâll find the kitchens, instead. Her stomach grumbled in approval, just as she took a misstep and came tumbling down the flight of stairs, slamming into a solid mass at the bottom, softening her landing.
âItai, itai, itai! Geez, who put that step there?! My poor tailboneâŠ" She reached back to rub the afflicted area, before freezing in place, suddenly realizing that she was currently perched on a downed body. "Ah! Are you okay? Did I hurt you? Oh no! Iâve been here for barely a day, and already something like this hasâŠ! Please, are you at least still alive?â
âł || Haise's daily routine (monotony he enjoys) includes a trip to the library where a multitude of books, famous and infamous, greet him and just ask to be read. Of course, he does so with enthusiasm. Calling him a bookworm wouldn't be an overstatement at this point.Â
Sometimes he wonders how strange everything is-- how strange he is. He's trapped in a strange facility, surrounded by an electrified fence, inhabited by varieties of people, human and inhuman, yet he's established himself comfortably. Though, a few incidents here and there dot his life day-to-day, some unpleasant... or, rather, mostly unpleasant.Â
He's climbing some stairs, a small stack of books held in his arms, when he hears the tell tail signs of someone falling down steps. His reaction is quick, so he's able to save the victim a few bruises, but not quick enough to save himself from pain or his books from abuse.
Books are thrown aside, and he attempts to catch the falling girl. The air is knocked out of him on impact. He and the girl both fall to the ground with a very audible thump. A small groan sounds through his lips in response to the pain shooting up and down his back and his abdominal area. He hopes his partner isn't doing anything important right now, and he'll have to remember to apologize profusely.Â
"I'm... alright," he manages to speak. "How... how about you?"
The lone crescent moon that hung high in the darkened sky shone a single light through the window. It traveled in a straight line, covering one side of the living room in an almost eerie, pale iridescent that might of been pretty had there not been so much tension that flooded the apartment. Even the stars seemed to lack their usual luster despite the fact that the night sky was clear and without muffled clouds.
Silence fills the entire living space before there was the sound of something shuffling from one of the rooms â a door opens with a quiet creak before it is pushed shut just as gently, a few timid footsteps are heard against the wood and then the clicking of a nearby lamp from one of the end tables sounds hesitantly.Â
As soon as the living room is flooded with the warm orange glow, the young assistant examines her surroundings before deciding she is alone. Again.
âł ||Â Loneliness takes on two forms: the waning moon whose light fades deeper and deeper into darkness with each passing night and the empty room that greets Haise with emotionless silence each time he returns briefly. Deft hands always work quickly in the dim artificial light illuminating the room, leaving small signs of his existence-- insignificant gestures, really, done by a force of habit, a force of sympathy.
Before familiar polka dot bows have even the slightest chance of appearing in his line of sight, he finishes his work and vanishes, and he hopes deep inside those small plates satisfy her for the smallest while. The brightness that appears on the face of loved ones when they eat his food, it's something he enjoys immensely, but he knows he can't see those violet eyes light up again, not this soon. Any sign of happiness, no matter how genuine, would feel forced; he would imagine the subtle twitch of the lips and cheeks indicating strain, he would imagine the expression slowly falling as time passes, he would imagine there's no happiness in those eyes, only an intense fear.Â
His company he keeps since the incident that occurred during the strange event is novels, dust, and mold. In a hidden corner of the facility, obscured by the direct sight of any passerby, all his attention focuses on the printed words on each thin page. The struggles and emotions of characters flow off the page in vivid details, details of which he's already aware because he's read most of these three times over, and he receives a brief respite from his troubling thoughts and ripping guilt.Â
And he continues reading, until he wakes with a start and finds the sun high in the sky, a book splayed out on his chest. Several days have passed in this fashion, and he feels the beginnings of a deep ache in his back from the uncomfortable position he's been sleeping in.
Today, he wakes when darkness had fallen over the floor. The bags under his eyes signify fatigue, yet when he attempts to sleep again, a nightmarish visual flashes into his mind, and it takes all his might to stop himself from hyperventilating.
