FicWad

It was not the light of the moon that had attracted Zero to the courtyard, nor the sound of Aidou’s voice, a fact which had struck him as so very odd as it resonated so deeply from the stone of the steps. If anything, it was the ironcast smell lingering on the air, feasting on his very brain.

He had arrived at the scene, more curious than anything else, part of him following the path of dire curiosity, the other the path of a darkened instinct, to find Hanabusa leaning over the bloodstained body of Yuuki. Instinct was replaced with disgust and the only weapon he had to hand was drawn.

He did not shoot Aidou. No. Even though his heart raced and the voices at the back of his head screamed murder. Only one bullet was released from the Bloody Rose - and it hit the tree bark. Snarling in a truly feral manner, he reached hold of Hanabusa’s shoulder and dragged him from Yuuki - forever imprinting the expression on the student’s face into his mind.
For Hanabusa’s face was not one of a beast - not even one of instinct; tears rolled down his face.

For a moment, Kiryu stared at him, unable to speak, before giving up completely and sheathing his weapon - moving to lift Yuuki into his arms.

“Back to your dormitory, vampire,” was all that he could say.

For some reason that scene refused to leave his mind - even as the choking fumes filled his lungs. It both disgusted him and intrigued him - how a feasting vampire could explode into fits of tears.

Taking hold of the reins of a shrieking mare, he directed her out of the glowing stall and into the chill outside, where Ichijo and Shiki held rusty buckets of water. Something about it wasn’t right and yet seemed to make more sense than anything he knew to understand.

Releasing the last beast from its enclosure, Zero threw his entire body out of the way as the creature, terrified by the heat, lunged onto its hind legs and squealed. Pressing a smokey arm against his mouth and slowly stepping closer, kiryu reached out his spare hand for the horse’s reins, becoming aware of the creaking sound of splitting wood all too late.

As the reins slipped into his fingers, the burning sensation of an ashen beam also struck his mind and the next thing he knew, he was on the floor - watching as the last horse scurried out of the stable. Pinned there, alone, surrounded by flames, it should have been a disaster - and yet somehow, it wasn’t. for he wasn’t alone.

During his fall to the floor, he had spotted a pair of shoes and tips of white trousers in the corner of the stable - the only corner that as of yet had not taken alight. When he made contact with the floor, he stared into the face of his companion, only to find a sight arguably as shocking as the night before.

The one in the stable with him had a wild look to him, right then more so than ever as he set fire to his own hands, rendering them charred. He was muttering to himself, incomprehensible murmurs that revolved around punishment; revolved around how he deserved to burn.

Stretching his wrist into his pocket, the ashes of the beam across his spine singing his flesh through his clothes, he slid his bloody rose across the floor and took aim.