09-11-2018, 04:10 PM
there had been no warning. this was far from normal. the witch had been losing sleep even after san creado had brought back adrien agreste and chat noir. even after the panther had been brought home, the witch got no reprieve. his attitude had become short for it, and he had even pushed his beloved chat noir away. the two had developed a bond, one that brought them close in an impossible way.
maybe he regretted this, pushing away the one person he knew better than he could hope to know himself as he was. jikai had known, he always knew, when death would come for him. and now he lay out in the forest, back pushed between two roots of a massive redwood that quaked, sap leaking from its mighty boughs and bark, staining the wood a dark burgundy, a poor imitation of the bleeding witch. his breathing was laboured and wet, conscious of the crying man sitting at his side, hands touching. jikai expected the man to start fading away, they always did after they killed him. this one, a young man with long white hair and beautiful loss-filled pale yellow eyes, remained solid. drawing in another wavering breath he coughed, blood flying up his throat and out over his chest, staining his chin a dark ichor. his eyes shifted over to the man, wondering why his killer wasn't fading away.
perhaps he had done something wrong in this life, or maybe the next life was his last reincarnation? because that's what he would do, he would reincarnate, usually as a babe, but this time it seemed that his reincarnation would be a fully grown man, and would be living in san creado. he growled his distaste, trying to shut down his pain receptors from firing their messages along his bond with chat noir. if they were disrupted, the new reincarnation of the witch would be at risk for memory loss, and as an undying soul, he feared that more than any enemy. he didn't want to forget himself or the others that were close with him, or lose the memories that he cherished.
an ornately decorated knife remained stuck in his chest, the remnant of his demise. choking on his own blood he breathed out, closing his eyes again and willing the redwood behind him to absorb his body and bones, to grow from his corpse, not to die with him. he had no choice, if a plant didnt tske his body's energy, it ran the risk of exploding and hurting the people, his life-energy as devastating as a bomb, being the only thing that would explode once it ate through his body.
he thought of the people he loved, his lips curling into a smile as he looked at the man again and xiaoxiao sadly and limply curled around his arm and shoulder. he didnt want to forget these people among a few, chat noir, rialto, marko, kade, mari, and god knows why, but alexander too. these were all people who had influenced his life in san creado in some way, and some he owed gratitude to, or he still needed to meet again so far along in their lives. giving one last shaking breath he pushed his power into the groaning redwood, the man's hysterical sobbing growing louder to a keening howl, the voice of a hound, warped by loss and grief.
maybe he regretted this, pushing away the one person he knew better than he could hope to know himself as he was. jikai had known, he always knew, when death would come for him. and now he lay out in the forest, back pushed between two roots of a massive redwood that quaked, sap leaking from its mighty boughs and bark, staining the wood a dark burgundy, a poor imitation of the bleeding witch. his breathing was laboured and wet, conscious of the crying man sitting at his side, hands touching. jikai expected the man to start fading away, they always did after they killed him. this one, a young man with long white hair and beautiful loss-filled pale yellow eyes, remained solid. drawing in another wavering breath he coughed, blood flying up his throat and out over his chest, staining his chin a dark ichor. his eyes shifted over to the man, wondering why his killer wasn't fading away.
perhaps he had done something wrong in this life, or maybe the next life was his last reincarnation? because that's what he would do, he would reincarnate, usually as a babe, but this time it seemed that his reincarnation would be a fully grown man, and would be living in san creado. he growled his distaste, trying to shut down his pain receptors from firing their messages along his bond with chat noir. if they were disrupted, the new reincarnation of the witch would be at risk for memory loss, and as an undying soul, he feared that more than any enemy. he didn't want to forget himself or the others that were close with him, or lose the memories that he cherished.
an ornately decorated knife remained stuck in his chest, the remnant of his demise. choking on his own blood he breathed out, closing his eyes again and willing the redwood behind him to absorb his body and bones, to grow from his corpse, not to die with him. he had no choice, if a plant didnt tske his body's energy, it ran the risk of exploding and hurting the people, his life-energy as devastating as a bomb, being the only thing that would explode once it ate through his body.
he thought of the people he loved, his lips curling into a smile as he looked at the man again and xiaoxiao sadly and limply curled around his arm and shoulder. he didnt want to forget these people among a few, chat noir, rialto, marko, kade, mari, and god knows why, but alexander too. these were all people who had influenced his life in san creado in some way, and some he owed gratitude to, or he still needed to meet again so far along in their lives. giving one last shaking breath he pushed his power into the groaning redwood, the man's hysterical sobbing growing louder to a keening howl, the voice of a hound, warped by loss and grief.