Ever since their meeting in the Remnant World, something struck at her, a sensation she couldn't let mold and rot away as if it were initially forgettable. Maybe she was half-conscious or maybe not, but the thing she remembered the most was the sight of that sword, aiming to behead that powerless man tending to her wounds... as if it were the will of tragedy in this world. The despair that society had formed with each new piece of the puzzle had incarnated into this specter, attempting to rid the world of any semblance of trouble from the shadows; a transparent avenger.
But the sight she saw that day was clouded by misjudgment, for when he was given the chance to kill, he was reminded of what he'd missed the most. Love. Of course, she remained ignorant to this conclusion, and so, as they clashed now, there remained one thing on both of their minds. Satoru had already peered into the mind of her teacher, Jefferson, but he remained uneducated about his pupil, June Wilder. Her story, her desires. What laid behind that white mask she called a face?
'I want to know... your story!'
Ryosuke charged at her as light blasted down the street, his sword clashed at the hardened tendrils, then flew overhead after slashing at her defense, landing behind her. Attempting to sweep at her feet, he hadn't accounted for her turning already, June's fist inching at his face, knuckles sparkling green bolts. But, just in time, her fist scraped his cheek, his palm striking her chest, a leg kicking across her face, she was sent spinning in mid-air before she collapsed to her side onto the ground.
Just as he stomped his foot where her head stood, she rolled back, on two soles, Ryosuke upraised his brow, how impressive she'd shed the disorientation from those rapid attacks so swiftly as if it were natural. June threw two fists forward, bursts of emerald electricity crackling through the air with a shocking reverberation, leaving Ryosuke to run ahead, but as he did, he flipped to the side, onto a car's roof. Then jumping off, now unsheathing his katana yet again, he slashed it at her head, hoping to cut her down the middle.
Vanishing to a blur, her punch connected to the back of his skull, sending him to fall onto the ground, bouncing off the pavement, sent soaring down the street with a tiny groan still audible. Blood leaking out his nostrils to paint her face's side, June's flailing legs perpetuated her enhanced speed, not to mention another fist entering his chest, then another. It was distant, but she could surely hear the sound of shattering windows as she ran past.
Eventually, he'd stop, but not without cause, as his back snapped against a building, now resting in a hole of his creation, a river of blood streamed from his hairline to the top of his right eye. The tiniest drop descending from the Heavens heralded a change, maybe rain, or maybe not, but as she stood over his defeated body, June knew she wasn't hallucinating when she heard those sounds croak from his throat. None other than weak chuckles, as if he were on his deathbed, staring up at an Angel, ready to take him to the realm above, where peace awaited for his eventual end.
"You're... strong..." The Samurai commented with a cough, more blood splattering the concrete between his legs.
"I had a good teacher, not to mention Ace's my brother... I won, but, before I go to find my friends, I want to ask you something. How did you end up like this?"
Going through everything that'd led to this point would be a hassle, but he had not the strength to summarize it, for he wouldn't be surprised if his very conscience died before he could even choke out the words. What more could he do but stare at the sky, black in its shade, reflecting the gazer into his eyes, Ryosuke managed to let out another laugh, weak, this time, without the cough.
"If you reach... if you reach the Opera... Hse... you'll know everything about me, you'll learn the truth, and I can't say I'm not glad Jefferson didn't inform you. If you're disappointed, I just wanted to say, for the last time, that I don't regret it. I'll always hate those who damned me for being who I was, but I didn't realize I was damning those like me in the process, choosing to stay by the Founder, all this time. It's just that, in a world like this, where being who I am gets me to rock bottom for even being born, I couldn't be happy. I wish I had more time with everyone, with Heidi, with Kosuke and Azazel, but... we were fated to end up like this. We chose 'the wrong path,' we were just blinded by it. We all wanted to be... bigger than ourselves."
How long had she been listening to this? Why did it feel like ages when only a few seconds passed, maybe she was resigned to his fate, maybe this body wasn't her own, maybe she could muster some sort of strength, some sort of pulse in his heart, to return him to this mortal plane. She'd never known anything about him, but as he laid there with a motionless chest and lifeless eyes, she wept, she bawled and cried, and dirtied the sleeves of her shirt as she stood on her knees before his bloody body. With all that power, the power of the Demon King imbued within him, he couldn't beat her. Maybe if he'd lived, there would be a proper end, that a young girl like her wouldn't bear the burden of ensuring everything goes the way it was meant to be.
Was that selfish? Giving him another chance, thrusting her responsibilities upon him if his heart were to continue beating? Maybe the time for thinking had passed, maybe she was thinking too much; none of that mattered, what she was doing? Her fingers touched upon his eyes to lower the lids upon his brown pupils, afterward, she stood, tearing off the sleeves of her hoodie to reveal those veiny muscles. She needn't dare look back, for as she turned away from her victim, she whispered but one phrase she couldn't deny the truth of.
"I need to keep moving."
If you were a ghost wandering through these barren lands, you'd be wondering why you'd often hear the grunts, sounds like soldiers fighting in the war, charging into battle with bullets spraying every which way. That question asked unto oneself about what events were occurring, why you'd be hearing those sounds, they were all answered if you'd look upon that black man's body. For as that girl walked away, she held a face unlike any had seen before, as she was an individual with a proper conviction, with the will necessary to make a change in this world. But even the ghosts stood shocked as she lazed about those streets, gradually dragging herself like a decrepit zombie missing limbs through this enclosed space, without a sound made. And that description seemed accurate, for only someone as brainless as the undead would dare to continue moving forward.
The conviction she wielded, the power to change the world, in the end, what more could she save with such a curse imbued in her? It all culminated in that unfortunate life she stole of a man worthy of a second chance. His blood was on her hands, and all she could do… was walk.
To Be Continued.