By Amaya 24

WARNING: The following fic contains large amounts of blood, death, and gore, plus a sprinkling of curse words. You have been warned.

Disclaimer: Do not own. Plot bunny was created through exposure to my dear sister Bean's artwork. Link at end of fic, or on profile if I remember.

Beanie, this one's for you.

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Oh, God…

The blood... it was everywhere.

On the floor -- quietly pooling at his feet.

On the walls -- large brushstrokes that would have seemed accidentally artistic in a morbid sense, excess drops slowly sliding down the stones.

Even on the ceiling, somehow -- sticky strands clinging together in impromptu stalactites, dripping down onto the cold, lifeless bodies where the crimson liquid resided only minutes before.

All of this, the two remaining exorcists took in, eyes widening as their incredulous gazes fell upon the faces of their fallen comrades, each and every one mutilated beyond belief.

This wasn't murder -- it was pure, undiluted sadism.

And in the midst of all that gore, a small, thin shape stood out among the rest of the fallen corpses. His back (because it was obviously a he), was to them, and his shoulders were hunched. It was too dark to see who it was, and from their vantage point, the exorcists had trouble discerning much of anything.

Both stared, weapons hanging limply at their sides, their boots covered with the blood they had sloshed through in order to reach the source of the carnage.

Movement in one of the corners of the room -- the cafeteria, of all places-- made all three turn, though, apparently, the killer was still unaware of his audience.

A body shifted, and a blood-soaked figure rose from the pile of cadavers, shaking and sobbing, hobbling toward the bastard that had slaughtered humanity's only hope for salvation.

"Please…" the figure sobbed, and the two remaining exorcists started when they realized the person trembling weakly was none other than Lenalee Lee.

"Please," she whimpered, stumbling forward before falling to her knees, the base of her neck exposed to the murderer. "Please… stop…it…"

Gasping in surprise, one of the two exorcists stomped forward, only to be yanked back by the other.

The girl on the floor glanced up at the sound, eyes widening as she set eyes on the two people at the door, mouth opening in a silent 'o' of surprise.

The killer stared, oblivious, then knelt down before the girl, a shaft of moonlight choosing that moment to shine a light on the situation.

Silvery hair was soaked through with red, a few strands plastered against his cheeks, and slowly, a gloved hand reached out to stroke the Chinese girl's cheek. "Certainly, Lenalee."

A glint of silver flashed through the air, and before either observer could react, a large butcher knife efficiently ended the life of the girl.

The body hit the floor with a slight splashing noise, blood already mingling with that of the others the boy had so heartlessly slain.

Outrage shot through the remaining two like a rocket; together, they shot forward, weapons raised and ready to inflict damage as they ran though the body fluid slowly congealing on the floor.

When they reached their target, though, both skidded to a stop, two pairs of eyes open wide in shock.

"…Kanda…? ... Lavi…? I didn't know you two were back…" The voice was soft, almost conversational, and the two mentioned took several steps back at the sight.

The boy's face was innocent-looking, eyes wide and curious, if strangely flat. His white hair was sprinkled through with red, though not nearly as soaked as the back of his head was, which got the redhead thinking that maybe someone had gotten a chance to fight back. His clothes, usually crisp and pristine, were drenched as well. In his hand, a butcher knife as big as his forearm dripped blood onto his gloves, the white cloth soaking up the red hungrily.

The dark-haired exorcist frowned, knuckles white against the hilt of his sword. "What is wrong with you, bean sprout?"

The derisive nickname was edged with a myriad of emotions, most of them negative, and the white-haired boy frowned slightly.

"I'm not a bean sprout…," he murmured, brow furrowed in faint irritation. The redhead glanced at his partner, then at the boy before him. The boy wielding the sharp, pointy knife, as should be noted.

"Listen… bea-- Allen," he corrected himself warily, gripping the handle of his Innocence nervously. "Why don't ya put tha' knife down, an'… we'll talk about this? We're all civil 'ere, aren' we?"

The boy's frown deepened. "Talk about what, Lavi? Is something wrong?"

"What do you mean 'is something wrong'?" The other echoed indignantly, anger fueling him to draw his sword out and place it against the boy's Adam's apple.

"What are you doing, Kanda?" Again, the voice was light and unconcerned, only slightly confused by the sudden action on the already-volatile samurai's part.

"Yuu… Ease up there, will ya?" The redhead suggested, the stench of blood coating the back of his throat. He cleared it slightly, shuddering. What could have made the boy snap like this?

