Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate ✩ LOCKED TO TSUNA (and Trunks, when it's time)
[ There are, in all of Mukuro's many exhausted lives, days when nostalgia sinks through the bones like salt water. Let's extend this metaphor a little: ten years locked in aqueous ions, his eyes (the source of his powers, if we are being honest) sealed shut, forced to see only dreams, freezing below the ground, mechanized exclusively by the bodies of others, such as the girl. Drowning, you see. This is your brain on Vendicare. And it isn't very funny, is it? Mukuro is laughing. Mukuro laughs. That, quintessentially, separates him from the remnants of humanity. They don't get that the joke's on them. Mukuro, at least, knows.
A decade is time enough to nourish a grudge. In Naraka, Sawada Tsunayoshi, there are hot hells, and there are cold hells, and let's suppose you can guess to which your mafia's lauded if notorious Vendice belongs. But you only put Mukuro there in the first place. And maybe he resents you for ensuring that he has wasted the best years of this life. Or maybe it's not so complicated as all that. Maybe he just wishes to fuck with you because you, at least, can be guaranteed to offer entertainment.
You should know by now that Mukuro, capricious though he may be, plans a little more carefully than to let you inform everyone of his actions. And so it is that we find him beyond the edge of the Golden District, which the locals term the dark forest, and an apropos name it is, where the fogs and mists rise amid the shade of leaves, and the landscape is not of Mukuro's making, not now, but it is of his element.
Shadow and twilight.
Nostalgia sinks far deeper than you can imagine, in this place reminiscent of the old Kokuyo -- which for you must have been yesterday, and which for Mukuro is a long distant memory, another part and parcel of his lives. He sits on a high fallen tree, in the old familiar pose (though taller now, funny that), hands dangling, elbows to his knees, trident resting beside him.
We have all of eternity to wait in hell, Tsuna.
And there you are. Coming, as predicted.
And Mukuro knew.
He felt their bodies bleed and fall.
It really is too priceless, isn't it? ]
You didn't think you could get away with broadcasting my intentions, did you?
[ You tried, didn't you, Tsuna? Mukuro laughs. Genuinely curious.
But he already knows. ]
A decade is time enough to nourish a grudge. In Naraka, Sawada Tsunayoshi, there are hot hells, and there are cold hells, and let's suppose you can guess to which your mafia's lauded if notorious Vendice belongs. But you only put Mukuro there in the first place. And maybe he resents you for ensuring that he has wasted the best years of this life. Or maybe it's not so complicated as all that. Maybe he just wishes to fuck with you because you, at least, can be guaranteed to offer entertainment.
You should know by now that Mukuro, capricious though he may be, plans a little more carefully than to let you inform everyone of his actions. And so it is that we find him beyond the edge of the Golden District, which the locals term the dark forest, and an apropos name it is, where the fogs and mists rise amid the shade of leaves, and the landscape is not of Mukuro's making, not now, but it is of his element.
Shadow and twilight.
Nostalgia sinks far deeper than you can imagine, in this place reminiscent of the old Kokuyo -- which for you must have been yesterday, and which for Mukuro is a long distant memory, another part and parcel of his lives. He sits on a high fallen tree, in the old familiar pose (though taller now, funny that), hands dangling, elbows to his knees, trident resting beside him.
We have all of eternity to wait in hell, Tsuna.
And there you are. Coming, as predicted.
And Mukuro knew.
He felt their bodies bleed and fall.
It really is too priceless, isn't it? ]
You didn't think you could get away with broadcasting my intentions, did you?
[ You tried, didn't you, Tsuna? Mukuro laughs. Genuinely curious.
But he already knows. ]