June was left to the side as if she were nothing more than an extra, a forgotten character to only be destroyed when the plot required it. With her back facing the air and her face to the road, she could feel rooftop tiles hit her rear, rocky pebbles riddling her snowy strands. Standing tall, she brushed the dust off her shoulders and scoffed, unleashing a cough afterward, Wilder turned her body to face right down the street. Gifted especially with Eternal Sight that could gaze further than anything, even with these wounds, with these cracked ribs, as her legs flailed on the edge- the gate between the realm of the living, of the dead, she could gaze through it all.
The sounds of their boots slamming the pavement on repeat entered her ears, for it was familiar to her, enough that she didn't falter as she dared right ahead at the essence of her demise. Or rather, it would be, if it weren't for how she felt at that time. The sounds of their clamoring footsteps weren't as much of an annoyance compared to the audio of their incessant, repetitive breathing. They inched closer, arms in hand, prepared for the given moment, the ripe time when they'd be ready to strike. It'd seemed that was the only thing they'd prepped for, the direction of the bullets as she dared to make the first move, the sing of metal as it was unsheathed, revealing that sharpness from the hide as it was destined to slice at prime flesh. All insignificant threats in the face of ultimate power. Or rather, what seemed like it, to their normal thought of what 'strength' should be.
There was no doubt the soldier in front wanted to halt, for the first time she parted her lips, the very next words she decided to speak were nothing more than simply chilling.
"I can't help but say sorry to you all. What's about to happen is just me letting off some steam. Goodbye."
They couldn't even react to the next thing, what seemed like normal to her was a reactionary speed limited to maybe a millisecond later, as she raised her arm and felt the tendril snake around her skin like a serpent's signature slithering, she shook away the goosebumps. The edge of the lance hardened to the point it shone, a newly-sharpened sword, that's the aura that surrounded this new weapon of hers. It was like second nature to her, an indescribable instinct that she couldn't control, the way her arm moved so smoothly, obliterating invisible space lingering in front of her grassy-tinted pupils. That was the initial assumption, more accurately, the way things were so minuscule it seemed like there were nothing there in the first place, she'd already mercilessly rid so many micro-organisms of their lives, so what were some feeble humans?
What was the difference in life? Why did one matter more than the other, for what was the characteristic that distinguished these beings, the ephemeral beings humans were, compared to the ceaseless wanderings those organisms were experiencing in whatever quantum realm they inhabited? They didn't deserve to die, they weren't doing anything but minding their business, but so what? They died anyway, and she couldn't control it, but what of what was occurring in the present? If she wanted to help people through their faults, through their plentiful flaws so they could emerge as the best versions of themselves, she'd need to realize one thing: human lives weren't expendable.
None of them were innocent and yet all of them weren't sinners. To learn not to judge others for their circumstances, was that truly so difficult that she couldn't know this off the bat? For her first instinct was to slaughter these soldiers instantly. Would she truly utilize her carnal desire to escape the void of despair she'd created by slaughtering lives that held so much potential?
'I don't know what conviction is the proper one or if mine is a righteous one. But why should I care? Selfishness, there's no doubt that it leads to an undeniable end goal, caring for no one but yourself, sure, other people hate you, but, do you need other people? Do I need any of you to feel gratitude, to feel happy about doing something in my life? Do I truly want to save such ungrateful pieces of shit... I want to destroy them all! For what they did for my brother, Katie, Mr. Amara! WHY SHOULD I HAVE TO SAVE ANY ONE OF YOU!?'
But even so, the hate in her heart had not reached its boiling point, for as she stood surrounded by bodies still breathing and rifles that littered the ground, not dirtied with the blood of defeated others, she stared to the endless night that the surrounding curtain paraded as the sky's truth.
"My heart is heavy, thinking about the burden I'll have to bear. I wish I could kill every single one of you, that your mutilated chunks could stay splattered against this very road, but I don't... I'm helpless to commit even a single murder. I can't take the life of someone powerless. When the time comes, would I even be able to do that to Rivers- to that damned Jester who dared to threaten my stupid ginger brother?"
The silence was deafening, like a tyrant establishing a rule with an iron fist, it reigned through the lands without anyone disturbing it, for there remained only her, but who dared to speak a word? She enjoyed the sound of nothing encompassing the setting, as she continue to ponder, eventually, she'd scoured the deepest reaches of her inner mind and came out with bloody fingers, tired of the relentless digging. There was nothing more than the truth she'd accepted on that rooftop, as the sunset over the horizon and as it rose once more, there was no doubting that... was the path she chose.
'To save others is to save yourself. Little by little, inch by inch, if you're suffering, help someone. Just help one, if not for yourself and your well-being, then for them. Save their suffering, and then save yours. Take care of yourself.'
That voice was one she'd heard daily, and even so, she couldn't believe it. That those words were ones her mirror absorbed, that slab of glass that simply reflected her face, had parried what she'd said to stay within her heart's confines. If she just kept believing it until the end of her days, maybe she'd just be alright. Everyone goes through their struggles, life keeps throwing them their way, and no matter how hard it got, they'd need to persist.
At times, though, it seems easier to let it all go, to release thyself to failure and lose the will that burns humans' hearts to perpetuate. Right now, as she turned her head at the sound of bare feet bottoms touching against the body-riddled pavement, she could spot none other than the Samurai. Ripping his katana out of the sheath, spinning it momentarily so it could revert to a grey sphere, he aimed it overhead, the point tipped to her temples. Just one accurate thrust and her brain would mush. He possessed the skill to do so, so why?
'Why isn't he attacking?'
That was the only question she could think of. Attempting to focus her brain to do more would result in an intrusion. For some reason, deja vu crept up on her as he continued his speech.
"I want to know something. Why didn't you kill these men? They were going for you with their lives, ready to take you off the corner of this world. But even so, despite their malicious bloodlust, intended only for you, you spared them from the depths of death. Inform me why that is."
June blinked. The patterns surrounding her green eyeball reappeared, this time, glistening with a snowy hue, like snowflakes, descending from the clouds to grace the world with a frosty taste. Ryosuke didn't falter, still idle, holding that heavy sword handle with all his might as he awaited her answer.
"Are you going to let me flee here without fighting you?" The younger girl asked of the elder man, to which the Warrior's voice grew solemn,
"Unfortunately, you know I cannot do that, Miss Wilder," The Samurai sorrowfully replied to her, but this time, as she stepped forward, the aura surrounding her had changed.
As if the air stagnated, the winds' course altered, maybe even slowed. Or maybe it was an illusion, created by the mind, in anticipation for the coming battle, June felt the sparks of lightning jolt her very hairs. Feeling its course through her very veins, her hair jerked upward, now levitating as if gravity didn't exist.
"Then, if you wish for an answer to that question, let us fight... and let's hope one of us is still alive at the end."
'What a mature answer for such a young girl. A pitiful youth plagued by ignorance, I shall enlighten you about the truths of the despairs that entangle this world.'
'Please, don't die. Samurai- no! Ryosuke Satoru, I want to know... your story.'
And so, as they ran ahead to face the other, another battle commenced, and surely enough, the victor would be granted that path outside the chains of ignorance.
To Be Continued.