Catching sight of bright pink dreadlocks, he gulped and looked away, studying the boy closely. Seeing that his partner had refused to listen to him, he pulled the sword away from the boy's jugular himself.

"Allen...?" Seeing the dead silver eyes focus on him, the redhead swallowed hard and steeled himself. "What happened here?"

"I dunno." The Bookman to be paled slightly, staring at the large knife apprehensively.

"I see... Well, why don'tcha gimmie the knife, and we'll find out what happened?" He murmured softly, trying to make sure the obviously deranged boy didn't snap and add to the body count.

The light-haired boy frowned, pulling the knife close to his chest like child would a stuffed animal. "I don't wanna."

"Come on, Allen," he whispered, attempting a smile. "We're all friends here; jus' gimmie the knife an' we'll get outta here. Whaddya say?"

"No." Standing decisively, the silver-haired boy waved the knife around, making the redhead fall back nervously in order to avoid any injuries. Huffing angrily, the samurai gripped the other's uniform and pulled him up.

"I won't," the boy continued, the light catching the knife with every extravagant wave. "Why should I? I didn't do anything wrong!"

"We didn't say that, Allen," the redhead called hurriedly, gulping as the boy seemed to get more worked up.

"I didn't do anything! Why do they always have to assume I did something wrong? Huh? If it's not one thing, it's another -- it's not fair!"

Growling bitterly, the boy lashed out, knife scraping against one of the upturned tables someone had managed to set up against the attack before succumbing. The knife caught against a knot in the wood and momentum carried the boy's hand forward, making his palm brush against the already-bloody edge.

The knife quivered in the wood, sticking from the table as the boy hissed in pain and pulled away, staring at his slashed glove.

"Ow..." Sniffling pathetically, he gingerly pulled the tattered cloth from his hand, exposing the pale limb, now carved by the wicked blade.

The redhead's eyes widened, turning to stare at his dark-haired counterpart for confirmation before stepping forward slowly. "You okay, Allen? Want me to take a look at that for you?"

The boy ignored the offer, staring at the welling blood with an unreadable look on his face. He ignored the approaching exorcist, or the fact that his weapon was now out of arm's reach.

Just as the teen reached out to take the knife from the lunatic exorcist's reach, he froze, staring at the boy in surprise.

Unsure as to what made him stop, the redhead gazed at his friend, stomach churning painfully. The boy had moved his hand to his face for a closer inspection, and slowly, a small, pink tongue shot out to lap up the blood.

"Allen...." The boy licked his hand again, then looked up, large gray eyes innocently fixing themselves upon horrified green.

Not sure what to say, the two stared at each other, one calmly, the other nervous, while the last spectator tensed in case of an attack. He had always wanted a chance to deal with the bean himself, but this was pushing it.

After a tense moment, the silver-eyed boy looked away, eyes cast in the shadows of his bangs. Sighing in relief, the other looked away as well, trying to avoid gazing into the eyes of the dead members of the Black Order.

The chilling sound of laughter brought two weapons up, causing the two older teens to stand back to back warily.

The sound originated from the white-haired boy, who had finished with his wound. Now, he giggled like a child, his eyes still hidden from view. Unnerved, the two exorcists clenched their weapons tighter.

"What's so funny, brat?" The taller boy called out, eyes narrowing at the visible twitch coursing through the youngster's body.

"I. Am. Not. A. Brat." The boy responded slowly, spasms still running up his spine. "I'm not. I'm sick of you and your bullshit, Kanda Yuu, and now you're going to pay."

The red-haired exorcist gulped, staring at the boy. "This is bad..."

"Tch." Swinging his sword over his head, the other smirked. "Bring it on, bean sprout."

With a wild roar, the white-haired child dashed forward and yanked his knife from the table, charging at the exorcist with single-minded ferocity.

Caught off guard, the samurai brought his sword up short, barely managing to block the oncoming attack with the hilt.

The boy hissed, eyes burning hatefully, silver tinged with the slightest ring of gold, before breaking away and pulling back before lunging again.

The move itself was basic -- nothing the exorcist wouldn't have been able to block. The raging fury behind the attack was what made it hard to focus on parrying the blows the short boy was dealing.

"Allen! Kanda, stop it!" The redhead shouted, swearing as the dueling duo backed into him.

