[RYSLIG] IC Inbox

[luckless]

WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, NAGITO KOMAEDA. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 004.28.777.00 *** MrBrightside has joined 004.28.777.00 <MrBrightside> Hello there! This is Komaeda. <MrBrightside> I'm grateful that you want to talk to me.

Anonymous username(s): < Triple7 > < BlueRam >

Comments

cw: uhhh belated violence warning

[chemoscion]

[ Komaeda falls back, and like so much refuse, his bleeding body slips from the end of Lucius' blade. As the sound of gurgling, blood-frothed laughter drifts from the boy who will soon become a corpse, Lucius flicks ichor from his sword to the floor below.

In this moment, Lucius doesn't wonder what this child has to gain by the display. As he regards the prone form below him, eyes cold, he doesn't see Komaeda—he sees the twisting, sneering visage that stares back a him when he looks too long into a mirror or slips too deeply into a dream.

He steps forward, and then one of boots stomps down on the shape of that putrid grin. ]

You fool — what do you think a year is to a man who has lived ten-thousand? [ Again, his foot pistons downward. Komaeda's face ought to burst like a too-ripe fruit with the force; with his diminished strength, however, he only feels the crunch of a pulped nose, and so he keeps stomping, over and over. ] A decade? A century?

[ He won't stop—not until the body stops moving. ]

What are these paltry shackles to a man who makes death itself bow before his will?

cw: vague death...? loss of conscious? it is a mystery

[luckless]

[There is no resistance to be had.

Even if his organs weren't punctured, even if he couldn't feel the way blood wells up his throat and gushes from the wound in his stomach, Komaeda doesn't resist. Part of it is the futility of doing so. He knows what it feels like to be on death's doorstep.

The other part of it is the satisfaction he wears despite a boot coming down on his face, pulping his nose, his cheek, and knocking the rest of his teeth loose in his head. His tongue cuts on them, and when he turns away it isn't to crawl from that violence but to simply cough up blood so that he doesn't drown on it.

He doesn't stop laughing either. A wheezing, manic titter that punctuates with each crushing blow, only to start up again despite the pain and the inevitable. Lucius says he isn't worth killing and yet, here they are.

Seconds feel like minutes, but after a moment, the laughter stops. Unconscious or dead, it doesn't matter, Komaeda has finally stopped in what little movements he had been making, and simply lies in a pool of his own blood.]