𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐊 │ [M!Reader x Violet Evergarden]

⪢ [Chapter 8]-[Lacrimosa Dies Illa]⪡

[Y/N] - Your Name
[M/N] - Middle Name
[L/N] - Last Name
I
["Talking"]
["SCREAMING"]
["Whispering"]
["Thinking"]

And we're back!

Sorry about this delay in chapters for so long, I was out on vacation with my girlfriend, as I said I would be. But now that I'm back, and ready to write, let's kick things off the right way, shall we? Another chapter is here, and BOY let me tell you that this one will deliver, and so will the following four after this, but regardless. After that it's back to finish Tatsumaki, then Merula, and then The Saint's Lion again!

I won't stall much here, I just wanna thank all of you for the amazing support that I've been getting as of late with these updates. Whether it's on this story, my profile, or any other works of mine, I'm delighted to see all of you people still being here and helping me go over this entire stuff. Writing can appear so tough and boring sometimes, but with y'all here? Oh boy, let me tell you a fun little fact my friends...

With y'all here, nothing is better than writing.

(A few updates at the end of the chapter)

<<<<<< I >[---]< I >>>>>>

Y/N: ["... This feeling ..."]

He glanced down at his hand. His palm stained with blood, both his and of his enemies. His legs, even cut, burnt, stabbed and shot at, bleeding so much, would be crossed as he sat there, all by himself. Laid around him were corpses, too many to count, with enough blood pouring to form a lake in which he sat, staining himself and his clothes with the wet color of crimson. All the while, his voice remained low.

Y/N: ["Why is it still here?"]

The scent of gunpowder in his nose was overpowering. The long-forgotten stinging sensation of glass protruding through his skin around the eyes felt too familiar. The ragged breathing that tried to escape from his throat, and his indifferent face, all made for a scene that one may call a painting. But for the Kriegsman, it was all but the beautiful art in which many would find themselves attracted towards. It was tragedy.

Y/N: ["Why won't this feeling go away...?"]

His hand dropped, much like his body. Staring at the darkened skies of the wasteland in which he found himself at. The crackling of thunder that broke the silence, followed by the downpour of rain that mixed itself with the endless amount of blood in the battlefield. All the while, with so many wounds of stabs, cuts, and bullets, Y/N remained there, indifferent, unchanged, staining himself more and more in blood.

Y/N: ["I tried my best why... Why is this feeling still here...?"]

The stench of gunpowder, the smell of rotting blood and guts in his hair. The crimson warmth that enveloped his entire body and mind, keeping him locked up in place with no sort of escape. Almost like he found himself in the jaws of a beast, and the more he fought, the more he tried to understand why he felt like this. Why all of this, why this scenario, this smell, his actions, why all of it felt so empty and so meaningless.

Y/N: ["I did what I was supposed to..."]

He would feel the blood and the pain if he could. Instead, all he felt was nothing. As if the raining sky never existed, as if he hadn't just committed a massacre so large that many would be mentally-scarred for life. There was no feeling of satisfaction, just as there was no feeling of emptiness within his chest. In fact, all that he could feel was a vast amount of nothingness, there was no new feeling, or dopamine rush in his eyes.