Feeling something squirming behind him, the dark-haired exorcist turned slightly, catching sight of the frightened rabbit trying to get away from the sharp pointy objects.

Seeing an opportunity, the white-haired boy chuckled and ducked under the taller teen's arm, plunging his knife deep into one of the bodies.

Silence ruled for a few seconds, before the samurai realized he was still alive. Of course, he would be, but he hadn't felt any contact with the knife. So…

Turning slowly, he disentangled himself, staring at the sight with dark eyes.

"A…llen…." The redhead whispered, green eyes wide, staring at the hilt buried into his abdomen in shock.

Blood backed up into his throat, and coughing painfully, he spat a handful of the substance onto the boy, who seemed unaffected by the turn of events.

In fact, the boy was staring at him with barely concealed annoyance. "Lavi…"

As if noticing that he had yet to release his weapon, the boy turned to stare at that instead, seeming to debate something.

Finally, he shrugged and grabbed the hilt of the knife with both hands, giving it a sharp twist to the left, listening to the redhead scream in pain.

"You know something…?" the boy murmured, placing his hands on the handle so that he could drive the blade deeper into the other's body. "Who was it that said Bookmen had no hearts?"

The redhead gurgled, trying to speak and failing as the blood pooled in his mouth, uttering a soft cry as the knife turned again, the cutting edge now facing up.

The boy smiled, a true, genuine smile, then gripped the handle lightly, his gesture morphing into a twisted smirk. "Let's find out if that's true, eh?"

With a quick slash upwards, blood shot from the body like from a fountain, dousing the boy completely and leaving the remaining exorcist reeling in shock.

Slowly, the child pulled the knife from the dead Bookman and let the body drop heavily onto the floor, humming softly. "Well. I guess now we know the truth, huh, Bakanda?"

Warily, the samurai raised his sword, hatefully glaring at the brat, who in turn, walked away from his newest kill to face him.

Dark eyes bored into silver, watching as the boy slowly cleaned the blade with his shirt. It seemed like a wasted effort on his part, since his shirt was so drenched it just seemed to add more onto the knife.

When he deemed the job done, he looked up, smiling softly. "What now?"

The older teen opened his mouth, a growl building in his throat, before the other's expression shifted again. "Oh, that's right! It's your turn."

With a dark, solemn frown on his face, he walked forward slowly, knife extended as if it were his sword.

Wondering why the little brat had failed to activate his Innocence when it would have helped him defeat him quite easily, the samurai backed up a bit, gaze narrowed.

"Get back, bean sprout. Don't think I won't hurt you," he muttered, unsettled by the silence and the hundreds of bodies littering the floor.

Instead of taking offense, the boy laughed, throwing his head back to let the chuckles fill the room. "Oh, please, Kanda. You may not want to admit it, but I am stronger than you know. Want to know why?"

The chirpy tone the boy took made the other grit his teeth, eyes narrowing further as he continued to retreat. "It's because I've been having a long talk with the Fourteenth."

"Have you, now?" Ignoring the disinterested reply, the boy continued, seeming more animated than before.

"Uh-huh! He's quite persuasive, you know. Of course, he's not why I did this." He waved his arm around nonchalantly to encompass the bloodshed surrounding them. "Oh, no. I did this for another reason."

Here, he stopped, placing a bloodied index finger against his lips, thinking. "Wow. I sound like the villain in a cheap novel." The samurai felt a tic develop under his eye. The brat's mood swings were seriously starting to piss him off.

"Oh, well." The boy giggled, smirking. "Cheap novel it is. As I was saying, the Fourteenth had... well, he had some part in this. But most of it was all me."

"And you're proud of that?"

"Of course I am!" He cried, indignant. "No matter how hard I try, I always end up the bad guy. So, why not just go with the flow? This is what they pinned me as: might as well give them what they want!"

Obviously, the boy had lost any semblance of rationality. Only a lunatic would find that remotely logical. Why else would he have snapped and killed every person in the Order?

Gritting his teeth, the older gripped his sword, finding it hard to raise it against the crazy bastard. He had just seen him murder one of his... friends, but he couldn't do the same?

"You know, I wonder..." The samurai glanced up, wrinkling his nose as the white-haired boy sauntered over. "How many times will I have to kill you for you to stay dead?"

"Why don't you try to find out, bean?" Smirking, he stood up to the boy, sword drawn and ready.

