[Yami no Matsuei] (R)
Author's note: Written for Any, Any, 'Always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them so much.' (Oscar Wilde)
WARNING: Pain and implied torture
Pain was purifying, and given the amount of pain Muraki had subjected Tsuzuki to for the past two days, the shinigami started to wonder if his sins had been purged, his sinful soul cleansed. But he doubts that: no matter how much of his blood was shed, no matter how much Muraki cut him or cut him open, violating his flesh with a blade or his hands, the deaths on Tsuzuki's head could not be atoned for.
But there was someone who could be forgiven, even thanked, despite the futility of these actions.
The pain had diminished; Tsuzuki opened his eyes, looking up at his tormentor as the pale man set to work cleaning the blood from his scalpels and his hands.
"Muraki... I forgive you," Tsuzuki murmured.
His enemy paused in his work, turning to Tsuzuki, his good eye wide with surprise behind his silvery-grey mane, his blood-spattered face puzzled. "Could you repeat that?"
Tsuzuki turned his head, coughing and spitting blood. "I forgive you. For what you've done to me and what you're doing to me now."
Muraki turned back to the surgical slab on which Tsuzuki lies, a smirk crossing his pale face. "Do you think that forgiving me will somehow purge your soul? Do you think that it will make me stop? No, Mister Tsuzuki, I'm only just getting started." The dim light of the underground lab glints over Muraki's glass eye in ways that it should not be able to, as if to indicate that the darkness within him has awakened. He reaches to the table of medical implements, and takes up a bone saw with a long, narrow blade...
WARNING: Pain and implied torture
Pain was purifying, and given the amount of pain Muraki had subjected Tsuzuki to for the past two days, the shinigami started to wonder if his sins had been purged, his sinful soul cleansed. But he doubts that: no matter how much of his blood was shed, no matter how much Muraki cut him or cut him open, violating his flesh with a blade or his hands, the deaths on Tsuzuki's head could not be atoned for.
But there was someone who could be forgiven, even thanked, despite the futility of these actions.
The pain had diminished; Tsuzuki opened his eyes, looking up at his tormentor as the pale man set to work cleaning the blood from his scalpels and his hands.
"Muraki... I forgive you," Tsuzuki murmured.
His enemy paused in his work, turning to Tsuzuki, his good eye wide with surprise behind his silvery-grey mane, his blood-spattered face puzzled. "Could you repeat that?"
Tsuzuki turned his head, coughing and spitting blood. "I forgive you. For what you've done to me and what you're doing to me now."
Muraki turned back to the surgical slab on which Tsuzuki lies, a smirk crossing his pale face. "Do you think that forgiving me will somehow purge your soul? Do you think that it will make me stop? No, Mister Tsuzuki, I'm only just getting started." The dim light of the underground lab glints over Muraki's glass eye in ways that it should not be able to, as if to indicate that the darkness within him has awakened. He reaches to the table of medical implements, and takes up a bone saw with a long, narrow blade...