He releases an exasperated sigh and tries to pick up where he last left off in a novel. After a few minutes, he discovers such is a lost cause. He's stuck rereading the same line since the words refuse to register in his mind.The book is placed down next to him again. Now's a good a time as any to cook something, he decides.Â
Rising to his feet takes a great deal of effort because half his body is numb, but he eventually regains feeling and stretches his aching bones. He doesn't bother taking off his round reading glasses as he slowly walks down the halls, following a familiar path. He's sure he looks ridiculous-- when he rubs his head, he feels his hair sticking up in every direction, and his clothes are more than disheveled (not the mention he needs to shower).
When he arrives at the door, he grasps the doorknob and opens it without a moment's hesitation. After stepping foot into the room, he closes the door behind him and yawns. He even notice the other presence in the room (fatigue dulled his senses significantly).Â
Without a second look at the living room, he walks to the kitchen and begins peering at the refrigerator to see if there are any ingredients. A nearly empty jug of milk, a small carton of eggs, and a few cans of soda greet him. He briefly wonders if he should go to the cafeteria to get some more things, but he dismisses the idea because he really doesn't want to move around too much.Â
With a soft thump, he shuts the fridge and begins checking the cupboards and drawers for any other things (much to his chagrin, the very large collection of kitchen knifes still occupy a large space in the drawers-- he'll have to remember to throw some out later... in some place some weirdo doesn't find them). He discovers, through some digging, he actually has enough to make cookies.Â
A small smile spreads across his face as he works on getting everything out. He's thinking of how Chiyo would react to-- his smile fades quickly. His heart drops in his chest and he hesitates to move. It's at this moment, his eyes move from his work to the living room, to a young girl eyeing him.Â
His breathing stops entirely and the tiredness afflicting his muscles and bones fades into energy that could be used to run a marathon. Actually, running a marathon wouldn't sound so bad right now.Â
One finger adjusts the glasses slipping from the bridge of his nose. "C-Chiyo-chan," he finally breaths. His mouth opens and closes a few times like he's going to speak, but silence infects the tense air.Â
During this moment, he realizes his lack of shoes and socks and how the cold tiled floor slowly freezes his legs. He wants to run, but his body refuses to move. After the incident, after those thoughts, after nearly hurting Chiyo, he doesn't want to face her. His own cowardice (a coward towards his other self) bars him from being able to see and speak to her properly.Â
"I-I'll make your something, and leave. Or, I'll just leave... now." His voice loses volume as he speaks, ending with him speaking barely above a whisper.Â
The material slips onto her shoulders with ease, consuming her whole petite frame in a matter of seconds. It brushes against her knees â an obvious sign that itâs much too large for her small stature and the sleeves lift up from their respected sides into the breeze from the winter night. The feel of his larger hands pressed to her shoulders linger for a moment before they fade out slowly.
The attention is small, but it starts a welcome change to the tense atmosphere that theyâd shared between them. Even with the reality of the situation at hand and the notion that it is too dangerous to relax, it is kind, it is considerate.. it is something he did of his own free will and not because they were simply fated. It was â
âł ||Â He's afraid, no is he afriad? who's afraid? he, her, him, what, who, who who who who who who who who is he. he's who?