The boy's wide smile shrunk into a thin, hard line that showed he was not amused. Instead of replying, he growled, lunging forward and nicking the samurai's arm before he could react.

The older sighed, rolling his eyes. He had to focus, damn it. "Lucky shot, bean sprout. It won't happen again."

The younger smirked, the look as demonic as the gesture could be. "Don't be so sure, Yuu."

He tensed up, and lunged forward once more, and the samurai almost smiled at how easy everything was now. The bean was half-mad and crazed, and his wild swings were creating more air than any actual damage. Now that he was actually focusing, working his katana the way it was meant to be used, he found that wearing out the little brat was amazingly simple.

Growling in irritation, the boy pulled back, panting furiously, the arm clutching the knife hanging limply from his side. He couldn't possibly be tired already, could he?

Then again, he did use up a lot of energy slaughtering everyone else, the dark-haired exorcist mused, sword at the ready, watching as the little brat swayed tremulously on the spot.

Slowly, he lowered his sword, keeping a firm grip on it in case the weakness was just an act; it wouldn't be the first time the bean sprout had done something like that before.

The boy tottered wildly to the left, then giggled, reaching up with his free hand to wipe away the sweat collecting on his brow. "Damn it…"

"Give up?" He really didn't mean to taunt the bean further; after all, hadn't he caused enough damage? He really couldn't help it, though. It was part of who he was. "I'm not surprised."

"Shut up," the boy snarled viciously, training his silver eyes on the elder exorcist. Eyes tinged with gold. Kanda frowned, but wasn't too worried -- he had killed a Noah before. They were tough, but not impossible to beat.

"Enough, bean sprout. You're all talk."

"Shut up!" The boy lunged again, knife extended. The samurai smirked, knocking the boy's wrist away and pinning him against the nearest wall, ripping the knife from his hands.

He stared at the snarling boy, wrinkling his nose as the coppery smell of blood reached him, eyes narrowing at the deranged look in the bean sprout's eyes.

The boy giggled, leaning back to shoot the elder exorcist a scornful look. "Take a look around, Kanda. This is it. It's over. The exorcists are all dead, or will soon be, anyways. You're through."

The dark-haired teen hissed, avoiding the temptation to wrap his arms around the brat's skinny throat. Instead, he gripped both of the kid's hands with his own, holding them above his head.

The brat squirmed, but his grip was too strong. "Let me go, you bastard!"

"You've done enough damage, bean sprout. Now shut up." The kid giggled, smirking widely.

The bad feeling the dark-haired exorcist had felt since entering the castle spiked considerably, making a small shiver run down his spine. His grip on the boy tightened, and he struggled to keep his composure.

"Oh, silly, silly Kanda," the boy's mocking tone did nothing to alleviate the tension building in the samurai's shoulders. "You're forgetting something important…"

"And what would that be?" The bad feeling increased to a frantic buzzing at the base of his skull, a crazed sort of fight-or-flight instinct that just screamed at him to run, to get the hell away before something bad happened.

The boy stopped squirming, his bloody hair falling limply in his eyes, the red contrasting sharply with the boy's white mop and pale complexion. Slowly, a small drop of blood slipped down his cheek, tracing the curve of his scar, the sight itself more mesmerizing than could be possible.

When the droplet reached his jaw and disappeared from sight, an infernal smirk graced the boy's face. "Why, this."

The air was driven from the elder's lungs as he slammed heavily into the opposite wall, sliding down comically, ribs protesting at the sudden added pressure. "Damn... it..."

The boy laughed, stalking forward through the puddles of blood, a large black mass ambling sinisterly toward him. His Innocence, usually a silvery-white color, was now pitch black, the mask over his face catching the stray strands of moonlight, darker stains noticeable in the feeble glow.

"How stupid do you think I am?" The elder bit his tongue, struggling to keep his comments to himself. Even the boy's acerbic tone did nothing to dissuade the remarks bubbling up his throat. Or was that just blood?

"You honestly think I killed everyone using this?" He brandished the bloody knife he had retrieved high in the air, the sneer clear in his voice. "Sure, it took care of the scientists and Finders; they weren't too hard to get rid of. But, honestly! We had exorcists here. Generals, even! This measly thing wouldn't have taken any of them out."

The tattoo on his chest burned, the heat traveling to his ribs as muscles and bones stitched themselves together, working to keep him alive. He could almost picture the lotus up in his room, slowly counting down the days to his death. He couldn't die here. He wouldn't die here. Not at the hands of the bean sprout.

