Kids Will Be Kids by kingfishers_game

Chapter 15: Don't Leave Your Most Meaningful Revelations for Your Deathbed

For the first time in a very long time—for the first time ever, maybe—Kamui was bothered by the blood on his hands. He'd been trekking through the forest in search of his escape ship long enough that it was dry, but somehow he could still feel the warmth of fresh blood, wet and slick, over his skin. It felt hot—no, it felt like burning acid. Was there a stream around here? He needed to wash the blood off, needed to get it off—

Kamui paused in his footsteps. That's enough. He hadn't done anything wrong—or rather, he hadn't done anything worth regretting. He hadn't wanted to kill her in that fight, but he'd been prepared to. Admittedly, it had been a mistake to get tangled up in Kagura's business, to try to force her into the role of a true Yato to see how strong she could really be, but only because it was a waste of time. There was no need to ruminate on that mistake. That was how he lived, wasn't it? There was only the next battlefield to dominate, the next enemy to defeat. With the injury he'd inflicted, Kagura might live, or (more likely) she might die, but she had known that going into the fight. He wasn't the type to feel guilty over an opponent he'd killed.

He wasn't the type to think about the fact that when he'd first regained consciousness after she beat him, his umbrella was lying open over his face. She must have put it there while he was asleep to give him shade.

He wasn't the type to remember her face when he pulled his arm out of her stomach. Nothing more or less than surprise—not betrayal, not pain, not indignation, just mild surprise. Her mouth seesawing open and closed. Blood forcing its way up through her throat to smear over her lips.

He wasn't the type to be transfixed by the image of the hole in her side. The red of her dress had looked dull next to the dark, vivid crimson of her blood. And through the other side, daylight. Surreal. Like a child's paper doll with a hole punched in it. Like it wasn't Kagura. Like it wasn't his sister. Like it wasn't his fault.

She'd known what she was getting into. What a pathetic weakling, that she'd thought she could 'save' him. Maybe this last injury would be enough to teach her once and for all how beyond saving he was.

Kamui stopped walking and leaned against a tree as nausea rolled over him. The squelching sound when he struggled to pull his arm out of her stomach. Before he knew what was happening, he was on his knees wiping vomit from his mouth.

How long had it been since the last time he'd actually been sick like this? It was an incredibly unpleasant sensation. His eyes were watering. He spat to clear his tongue of the sour taste. That girl's supposed to be the one with a weak gag reflex... When they were kids, Kagura had always been vomiting for some reason or another. Seems like the habit hadn't left her over the years. The smell of stomach bile mixed with blood from where she'd gagged on his shoulder brought another wave of illness to Kamui's body. If his stomach hadn't just voided its contents, he'd probably throw up again.

He kicked some dirt over the mess and continued on, though by now his walk had slowed to a limp. His left arm was shattered at the wrist and near the shoulder, and he had an assortment of broken ribs and various other fractured bones. Kagura had really done a number on him, hadn't she? Whatever her emotional weaknesses, she'd given him an unbelievable fight.

And in return, he'd killed her.

Maybe.

It was odd for him to dwell on it like this. Kamui had chosen a long time ago to seek nothing but strength, to discard anyone who got in his way and keep only those who could further his goals. Over the past ten or so years since he left home, he'd never strayed from the path in front of him, never been distracted by 'bonds'—

But no, that wasn't true, was it? He'd been distracted from his path before. And every time, every time, it was Kagura's fault.

10 years ago