Kazuscara (kazuha assassin AU) Love of the assassin

A God fell inlove with a Mortal

Kunikuzushi’s mouth went dry. All he could do was clutch Kazuha’s body and grip his face with bloodied hands.

He said uselessly, “Just—Just keep pressure on it—”

“You love me, don’t you, Kuni?” Kazuha said, letting out all of the words they never had the chance to say; in that moment of blissful tones to subjugate their tragic circumstances, they were writing the will they never had the time to write.

(It was always a matter of time—and Kazuha, though someone who could confidently say they enjoyed every moment of it, was not spared from the burden of never having enough.)

Kunikuzushi’s eyes welled with tears. His body had enough grasp on the situation to cry before Kunikuzushi could fully process his emotions. Perhaps, a part of him was crying because he had recognized this situation before and, now, he cried with the feelings of that past tragedy mixed and multiplied tenfold.

Kazuha lifted a hand from his neck and used it to press Kunikuzushi’s fingers into his cheek. They laughed.  “I can’t feel anything from the adrenaline.”

… Shut up.

“I tried. I…” Kazuha let out a tired breath. “I tried. I knew I was going to die… but, I thought I could… do one last thing for you.”

Just please—stop talking.

“There is no heaven for me to go back to. I don’t think there was anything you could do to change that.” Kazuha closed his eyes, leaning into the warmth of Kunikuzushi’s palm. “Though, what you shared with me would always be worth the limited moments I could experience it.”

I… can’t do this.

“Because, in the end, you were always right. I am from the world of mortals and you are from the world of gods. There is no place for mortals but transience itself,” Kazuha said.

Kunikuzushi choked. Hot tears swelled and broke through his lids like a dam—once they began to flow, they flowed incessantly. They traveled down the curves of Kunikuzushi’s cheeks and the depression of his lips until they cascaded to meet Kazuha’s face. Kazuha could not feel the sensation itself—only a distant dampness hitting his skin.

“But, there has always been a place for you, Kunikuzushi.”

“Please stop,” Kunikuzushi said. “Please just stop it.”

Kazuha hummed, quiet and honoring Kunikuzushi’s wish.

“Stop saying that… stop saying that like you’re leaving,” Kunikuzushi sobbed through his words. “Just—just… stop… stop fucking acting like you’re leaving. You’re not leaving. You’re not—” His own lies were bitter against the back of his throat. Bile built in thick layers along his tongue. "You're not leaving."

“I love you, Kunikuzushi.”

Kunikuzushi let out a weak scream, digging his face into Kazuha’s chest just to hide the way his lips quivered. He held Kazuha tightly—for his body seemed to know Kazuha was truly dying before his thoughts wanted to accept the reality at all.

“If you find me again…” Kazuha said, thinking about his late friend. In those final moments, they saw his face and smile like daytime constellations. Next to him was a boy with indigo hair; it was brushed behind his ear and decorated with maple leaves from Kazuha's hometown. He smiled back at Kazuha, a pure fabrication produced from the last bursts of dopamine their deluded mind could offer him. “In another life of mine, if something like that exists… I’ll be sure to love you… as I’ve always have.”

Kunikuzushi couldn’t even find the words to respond.

“So please,” Kazuha continued, raising a bloodied hand to pull Kunikuzushi’s head closer to his lips so he could kiss his hair one last time, “Love every version of me.”

Kunikuzushi sobbed. He sobbed until his throat grew hoarse. “I’ll find you and kill you over and over and over. I’ll kill you myself. Don’t you—” he let out a defeated breath. “Don’t you fucking die. Don’t die. Don’t fucking die.”

Kazuha didn’t respond.

“Don’t die, please.”

Kunikuzushi gripped Kazuha’s yukata. His tears fell like leucocrystal violet against the fabric—decorating Kazuha’s lifeless body in painted stars as if he, too, could disappear into the constellations like every other immortal had.

But the way his body remained was the prolonged reminder to everything Kunikuzushi tried so desperately to refuse.

“I love you, Kazuha, so please—please, just… say… say something…”

If that’s what it takes for you to find me again, I’ll see you there—

My beloathed.

Kunikuzushi let out a trembling breath.

“I’ll… I’ll save you among the stars, Kazuha,” Kunikuzushi said to ears that could not hear him. “I love you. I love you, Kazuha, please—please, just… say it back once more…” 

He was so tired. Mortal existence had that effect.

But there was still a distant warmth beneath Kazuha’s chest.

All Kunikuzushi had to do was seal his remaining consciousness within the sword.

Kunikuzushi jolted to wrench the blade from its place on the ground.

But when he held it and saw his own mess of a reflection in its shine, he stopped himself.

He could not do that to Kazuha. He could not trap a mortal soul within an object, even if it was for the sake of preserving it—that would be a fate worse than death, a constant torture. No amount of love Kunikuzushi had for Kazuha would change how much of an evil that would be. Kazuha was a free dove—one that did not deserve to be placed in a subconscious cage such as a god’s domain.

But, when Kunikuzushi could feel the warmth draining from Kazuha’s skin—he could only cling to that moment desperately, even if the act of doing so was selfish.

So he raised the sword and ran his hands along it, focusing a trail of electro through it and—

Nothing happened.

Because, in the end, he was powerless. Powerless to even commit selfish atrocities against someone he loved.

Perhaps, the senseless chasing for that something was a mechanism to keep his mind busy; to keep it from succumbing to a pit of atrophy and regression until there was utterly nothing left for him to cling on to.

“I… I want to go home,” Kunikuzushi wept. Letting the sword clatter to the ground uselessly, he brought Kazuha’s body close to his chest. “I want to go home. I— Ei. Ei, please—I just want to go home.”

He dug his nose into the crook of Kazuha’s neck as if he could savor the smell of forestry that so heavily clung to them—though, instead, all he found was rust. 

Kunikuzushi mumbled, “I just want to go home.”

Then, glancing at the blade once more, he saw one last escape.

It was unfair. Kunikuzushi could die and be reborn upon a new mortal body—but, Kazuha would never have that luxury. Because in a world ruled by gods, there was nothing left after death for mere humans.

And, splitting his porcelain skin at the tip of the sword’s steel, Kunikuzushi relished the pain. He mumbled one last unheard prayer, one to the only person who had ever deserved it—the only mortal he had come to love so terribly.

And, ripping his godly conscience from the mortal plane, a distant entity took him by the hand and brought him back home.