Thoughts become jumbled, a mess, chaos as two personas clash-- the real, the fake. He doesn't want to disappear. Who is he? Who, who, who, it's becoming harder to tell, his vision is spinning, the world is spinning, or is he spinning? he can't tell. his brain itches, it doesn't belong, something doesn't belong, somethings boring through his head, somethings invading his head. it's painful, it hurts, he feels like somethings stabbing through his skill (there's suppose to be holes there, there's not suppose to be eyes, there's suppose to be a corpse with two holes through the skull).Â
Focus is no longer on Chiyo, though he looks directly at her-- he's staring past her, he's staring at nothing, because his brain's connections are all screwed up and chaos spreads further and further. Weakness spreads through his body and he falls to his knees. The bloodstained (his own blood and the blood of monster-- if there's a distinction) snow crunches under him. His gaze moves away from its static position, and he looks around him, at the carnage, at the deaths, and he laughs again. It's hollow, devoid of the bloodlust before.Â
He laughs again, bitter chuckles bubbling from within him, and keeps laughing until he looks down at his own knees and holds his face in his palms. Laughter transforms into sobs into chuckles into sobs (he's confused, he doesn't know what emotion is what, the chaos keeps invading). Tears stream down from his eyes, dripping onto his bloodstained hands. Who was he to pretend that he could stay like this-- surrounded by normal people, acting like a family, he's fake (i'm fake, he says to himself, you're fake, he says to himself).Â
A light crunch in the snow, no reaction, his ears refuse to function properly.Â
".. S-Sasaki-san.."
Slowly, his head lifts from his hands, and his eyes, flowing with tears, focus on the source-- Chiyo-chan, he reminds himself, it's Chiyo-chan, Chiyo-chan, Chiyo Sakura, Chiyo Sakura. The names she speaks so softly, tinted by both concern and fear, is his own, definitely his own (is it? is it is it is it is it is it though? no, it can't be. my name is--).Â
Another crunch.
â.. I-Itâs going to be okay..â
His lips, slightly ajar before, close into a deep scowl before the edges twitch into a wide smirk (but his lower lip is still trembling and tears still flow). His attention is entirely on the form of the petite girl who wears a coat far too large for her. Though dizziness and pain still wrack his brain, he stands and lets his arms, spotted with blood, fall to his side. "...going to be okay?" his voice is hoarse from sobbing, yet his tone is so sinister. The chill in the darkened air seems to grow stronger.Â
"What's going to be okay?" He steps forward and cracks one of his fingers. "What do you know?"
Another step, a squish sounds in the air as he crushes parts of a monster's intestines underfoot, and another step. "Hey..." he's right in front of her, "...who are you anyway?
"...You're Chiyo Sakura," he answers himself after a brief silence, and his smirk fades (my name is Hais-- is it? my name, what am i?) "C-Chiyo-chan." His voice is shaking, guilt rips through his gut sharper than the claws of that beast, and still more fear follows. A struggle, it's such a struggle, he can't hurt Chiyo-chan, he can't lose. "C-Chiyo-chan," he repeats. He tries to use the name of this girl-- no, his partner-- to ground him.Â
One hand, the hand she cleaned, now stained once more with fresh liquid, comes to rest on one of her shoulders. Warmth fades into his freezing palm, and, for a brief moment, peace washes over him. The stained ground, the fading breaths of monsters, the chaos vying for control-- all that disappears. All he hears is his own heartbeat pounding in his ears; all he sees is the face of a girl slightly obscured by the darkness; all he feels is a human's warmth, a tingling sensation under his fingertips.Â
The respite lasts a few seconds-- his blackened eye almost faded back to its original color-- but he's not strong enough to fight back the presence in his mind (you're weak, Haise). His body tenses. The hand on Chiyo's shoulder tightens its grip all at once. A pain afflicts his own shoulder as well, but it's almost like a pin prick to him. Bruises are bound to form on her more delicate skin.Â
A small trickle of blood stains the corner of her mouth, he sees that now, he smells now (overpowering because he hasn't fed in almost a month and a ghoul needs nutrition once during that cycle), and he begins to realize he can't do this. He can't succumb, he can't eat this girl who has done nothing wrong but be bond to him in a horrible twist of fate.Â
His gaze falls to the ground and his grip begins to loosen. His entire body is trembling violently; he feels bile rising in his throat; tears flow freer than before; oh god, I actually thought about eating Chiyo.Â
Both his hands grip his head once more. He actually thought about it-- in a brief moment, he thought about killing Chiyo, thought about using her flesh to satisfy the growing pains in his stomach. Even for a moment, he thought it, and that made him dangerous to her, far too dangerous, because in a moment, in a single movement, he could crush her neck, he could rip her innards out her body and savor the blood dripping off her flesh, he could--
"P-please," he begins, his voice nearly silent, "please, please, please, please leave." His nails dig into his skull. It hurts, it hurts, his chest hurts, how could he think such a vile thing. A monster, a monster, a monster-- even the voice of the other presence in his mind is drowned out by his mantra of self loathing.Â
Slowly, he backs away from her. He's afraid. His fear clouds everything, and he slips and falls onto his bottom. "L-leave!" His voice cracks as he tries to raise it. "Don't come back!
