It was a strange and delightful beauty -the gruesomeness of his former comrade's death. Takasugi watched with an air of boredom, smoking casually at his pipe while leaning back against the alley wall. It should, by all means, have had some sort of affect on him, but that person had long since become oen of the many ghosts that still lingered around after having wandered so far from the battlefield. It was only justice that he died painfully for abandoning Shoyou's cause.
He stood far enough away that the blood didn't stain the jacket he'd borrowed from his subordinate, but he could still smell the scent, mingled warmly and pleasantly with the opium in his pipe. It brought a strange sort of delight, a kidn that accompanied the residual pleasantries watching the fires burn through the city had incited.
When it was over, he found himself laughing loudly and hysterically, surrendering to that delight and letting his head drop back against the hard stone wall. It was ecstasy to be this close to retribution. He still heard the whispers in his head -finish them, finish them-, and nothing but carnage like this quelled it.
He stood far enough away that the blood didn't stain the jacket he'd borrowed from his subordinate, but he could still smell the scent, mingled warmly and pleasantly with the opium in his pipe. It brought a strange sort of delight, a kidn that accompanied the residual pleasantries watching the fires burn through the city had incited.
When it was over, he found himself laughing loudly and hysterically, surrendering to that delight and letting his head drop back against the hard stone wall. It was ecstasy to be this close to retribution. He still heard the whispers in his head -finish them, finish them-, and nothing but carnage like this quelled it.
Reply
Leave a comment