[Drabble] KHR - Illusive, Elusive
Title: Illusive, Elusive
Rating: PG (or whatever its literary equivalent is - contains blood and stuff)
A/N: This is some weird drabble I wrote thanks to [this fic]. It got me in a weird mood and I tried to write angst. I think you'll probably find this isn't angst in the end, but...it's...dark?
He had known, somewhere deep within the recesses of his mind, that this would happen. Sooner or later, the man would have broken. Sooner or later, the man would have lost control. One cannot keep a rabid dog on a fraying leash, and though the Vongola's Guardian of the Mist, Mukuro Rokudo, was not so much a rabid dog as a lethal snake, the fact remained that he was a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.
One does not toy with the mist - the mist toys with you. And they had been fools to think that they could toy with him, that man, seemingly born from the very depths of Hell. No-one can control a demon and believe they can escape without some form of payment. A payment which is always in blood.
As Mukuro Rokudo stood amongst the carnage he had wrought, he tipped his head back and laughed - a wild, triumphant sound which resounded loudly in the oppressive silence. Thick, crimson liquid stained his hands, smeared his cheeks; his tongue ran across his lips and tasted the purity of the bitter iron. The tines of his weapon flashed in the dim light as they arced through the air, leaving a splatter of small dark droplets.
Rarely did he allow his emotions to rule his actions. But when they did, destruction followed surely in his wake. For such things cannot remain bottled up inside indefinitely - they must be released.
Mist shrouds the truth with a lie, concealing the lie within a perceived truth, deceiving you into believing this carefully constructed blurring of verity and falsehood. The deeper you venture, the further you lose yourself, and the more tightly the mist has its hold on you, until everything is but deception and reality a figment of the imagination.
How many can pierce to the heart of one who conceals themselves in such thick mist? How many can delve deep and re-emerge intact and whole? To control, one must understand the heart, but Mukuro Rokudo had long since shielded his heart, his true self, from the outside world.
And he, the one who had managed to snare a thread from this man's heart and make it dance to his tune, had known well that what he played with was something that could slip out of his grasp. Like mist.
And as he stared into the crazed depths of those mismatched eyes, he regretted - not for the first time - his carelessness in allowing Mukuro Rokudo to become wise to the game he played, and the loss of life which had resulted.
Still, it was not so bad, he thought, as the deadly points sheathed themselves through his chest, piercing the heart, and blood welled in his throat, spilling from his lips as his body slumped amongst all the others the man had slaughtered. At least it had been fun while it lasted.
Rating: PG (or whatever its literary equivalent is - contains blood and stuff)
A/N: This is some weird drabble I wrote thanks to [this fic]. It got me in a weird mood and I tried to write angst. I think you'll probably find this isn't angst in the end, but...it's...dark?
He had known, somewhere deep within the recesses of his mind, that this would happen. Sooner or later, the man would have broken. Sooner or later, the man would have lost control. One cannot keep a rabid dog on a fraying leash, and though the Vongola's Guardian of the Mist, Mukuro Rokudo, was not so much a rabid dog as a lethal snake, the fact remained that he was a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.
One does not toy with the mist - the mist toys with you. And they had been fools to think that they could toy with him, that man, seemingly born from the very depths of Hell. No-one can control a demon and believe they can escape without some form of payment. A payment which is always in blood.
As Mukuro Rokudo stood amongst the carnage he had wrought, he tipped his head back and laughed - a wild, triumphant sound which resounded loudly in the oppressive silence. Thick, crimson liquid stained his hands, smeared his cheeks; his tongue ran across his lips and tasted the purity of the bitter iron. The tines of his weapon flashed in the dim light as they arced through the air, leaving a splatter of small dark droplets.
Rarely did he allow his emotions to rule his actions. But when they did, destruction followed surely in his wake. For such things cannot remain bottled up inside indefinitely - they must be released.
Mist shrouds the truth with a lie, concealing the lie within a perceived truth, deceiving you into believing this carefully constructed blurring of verity and falsehood. The deeper you venture, the further you lose yourself, and the more tightly the mist has its hold on you, until everything is but deception and reality a figment of the imagination.
How many can pierce to the heart of one who conceals themselves in such thick mist? How many can delve deep and re-emerge intact and whole? To control, one must understand the heart, but Mukuro Rokudo had long since shielded his heart, his true self, from the outside world.
And he, the one who had managed to snare a thread from this man's heart and make it dance to his tune, had known well that what he played with was something that could slip out of his grasp. Like mist.
And as he stared into the crazed depths of those mismatched eyes, he regretted - not for the first time - his carelessness in allowing Mukuro Rokudo to become wise to the game he played, and the loss of life which had resulted.
Still, it was not so bad, he thought, as the deadly points sheathed themselves through his chest, piercing the heart, and blood welled in his throat, spilling from his lips as his body slumped amongst all the others the man had slaughtered. At least it had been fun while it lasted.