"I-'ll kill you! I'll eat you up until nothing remains!" As he throws empty threats (are they empty? he can't tell, he can't control himself, no one can control a monster's instincts), his voice begins to falter. He wants her to be afraid of him because that's the only way to insure her safety. She mustn't see him again, she mustn't be close to him; he doesn't know when he'll lose control again, so it's better for him to be alone (though he desperately wants help, he wants company, he wants support).Â
To demonstrate his point, he takes one of his stained hands and begins to lick the blood of it. The taste is acrid, bitter, but entirely unlike the smooth and rich taste of even the blackest coffee. It burns as it touches his tongue and rolls down his throat, yet it's better than any human food which has the consistency and taste of a paper towel dipped in raw sewage.Â
He looks up expectantly. Nothing greets him but the back of a girl running frantically in the other direction. A relieved smile appears on the edges of his trembling lips for a moment before contorting back into a scowl. It's better this way, he tries to convince himself, it's better this way.
He slams himself backwards into the snow, not caring about the blood still seeping through the soft flakes, and looks up at the sky. The stars and moon stare back at him with taunting shines; they're so perfect in their lofty throne of space while on the surface beings have to suffer through their lifespan. Is it fair? He answers himself, yes, it's fair, because the ones causing suffering are the beings themselves.Â
⥠|| Sheâs running. Where to exactly, she doesnât know, but even though her chest is on fire and her legs are about to collapse from under her, she knows she canât afford to stop â not if she wants to live. One of the vicious experiments found her while she was shuffling around bushes to find supplies, which quickly led to a chase in the dark. It was stupid of her to go searching at night, she knows that, but she figured that the chance of less people wandering around was worth the danger. Oh how wrong she was.
Momoi finally stops and hides behind a tree, using the few seconds she has to try and catch her breath before the beast finds her once more to end her life. She peeks briefly to see where it is, and to her dismay, itâs not too far and itâs scanning around, searching for its target. Suddenly, she hears a voice call out to her from above and her heart nearly stops when the eyes of the beast and her own meet. Crap. She looks up to the stranger and immediately reaches her hands out.
"Please pull me up! Quick!!" She pleads, frantic as she hears footsteps bounding towards her direction.
âł ||Â Confusion is painted on his face (though, in the dark, his expression is obscured), but soon he realizes a certain guest pursuing the victim below. Its close-- if the girl and the beast weren't on different sides of the trunk, the beast would need only to leap once to grasp her in its jaws. A rush of adrenaline kicks him into action. His heart beats hard in his chest, but he's composed enough to preform his rescue operation calmly.
He hangs down with his stomach flush against the branch and one hand keeping him steady. His free hand reaches and reaches until he feels the cold fingers of the girl brush past his own. Immediately, he grasps it and begins the arduous task of saving her. The rush of the moment bestows upon him extra strength, and he pulls her high enough for her to place both arms onto the tree and pull herself up.Â
"Don't think it can climb trees," he says, slightly out of breath. He looks down below and finds the creature circling the base of the tree, snarling in disappointment.Â
With a careful diligence, she continues to slowly dab away at the blood soaked into the lines in his hands. She stays focused on the task, making sure to gently trace away between his fingers and at the palms. Sheâs mindful to press with light touches so as to avoid any injuries he might of sustained during the battle. From what she can tell though, it doesnât seem that heâs suffered much if at all. There were no gashes left from where the beast might of struck him, no minor cuts or bruises. The blood must of belonged to that of the creature that had attacked him in the forest, but she feels conflicted knowing such a fact.Â
It was difficult to feel relieved in that sort of situation. While she was thankful that he had managed to come out of the incident unscathed, she felt guilty for having hid herself in the forest. Heâd been searching for her all this time, but sheâd simply let her cowardice show by camouflaging herself among the trees. She hadnât even had the courage to go out in an attempt to search for him, deciding it best to simply put her imagination to work by rubbing her wrist against the bark.
