ODE TO THE MURDERED, bonten

54

PART FIFTY-FOUR !
heavy is the crown.

A SUPERMARKET OF MUGGY BREATHS START to stick to your lungs. A trembled exhale leaves your lips as you walk down the corridor; one narrow hallway, a dim ambiance enough to dampen skin, and unlike Bonten's modernized extravagancy—the corridors of what appears to be a property of Quoia only held a few expensive looking furnitures, everything remained awfully traditional: muted wallpapers, japanese-styled lacquerwares, shoji paper screen doors, tatami mats. it's like you're on your way to meet a family member and not a murderer and a crime lord of a large-scale drug syndicate.

    You take the chance to take a breath, heart pounding in your chest. stay calm, stay calm—

A hand touches your shoulder, prompting you to turn your attention towards the woman whom you still don't know the name of.

    You didn't realize this until now, but she smelled awfully like floral and cherries.

You hated it.

"Are you okay, my dear?"

You turn away. "Don't call me my dear—"

She grabs your jaw firmly and you startle, a pang of anger washes through at how weak you feel. Damn these drugs in your system.

"Because i admire your vigor, I'll tell you something that just might help you survive this place."

    You let in a long inhale as she glares you down, her hold on you never wavering, she's sickly serious.

"That hostility of yours," the older woman starts icily. "Showing clear hostility in a den of wolves will only get you killed faster, and this warning is not just for you, but for the others you might care so deeply. So think well before you do anything stupid, okay, girl?"

   When you don't answer, her fingers dig on the skin of your jaw. "You understand me?"

    You nod, then she releases her hold. The next couple of seconds walking was filled with nothing but mutual silence. the woman led the way and you lagged slightly behind, feeling the underlining effects of fatigue and nausea.

   just as you feel yourself pass out from exhaustion—you smelled it, burning incense.

    "we are here."

    the Madam says as you stopped in front of two large doors. she doesn't give you any more time to ponder for she reach forward to push the doors open. you swallowed your own breaths as you were pulled in with her and into the devil's den.

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police sirens echo. the smoke continues to billow. the sun dips into midnight and four tattered figures linger by an alleyway.

"you piece of shit!"

    Ryusei's back finds itself colliding against a brick wall, pain bursting through his vertebrae and he winces, though he didn't have enough time to revel on the ache, Hanma is on him immediately, clenched fist grabbing a fistful of his collar shirt. when Ryusei glares back he almost falters, Hanma's apathetic golden eyes are now a darker shade, like amber resin, burning and dripping with pure and unadulterated fury.