Blossoms of the Dark Continued

CCXXX Selene: Sin

Once again, this is for the sake of the story. Please don't come after me. 

On another note, Blossoms of the Dark will cross the anticipated 230 chapter ending. But I have the remaining chapter schemes planned out. There will be three more chapters, followed by an epilogue and a disclaimer to complete the fanfiction. The disclaimer will explain my future plans of this story. 

Trigger Warning: 

- major character deaths

- death

- blood

- gore

- vomiting blood

- poison

- blades

- dismemberment

- self-harm

- wrist slitting

- suicidal tendencies

- assault

- kidnapping

_________________________________________________________

The human perception of time is a crazy thing.

One second can sometimes feel like as short as a flash, or as long as an eternity.

It all depends on the circumstance.

I'd argue time warp is even stranger in the face of war.

Mere moments ago, I was cutting through heroes like a chef chopping vegetables. Everyone's face blurred together. I had no idea who died or who was still fighting or who had given up. They were all the same to me: foes. After breaking past the pentagram and noticing a clear path toward escape, the heroes had me preoccupied with preventing them from getting past. Everything was a frenzy. Their screams blended into one. Their blood coalesced into one. Their bodies became one.

Until him.

In the din of hysteria and madness, I heard a singular voice as clear as a drop of water in a silent cave.

Shouto's.

A choked grunt. Followed by a gurgle.

Time slows to the consistency of honey.

No. It cannot be. Tell me it isn't true!

I cannot get to him fast enough. The Pro-Heroes drop like flies as the distance between us lessens. Every second counts, but every second that I use to annihilate the heroes is a lifetime gone by. By the time I reach Shouto, it's already too late.

He is lying on the dusty ground, heaving for air, both hands clutched around the handle of a knife. His dark blue shirt quickly stains an ugly shade of violet. Thin tendrils of smoke curl up from the skin around his chest. Bile climbs up my throat. I swallow the acrid liquid down and straddle his waist.

I pull the knife out.

Immediately, my hands move to apply pressure on his chest. The smoke, the spurts of blood rhythmically erupting from his mouth, the necrotizing skin near the wound, the blood steadily streaming down his nose, mouth, ears, and eyes ... I know exactly which kind of dagger struck his heart. And for the first time, I curse myself for my ingenious wickedness.

The tears come unbidden, slipping from my eyes, down my mask, onto Shouto. Disappearing in his blood. I do nothing to stop them. Rather, I let them flow. Even stronger when his injuries manifest on my body.