And here he was â stained with blood from his recent encounter.
âł || Her hesitation-- he can feel it, he can feel it, and he can understand it. Seeming helpless, being helpless, sitting on the sidelines: all those emotions and thoughts induce a deep sort of guilt. No one wants to be useless in the face of shared danger. He understands all of this, but he's afraid. He's afraid of what he truly is, his ruthless side he suppresses, because he can't control it. If he hurts Chiyo, he'll never forgive himself, even if the one in control is "him".
He's glad she relents and agrees to his terms, no matter how forced the words evaporating in the frigid air are. She's a strong girl (he can tell), a very strong girl to hold a smile like that so easily after such a painful decision.Â
Haise Sasaki refuses to let that smile disappear.Â
"Oh, I'm wearing more than enough for this," he answers with a grin, motioning to the snow, sparkling ever so slightly in the moonlight. "But you look chilled. I don't want you to get sick." With deliberate motions, he slips his trench coat off his shoulders and places it on Chiyo's. The sudden cold air fazes through his thin black dress shirt (he suppresses a shiver and does so well in his opinion. he doesn't need her worrying about this matter too). "It's not very thick, but it's better than nothing."
He opens his mouth again to joke a little more, add onto the Groundskeeper's list of strange hobbies (perhaps they like gardening? they do keep  the grounds very well), but he hears the snap of a branch and the heavy pants of a creature. No, he hears a cacophony of their breaths, growing more rapid, more excited, as they approach their unknowing targets. Around him, pairs and pairs of eyes he didn't notice before glint dangerously. He thinks, this is the veterans, the alphas, and they're here.Â
The tension in the air becomes thick, and Haise has to control his breathing as to not provoke their stalkers. He was careless. He thought the death of one would invoke fear in others, but that was a false assumption. Now, the creatures with actual skill surround them.
"Chiyo-chan," he says under his breath, "I need you to--" he can't finish. Two dark figures pounce from the front, two from the right, and more wait to strike. There's no time to think strategy, to think of his options (only two present themselves: grab his briefcase and fight or ensure Chiyo's immediate safety). He pushes Chiyo out of the line of attack of the beasts with a harsh shove. In doing so, he fails to seal his own well being.
Pain shoots through his entire body as one set of claws piece his lower back. His vision becomes twisted, all his senses focusing on the agony overflowing through his body, but he still tilts his head down and his eyes focus on sharp objects-- no claws, they're claws, the claws came from behind, why are they in front?Â
Blood overflows from his mouth and he coughs and coughs, staining the pure snow again and again. The beast finally retracts its claw and he falls to the ground. Its pack almost seems to laugh at their prey's pathetic state, overjoyed yelps and growls fill the silence. They're celebrating so much that they don't notice their meat rising.Â
His thoughts are disjointed. He can feel the hole in his abdomen; he can feel the blood in his throat, the blood flooding the ground around him. He can hear a whisper (you can't protect anyone)-- no he pushes it back, he pushes himself up, the hole is healing, the blood flows less and less, and he feels the rush of power form on his back and release.Â
The sounds of joy are silenced into whimpers. Flesh pierces flesh, as did before, but this time death for the pierced is assured. The creatures no longer have a stomach to digest what the eat-- they're also missing a parts of their intestines, maybe a kidney, a liver, maybe more, but no one's going to check. He laughs, he laughs because they're so pathetically weak, and they could only kill him with cheap tactics. They're powerless, and he's the one that holds the power.
