Chapter Text
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It was weird, how silent it all got, suddenly. Inori had barely registered it, with the pain still coursing through his body, reminding him every second of the stupid decisions he had taken that had let him to this very moment.
This silence was truly getting long. Did he pass out?
Inori raised his head, and was quick to understand why even the leaves of the trees had stopped.
Kenshirou's eye was wider than he had ever seen it. Kiji didn't seem to care much about his makeup, salty water ruining his mascara and carefully applied eyeliner, probably the only one who had registered what had happened. Even the usually stoic Hajime looked bothered by what he was seeying, and the weird lady that was fighting him had froze. The three inmates of Cell 8 were just getting out of the underground, followed by Kokoriki and Youriki carrying an unconscious Rokuriki. All five of them had stopped in their tracks in the middle of the stairs, horror written on all their features as their eyes stopped in one place. All of them were.
Inori sure was envious of Rokuriki for not having to witness this scene.
Because, infront of all of them, Enki's hand had just pierced the torso of the Supervisor of Building 5.
And nothing would make him come back from this injury.
The dirt was turning red under them, spilling like snow on a moutain in winter, staining the ground to never wash out again, to never let them forget this day.
Enki's eyes were wide. So were Samon's. Neither of them had expected this, neither of them had seen it coming.
Yet, Enki had just killed his sole younger brother.
The shorter of the two Gokuu brothers started coughing, his body seeming determined to leave an unremovable trace in this very place. His hands were clutching the part of his torso that was broken, trying to process what was happening, why he was seeying his ribs, his lungs, his guts. A pink and red and boney-white mess infront of his eyes, his vision slowly getting more blurry as the seconds escaped his grasp. As his breaths escaped his chest—to never return again.
He tried speaking, tried asking what was going on to his brother, the one he looked up to more than anything in this world, the one he'll always go to for comfort. This time maybe for the last.
But when Samon looked up at Enki, the look he saw wasn't the one he was expecting or used to—instead of the usual bored or annoyed expression, he found pure surprise. No, horror,—fear?
Probably not. His brother couldn't possibly be scared. He was never scared of anything. What could he even be scared of? It was only the two of them in this fight.
Where his voice gave up, Enki's carried low.
"..Samon?"
He wanted to reply. He couldn't, instead choking on his own throat, his own body turning on him. Why was it suddenly so dark? It was nowhere near evening, not even noon yet. Everything was so, so blurry. Man, he sure was hungry. What did he prepare for lunch today? He couldn't quite remember. Oh well, it'd be a surprise. He liked surprises. Enki never did throw him that surprise birthday party he wanted as a kid. But hey, they had plenty of time. Surely one day.
A full minute when by before anyone raised a finger. Before anyone yelled. Upa was the first one to do so, Noriko following close behind, hands coming up to her mouth to cover that screech deserving of the best horror movie awards.
Kiji was the first to move, rushing to the brothers' side. Rushing to get Samon away from him, from this person he used to know. Because his friend had gone limb. Because his eyes had closed, because his grip had loosened.
Because his breath had stopped, because his heart was following.
Because even if he had gotten paler over the last few years, spending too much time inside, he had never came this close to matching Kiji's own skin.
Because his friend was dying, and nobody could stop that.
After Kiji set in motion, the rest were quick to follow. Kenshirou and Hajime rushing, Noriko passing them despite stumbling at the start, Inori trying and failing to get up, only hurting himself more. Upa, Liang and Qi stayed fixed in place, till the oldest of the three remembered he was probably the only one with a minimal of medicine knowledge here.
Maybe he could finally help Samon the same way he had helped him. Maybe he could return the favour, after so many months.
Or maybe he was watching the one man that had gave him a hand when he was at his lowest die. Maybe this was the end of that story.
Enki had stepped back from Samon, almost letting him fall to the ground if it wasn't for Noriko catching him. He didn't speak, didn't move further than that. Just stared, eyes unblinking, shock locking him in place.
How did that happen?
He didn't get it.
Samon was better than this. He could dodge without a problem. So what had happened? Why did his hand pierce through him like butter, crushing ribs and organs alike, hand coming out on the other side with bits of bones and blood?
Why hadn't Samon dodged?
Why hadn't Samon answered him already?
Why had his annoying brother turned so, so quiet?
Noriko's eyes filled with tears, wide open in pure dread and panic. She didn't know what to do, where to put her hands to stop this horrible and vile wound from bleeding. From taking her younger brother farther and farther away from her. From them.
One, two, three, four.
The last one was dim, barely hearable from his chest.
Noriko couldn't hear Samon's heartbeat any longer, static now drowning her senses, an eerie calm letting place to the terror in her own torso.
The cold hands of life had already reclaimed their rights, Samon's eyes shining in emptiness at whatever had welcomed him after such a goory event.
The rest of the next hours were a complete blur for most of them, rain washing off memories and dirt alike. There had been terror, then dread—before pain and denial took their place in this atrocious, barbaric scenario.
Some guards had to stay back for the inmates, including Enki, being put back behind bars without even a chance to wash off the blood that was so close to his own.
The rest had been allowed to go patch up and rest.
Samon had been taken to another room than theirs, yet so close. Just the next corridor over.
The morgue.
Only a few hours after death, his body had already changed, to never return to what it once was—eyes deep in their sockets, skin so pale he could mimic the whitest sheet of paper. Darkcircles turning purple, followed closely by his fingers and nose. The gash in his torso had yet to be closed or hidden away, the trauma of the blow permanently disfiguring his body. Life had stopped there for him, leaving him behind for good like Enki had tried doing so many times. Taking back what it had given just some short twenty-seven years ago.
Nobody quite processed what did happen, that day. Why hadn't he dodged? Why did he stay in place, unmoving, unspeaking?
The rain failed to undo the crime that had taken place here, failing to efface the red traces that would stay for years to come.
Both in the ground and their minds, now forever rooted and drilled into their skulls and eyelids.
This day couldn't possibly get worse, could it?
Inori had been unresponsive for the past hour. Awake, acknowledging them, but staying silent. Enki wasn't the only one to blame, was he?
If Inori hadn't done that, hadn't caused this accident, this escape, Samon would still be here. His supervisor would still be breathing, probably berating him for getting injured like this, for not trusting him more. Why Samon, why not him?
But now, he was dead, pale and bloody like one of those horror stories they'd tell during drunken nights, trying to scare each other, laughing their hearts out after a bad joke.
The silence now was perforating his eardrums, rendering him deaf. He missed the noise.
Nights like that wouldn't happen again, would they?
One thing was sure, nobody would sleep tonight. And it wasn't because of one of Samon's shitty attempts at frightening them.
Or maybe he had finally succeed, for once and for all nights to come.
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