He knows this. He's had to come to terms with it. He's still coming to terms with it. If Akechi fails in his plan to kill Masayoshi Shido, he will die. If he succeeds, he will die. And Maruki has wondered, from time to time, if he won't simply take care of that latter possibility himself. After all, what will he have left to live for? He can see it so clearly in his mind's eye: Revenge exacted all for the sake of a woman who did the best that she could, his life's mission achieved, and then a gun turned on himself.
It plays out before him as if in slow motion. The very gun he gave to Akechi raised, the trigger depressed, and Maruki will lose him, he will lose him–
He can't lose him yet. ]
Akechi, no–
[ He feels the shot before he hears it.
He hears the shot before he sees the gun turned to point toward him.
He sees the gun turned to point toward him before he shouts.
It all happens so quickly. Too quickly. The distraction worked.
Maruki hits the ground.
He can't feel the ground. He can't feel anything. Can. His whole neck burns white hot, radiates pain up into his skull. Did Akechi shoot him through the head? He can still see. He thinks he can still see. The sky above is so dark. He can still breathe. Can he? He can't feel the ground, can't feel anything, can feel everything, sensation flooding in and dying just as quickly. Is he dying? There's a hand at his neck. Whose hand? Akechi's– no, Venat's– no, Eren's– no, Akira's– dangling high above Odaiba– it's his own hand. His own blood. He smells it before he feels it, tastes it coating over his tongue, thick and viscous metal that starts to choke him. It's his blood? It's Akechi's blood. No. His. O negative, the universal donor. Tries to press his hand to his neck, fails. It's shock or it's blood loss or it's both and he's dying, isn't he, and he's
not going to see Rumi again and
alone and
Akechi stands only a few feet away and
cold and
it's the coldest day of the year and the wedding is months away and the snow is as white as the dress she refuses to show him and he's so terrified of saying the right things to her parents and they play cards around the kotatsu while her mother tells him about flower arranging and he understands all at once where her love of a garden started and there's strawberry cake waiting for her birthday and one day when their children have children of their own this home will be theirs and the quiet of the countryside will settle around them like the snow blanketing the window that shatters and
darkness closes in and
she screams and
he tries to scream and
he will lose her and
an aurora forms in the sky above him. ]
No.
[ Not shouted, not spoken, not whispered. Barely mouthed. His lips can't move. He can't move. He can't–
Breathe, sudden and rattling as the life stream that flows between he and Azathoth surges in all at once, synapses firing and nerves flooded with all the sensation that shock robbed of him. Tears prick and sting at his eyes as the pain settles in hard, fast, it was his neck, Akechi shot him in the fucking neck, the Tentacle of Healing is pouring everything it has into him and he knows, knows innately at the base of his skull that's steadily lighting itself on fire that this is the only chance he has. This will take everything from him. Any harm that befalls either of them after this will be theirs to live with or die by; Azathoth can wrench him to safety while he has one foot in the grave but it will be able to do no more, and Akechi won't stop
can't ever stop
neither of them will ever stop.
Maruki cannot let him get another shot. Not at him, not at himself.
He's still trapped flat on his back, clutching at his neck as blood slips through his fingers and stains his sleeves from a wound that can't heal rapidly enough to staunch it, when the ball of pure almighty light begins to coalesce in the sky.
Tyrant Chaos strikes. Maruki is blind to anything but his own grim grip on life, and Azathoth is blind to all, but he has faith that their aim is true. ]
cw suicide, gore i guess, gun violence, near death experience ha ha yay
He knows this. He's had to come to terms with it. He's still coming to terms with it. If Akechi fails in his plan to kill Masayoshi Shido, he will die. If he succeeds, he will die. And Maruki has wondered, from time to time, if he won't simply take care of that latter possibility himself. After all, what will he have left to live for? He can see it so clearly in his mind's eye: Revenge exacted all for the sake of a woman who did the best that she could, his life's mission achieved, and then a gun turned on himself.
It plays out before him as if in slow motion. The very gun he gave to Akechi raised, the trigger depressed, and Maruki will lose him, he will lose him–
He can't lose him yet. ]
Akechi, no–
[ He feels the shot before he hears it.
He sees the gun turned to point toward him before he shouts.
It all happens so quickly. Too quickly. The distraction worked.
Maruki hits the ground.
He can't feel the ground. He can't feel anything. Can. His whole neck burns white hot, radiates pain up into his skull. Did Akechi shoot him through the head? He can still see. He thinks he can still see. The sky above is so dark. He can still breathe. Can he? He can't feel the ground, can't feel anything, can feel everything, sensation flooding in and dying just as quickly. Is he dying? There's a hand at his neck. Whose hand? Akechi's– no, Venat's– no, Eren's– no, Akira's– dangling high above Odaiba– it's his own hand. His own blood. He smells it before he feels it, tastes it coating over his tongue, thick and viscous metal that starts to choke him. It's his blood? It's Akechi's blood. No. His. O negative, the universal donor. Tries to press his hand to his neck, fails. It's shock or it's blood loss or it's both and he's dying, isn't he, and he's
not going to see Rumi again and
alone and
Akechi stands only a few feet away and
cold and
it's the coldest day of the year and the wedding is months away and the snow is as white as the dress she refuses to show him and he's so terrified of saying the right things to her parents and they play cards around the kotatsu while her mother tells him about flower arranging and he understands all at once where her love of a garden started and there's strawberry cake waiting for her birthday and one day when their children have children of their own this home will be theirs and the quiet of the countryside will settle around them like the snow blanketing the window that shatters and
darkness closes in and
she screams and
he tries to scream and
he will lose her and
an aurora forms in the sky above him. ]
No.
[ Not shouted, not spoken, not whispered. Barely mouthed. His lips can't move. He can't move. He can't–
Breathe, sudden and rattling as the life stream that flows between he and Azathoth surges in all at once, synapses firing and nerves flooded with all the sensation that shock robbed of him. Tears prick and sting at his eyes as the pain settles in hard, fast, it was his neck, Akechi shot him in the fucking neck, the Tentacle of Healing is pouring everything it has into him and he knows, knows innately at the base of his skull that's steadily lighting itself on fire that this is the only chance he has. This will take everything from him. Any harm that befalls either of them after this will be theirs to live with or die by; Azathoth can wrench him to safety while he has one foot in the grave but it will be able to do no more, and Akechi won't stop
neither of them will ever stop.
Maruki cannot let him get another shot. Not at him, not at himself.
He's still trapped flat on his back, clutching at his neck as blood slips through his fingers and stains his sleeves from a wound that can't heal rapidly enough to staunch it, when the ball of pure almighty light begins to coalesce in the sky.
Tyrant Chaos strikes. Maruki is blind to anything but his own grim grip on life, and Azathoth is blind to all, but he has faith that their aim is true. ]