FicWad

(turn your eyes away)

He is Amano Ginji, and he is alive. He is alive, and there are bodies on the ground, bodies everywhere, and Ginji knows them all. He knows their names and faces, the sound of their tears and their laughter, the shape of their dreams. These are his friends, his family, his to protect, and--

Bodies, bodies everywhere--broken, bloody, dead, dead, dead--and Ginji is too late. Ginji is too late to do anything at all, and he'd promised, promised that he'd take care of them.

(turn your eyes away)

He is Amano Ginji, and monsters trod over his dead as easily as they would trash. There are so many of them, so very many--and their hands are large and scarred and smeared with blood; and they are laughing at death, and Ginji, and the world itself.

Ginji is not scared, not now, and he doesn't feel young, or small--doesn't feel anything less than grief, and rage, and white-hot power pressing against his chest, the back of his eyes, snapping through his fingertips.

(turn away)

He is--

He isn't Amano Ginji.

He is power, and vengeance, and strong enough. Strong enough to make them pay, and the monsters are dead in the space of a heartbeat. Bodies, bodies, everywhere, and there is nothing left to him but emptiness, and the promise of more curling inside his belly and chest and behind his eyes.

(should have looked away)

(turned away)

(run)

(none survive a god's birth so easily).

--end

Note: Written for the fanfic100 community on livejournal. Prompt: birth.