𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐞'𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 | Inquisitormaster & Zsquad| Danganronpa

🗡𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒𝟓🗡|| 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐤𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫

DESPAIR ARC

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Trigger Warnings for this Chapter: Manipulation, mild violence, mentions of blood

ᛝ 🗝⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘🗝 ᛝ

~ 3rd Person POV~

Days and nights fell, yet no one could tell the difference with the fires brightening the city streets for them. As those days slipped through the fingertips of those who'd tried to grasp it, destruction was the only symphony those listening would hear. Aside from the screams, that is. The despairs, if they weren't the cause of it, would come to a halt to take in the heart-wrenching howls. They'd almost felt sympathetic toward the three who willingly shut themselves into their game.

Light, however, felt nothing toward anyone. As he moved through the streets, crushing debris under his steps, he'd catch a glimpse of his former classmates among their own endeavors. For one, he'd catch himself stopping near the ice rink, watching Charli glide in a cloud of red and black. When she smiled, it glistened off the ice, smudged with things no one would name. Light recalled her last performance. She had an audience climb from the bleachers onto the ice with her, and as she was skating, the ice first cracked, then crumbled. Charli was the only one to get off the ice in time, and she watched, hands behind her back, as the one lively ice rink grew quiet. She stalked off, and that was the last time he'd seen Char until now.

The edges of the fence dug into his forearms as he leaned onto it. Charli twirled and twirled, then stopped in the middle of the rink into a generous curtsy. He glimpsed her skates. No longer were they clean for what they've become. What was once used for the art of performance has shifted into a means for destruction. It was out of the question and his control, but there was nothing that could be done now. Peeling his gaze from the once-white skates, he pushes away from the fence and saunters off.

Light kicked his board onto the ground and, with a single push, was cruising through the city. The wind was whistling around him, a haunting shadow around his shoulders, and the repulsive stinging in his chest reached his ears. He can't remember the last time he'd felt at peace skating. Pawing through the memories and flashes in his head was too much of a risk he couldn't afford to take. Not now, not ever. He let out a breath, closed his eyes. The rumbling of his board beneath him sent vibrations through him.

He knew that he himself was not a saint compared to the others. Light had found his own way of amusement. The city has become his skatepark, and anything that served as a ramp or a challenge was treated as such. Wreckage followed Light when he'd pursue his own tricks. Not once did he feel guilty of it. He's destroyed a good portion of "good" structures that still stood, hoping that it would bring him something: disgust, fear, happiness. Nothing. So, he'd search for anything. Fires ensued, and Light dared to skate through them as well, careful not to come out with a single burn. He's always succeeded. The tricks that endangered others, he'd always come out on top. But the emotion was nowhere to be seen.

Light couldn't get much farther from those tricks, that empty ticking inside of his head, and so he gave up. It wasn't coming to him, and it wasn't doing him any good. Why wait for something that wasn't going to come? A damn waste of time, he'd tell himself, and go on.

As he cruised in silence, he kept an eye out for the others. Steering clear of them was one thing. Another was to watch from afar, perusing their faces to see what their actions brought them. Elation, acceptance, closure? He could never entirely tell. Unless it was Skye, her emotions are always written upon her face in big, bold, and glowing letters.