Painstakingly slow, he stood, bracing himself with his sword, spitting out the blood that had welled up in his mouth. He straightened out, sword at the ready, and glared at the boy before him. Despite anything he said, he had almost begun thinking of the boy as his comrade, maybe even his friend. Now, though, he was just another monster to destroy, no better than an Akuma or a Noah. And it was his job to annihilate those demons at all cost.

The boy stared, his gaze unreadable through the mask, and waited for the elder to do something. It wasn't fun if they didn't fight back.

"You bastard..." The boy tilted his head to the side, the image of pure innocence despite the black outfit and equally dark aura surrounding him, and waited while the other readied himself, slipping into a painful fighting stance. He had broken ribs, at the very least, and even his damned tattoo wouldn't heal him up fast enough.

"Takes one to know one."

Spitting roughly, the other glanced up, glaring viciously, and charged forward, faster than the younger could track, swinging the sword in a wicked arc sure to decapitate him. It was all he could do to move a few steps away.

Yelping in surprise as cold metal struck his shoulder instead -- through the Crown Clown body armor, surprisingly -- the younger pulled back, glowering at the smirking samurai.

Hoping to catch him unawares, the boy ducked under the sword's long reach and attempted to dig his clawed hand into the soft flesh of the elder's belly, growling savagely when he came up with nothing but air. The bastard was fast, but he was bound to wear out eventually.

Still caught in the momentum of his attack, the younger struggled to right himself, or at least face his opponent, who chose that exact moment to plunge his overgrown metal toothpick into the floor an inch away from his face.

He swerved in time to avoid being sliced in two, performing a handspring that would make a gymnast green with envy, and shook his head, blinking away the sweat and blood dripping into his eyes. Out of everyone in the Black Order, he knew fucking Bakanda would cause him the most trouble.

Even now, the cocky bastard was driving him insane, standing there, casually holding his sword out like it wasn't worth fighting him. "Ready to give up yet, bean sprout?"

"Why can't you just shut up and die?"

And so it continued, a frantic dance to the death, a lunge here, a parry there, twirling and spinning around in an effort to destroy the other. They splashed in the puddles, struggling to keep their balance in the slippery ground. They stumbled over discarded bodies, hardly daring to look away in case the other attempted to attack while they were distracted.

They pulled away again, both panting, blood coating them thoroughly, though whose, they weren't quite sure.

The dark-haired exorcist spit to the side, his eyes glued to the younger teen. He wasn't going to let the brat get an advantage over him.

The younger boy frowned, blood dribbling from the side of his mouth, and chuckled, stretching. "Damn it. I was hoping I'd be done by now..."

"So sorry to disappoint."

He bit back a growl, pushing back his formerly snowy hair, now thoroughly drenched in red, and sighed. His heart was pounding, and damn it, he just wanted it all to be over. There was only one damned roadblock left, one single thing and he could be free, free at last.

Swallowing back the coppery blood still leaking out of the sides of his mouth, the young exorcist smirked, pulling on his left arm, watching as his sword, now the carbon copy of the Earl's, came into view.

The elder teen frowned, gripping his own sword tightly. He knew for a fact that the bean's sword couldn't hurt humans, but maybe the change in color wasn't the only alteration in the Crown Clown.

The younger boy smirked, using the back of his hand wipe away the bile, gripping his sword tightly. "Enough. Let's get this over with."

"About time."

Eyes narrowed, the white-haired boy gripped his sword, feeling his butcher knife dig into his side awkwardly. Bastard...

Slowly, he raised his sword, silvery-gold eyes dead, unfeeling, absolutely ready to kill. The time for playing games was over.

He shot forward, a feral snarl breaking loose from his throat, and his arm shuddered as it came in contact with the other blade. Instead of trying to pull away and attempt another attack, however, the silver-haired boy merely grit his teeth, pouring every ounce of his strength into his sword, pushing it harder against the other, hoping to break it. No sword, no chance of survival.

The elder grunted, wary. He could feel his arm shaking faintly, and he struggled to find a vantage point. He wasn't pinned against a wall, but all the bodies surrounding them were making sure that a good fighting stance would be impossible.

Not only that, but, hell, was the little brat's smirk eerie, to say the least. It was what Lavi had described as "Dark Allen" -- the cheating, conniving poker bastard. He could see the freaking horns on the kid's head, for crying out loud.

