Under the Mirror

The First Death

Art by DuckxDuck

Summary: | ingredients: a lost fight, humiliating defeat, and burning cheek kisses |

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Blake was beyond exhausted. Every hit his counterpart landed was gifted with a bruise, but for the life of him he was too stubborn to back down. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his brothers in the same state, but holding their own fairly well.

Blake scowled and dodged a punch ducking under the leg that followed. He landed a kick in his opponent's stomach, and immediately shot away before she could retaliate.

In front of him, Berserk was panting heavily, a simmering fire behind her eyes. She was just as black and blue as he was in a sick sort of pride went through him, knowing that he had done that: the redhead's hair was all over the place, a bird's nest from when he had ruthlessly tugged. Blood was drawn from her split skin. Subtle exhaustion written in her movements showed that this was the toughest fight she had ever been in. 

His stupid pink counterpart met his eyes, and although she was still catching her breath from when he had kicked her in the stomach, she apparently wasn't tired enough to withhold her goading: "Ladies first."

Blake felt his anger surge at the arrogant smirk on her lips that he loathed and she grinned, almost as if she knew her effect on him. She probably did for all he knew (she was his counterpart) but the thing was Blake was beyond caring.

He shot forward faster than he imagined, ready to throw the knockout punch — but she was quicker.

His eyes barely caught her shifting to the side before she snatched up the collar of his shirt and used his momentum to ram him down into the ground.

When the dust cleared, the winner was obvious.

Blake groaned and tried to move. It was no use — his entire body felt like tons, sore bruises and broken bones weighing him down completely. He was spent. Blake tried to move again but then finally noticed something on top of him. It took him a few seconds to realize who exactly was on top of him.

"Get. Off." Blake managed to growl out. He twisted his head for maroon eyes to meet vibrant pink.

Berserk scoffed. "I don't think so, girly." She ignored the low growl Blake emitted at his new nickname, and as he tried to get up again he realized she had him completely pinned down.

A soft rustle came from above them and Blake felt his heart sink when he saw the state of his two brothers. Bash was somehow tied up in electrical wires, glaring up at his counterpart. Poor Breaker had to be in the worst state of them all being bruised and beaten. Brute had been completely ruthless. He was drifting in and out of consciousness as Brute deposited him on the ground.

They had lost.

Berserk nodded at her sisters. "Nice work, girls." Blake felt his stomach turn over at her approval.

Brat rolled her eyes. "You wanna speed it up, Serky?" She examined her mitt as if they had nails, and Blake felt viciously proud of Bash when he noticed how gingerly she was holding it. Probably broken. Ha. "Cuz I can always do it instead," she finished, smirking — wait, do what?

Berserk's approving gaze was wiped off, eyes growing defensive. "I'll do it," she grumbled. "Stick to your own counterpart." She looked back down at Blake and he felt his gut twist nervously at the wicked look in her eyes. "There's just something I wanna do first."

She leaned down, reddish-orange hair falling over her shoulders. "Who runs the world?" She asked softly, so only he could hear.

Blake didn't bother hiding his confusion. "Huh?"

Berserk's grip tightened, right into his pressure point. "Who. Runs. The. World." She enunciated slowly.

Questions swirled in his mind as he stared up at her. "I don't kn—" Blake froze as the answer came to him then, and judging from the way Berserk grinned sadistically at the unmasked horror on his face, she knew he knew the answer.

"I'll ask you one more time. Who. Run. The. World." Her unrelenting grip tightened to painful.

"... girls rule ..."

"Louder!"

"Girls rule!" He finally cried out. Humiliation seared through every inch of his body and Blake squeezed his eyes shut so the burning behind them would subside. He didn't have to look to see his counterpart smirking that arrogant smirk, basking in his defeat.

Blake felt her weight lift off him and he couldn't help breathing a sigh. "Good boy," Berserk murmured. She stroked his hair caked with dust just once before pulling away. A moment later, he felt something soft press against his cheek and his eyes shot open to see Berserk floating away, staring at him with her burning eyes.

Blake broke his gaze to glance at his brothers, relieved to see them free of their own counterparts. The relief was finally settling in — they were injured but alive, and the Powerpunks weren't gonna finish them off — when the burning sensation began.

Berserk's kiss was burning him, from the spot on his cheek to the rest of his body — like he had touched something scalding hot but couldn't pull away.

Then the bubbling began. It was deep inside of him, past the pain in his body. The ingredients, he realized vaguely. The ingredients were becoming unstable. We're becoming unstable.

Through the pain and panic that consumed him, he saw the Powerpunk Girls watching them with unreadable expressions, and even farther his poor little brothers writhing in agony.

Finally, their bodies were unable to handle it, and Blake Jomo watched as his own brothers exploded right before his own eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to stop the tears from leaking out from underneath his eyelids.

Blake could feel it coming, his impending death. The pain was unbearable and his brothers' death was worse.

Not much time left. Blake made sure to store in his mind the raw hatred he felt towards three certain sisters, and a special, dark piece of loathing for a pink punk.

The last thing he remembered before his life was ripped from his grasp was the intense way Berserk stared at him as he unraveled.

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