He retracts the four appendages of his kagune from the creatures and lets them fall to the ground. The several ones hiding in the shadows attack, provoked by the death of one of their own, and their sloppy movements make them easy targets. He stands, almost entirely healed, and dodges one, attacks another, dodges again, and continues until all of them either lie on the ground with their insides spilling or run away into the depths of the forest's shadows.Â
Then he turns to Chiyo, a bystander to all the carnage, one eye black and red, and he feels an itch in his brain. His brain? Who's brain? His own, his own, his own his own his own his own his own his own. his own his own his own his own. He looks away to the ground and holds his head in his hand, itching it with frantic fingers because there's something in his brain, there's something there, something doesn't belong. Is it her? Is it him? Is it both?
There are no Rc suppressors here, not squad to stop him, but he hasn't eaten since he arrived, and he's hungry, losing strength. He retracts his kagune and it disappears. His thoughts clear slightly, but he still feels a deep wrongness and a deep hunger. He looks up again at the girl, still gripping his head like in complete agony (he is in agony), and he feels more of that wrongness and more of that hunger invade his body. But he recognizes her-- he knows her-- Chiyo, it's Chiyo, she's afraid, she's afraid (of him? he doesn't know, he just feels fear that isn't his own, is it? he's afraid too, he's afraid).
She laughs yet again, his words growing even more amusing. "I guess I wouldnât mind that.â He reminded her of another ghoul she met, albeit they were very different types of youkai; and very different people as well, despite the similarities she found.
However, her amusement didnât last very long. By the time Haise mentioned an unknown presence, she had already felt it and realized there was no point in trying to avoid whoever it was. "Why bother?" She says, âIâm sure theyâve noticed as well. And thereâs quite a murdering aura around them.â
         She had heard them quite audiblyâ not necessarily their words due to her lack of interest, but she knew others were around. Really, she didnât want to bother too much with them when she could easily pick a fight with someone weak and alone so there wasnât a hassle. However, it would likely be even more of a bother to try and find that particular person, so she figured she might as well give it a shot. It wasnât as if she had much to lose.
         Stopping once one went silent, Zero heard what seemed to be words intended to call her out following. The voice was almost crystal clear, a result of one of her âsisterâsâ influence. It wasnât always horrible, she guessed.
               Zero turned to approach the group, stepping casually despite the sword over her shoulder. âOh, yeah? Got a problem with it?âÂ
        "Shoulda stayed quiet. I was going to leave you alone.â
âł ||Â He sighs a little at Moka's words-- despite his occupation (which, he guesses, doesn't matter so much anymore), he rather avoid conflict that's entirely unnecessary. When the presence appears in front of them, armed yet so casual (arrogance, or just confidence?), he releases a bigger sigh.Â
"Let's just settle down here," he speaks, exasperated. "No need for conflict. There's much bigger things to worry about, right? Like food, or water, or our partners." Despite his words that are intended to disarm, he tenses as his eyes glide across the blade of the woman in front of him. He can sense strength overflowing from her, and, though his side has the advantage of numbers, neither side would remain unscathed.Â
"So," he forces a chuckle, "will you let us go, miss?"Â
âł ||Â Overhead, the sky shines with no lights, no stars, no moon. Perhaps an occasional star peaks through the thick clouds, illuminating the ground with its slight, dim light. In those fleeting moments, Haise can see his surroundings-- the ground a few meters below, the bare branch he sits upon, the bare branches of trees across and adjacent from him. The safest place, he finds, is up high, where the beasts can't reach and most people can't be bothered to climb. He waits the night out up here, seemingly relaxing (though all his senses save for vision are focused).Â
In once instance of brief light, he spots someone down below, confused (though he can't really make out her expression, he can see her erratic sorts of movement). He stops reclining with his back against the trunk and swings his legs over on side of the branch. "Do you need help?" he calls out.
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