Grunting with the effort, the dark-haired exorcist used the seven pounds he had over the bean sprout and shoved him off, kicking away some of the bodies and mentally tallying up the cosmic repercussions.

The sprout frowned, seeming bored as hell. "This isn't really as fun as I thought it would be."

"Last I checked, this wasn't a game, idiot," the other responded, the hairs at the back of his neck standing up. He could have imagined it, but it seemed as though another figured had materialized for a second behind the brat, the puppet-master finally making an appearance alongside his marionette.

"Just because it's not a game it doesn't mean it can't be fun." The teasing tone was annoying, and unbearably threatening. Just because the kid seemed like a weak little half-pint, the Japanese exorcist had forgotten one important detail; the brat was powerful, impossibly so. Rumor had it he had surpassed the critical point with his Innocence, and that put him on par with the Generals, who he had apparently slaughtered as well.

He was a menace to society. He had to be stopped. Screw feelings, or past experiences -- this wasn't the same bean sprout from before.

Gripping his sword tightly, the samurai centered himself, teeth grinding together in a decidedly irritating way. Oh well.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Ignoring the pouty complaint, he closed his eyes. Draw from my life and rise...

The sword in his hands began to glow, and the younger boy gave a startled yelp when he realized his elder had pulled out all the stops. He was going to try to kill him even if it meant going down in the process.

Growling, the white-haired boy lunged forward, his Clown Belt wrapping around his 'comrade's wrist, dragging him down to the ground with startling speed.

Cursing vividly, the other struggled to stand, still gripping his sword, his invocation interrupted. "Damn it, you bastard!"

"Shut up." The curt tone made the samurai raise an eyebrow, struggling wildly when part of the Clown Belt wrapped around his mouth. "This is boring now."

The boy ignored the muffled swears, staring down at his opponent with a contemplative look on his face. "You're a real pain in the arse, Kanda."

From the folds of his cloak, the boy pulled out the much-abused butcher knife, the edge-end a flat, rust color. Wrinkling his nose slightly, he scratched at the dry blood coating the knife, humming tunelessly to himself.

"Lavi once told me how people used to kill vampires in the olden days..." The samurai stared, more than a bit confused, at the sudden declaration. What the hell did that have to do with anything?

"He said they would cut off their limbs, then burn them. Barbarians, don't you agree?" The casual conversation, not to mention the constant change in attitude, was nerve-wracking. If he could get away, he would beat the crap out of the bean with the first thing he laid his hands on.

"You have to see their point of view, though," the sprout continued. "They were trying to kill something that couldn't be killed. Drastic measures had to be taken at times."

Suddenly, the boy gripped the knife and slammed it down, hard, into the other's right shoulder, right where the joints met. The pain was excruciating, and the fact that the little son of a bitch was digging into it, trying to pop the ligaments holding the bones together.

The Clown Belt was still in place, so any sound that escaped the samurai's slips fell upon dead ears, quite literally. After having caused enough damage to the arm, the boy's knife shifted positions, lying parallel to the ground, resting lightly on the bloody skin.

"Can you regrow limbs?"

More blood splattered the slick floors, the shiny red reflecting the dead landscape around it.

Ignoring the savage howls coming from his victim, the boy frowned, kicking away the severed limb. "Huh. Maybe you can. That would kind of ruin all of this."

Shrugging, the boy yawned and kneeled down next to the pale teen. "Maybe I should just end it..."

Still humming, the boy smirked and poised the knife tip above his tattoo, before moving it teasingly towards his jugular. "Eenie... Meenie... Miney... Mo."

The knife fell piercing through soft flesh, knocking into bone, resting there lightly before an external force came down upon it, slamming it down through vertebrae, blood squirting out like an exuberant fountain.

The more the blood flowed, the slower his heartbeats became, until, finally, the darkness took over.

- - - - -

Many a floor above the carnage, a solitary petal lingered on a lotus flower encased in a glass bell jar.

Slowly, as if an invisible breeze were tugging at it, the petal pulled away from its stem, floating down gently before it, and the others before, disappeared into nothing.

- - - - -

Crap ending, but this fic was a long time coming and I was struggling to finish it today.

Read, review... You know what to do.

And for those of you who wish to take a look-see at what inspired this lovely piece of work, look up Ketsueki-kiba on DeviantArt. Her piece? 'YANDERE ALLEN'.

(Oh, Bean! Exactly 14 pages! XDD)