Bandages and Salt (PJO X BSD AU)

Chapter thirty-nine

Dazai POV

"Again?" The other boy asked as we cut through the streets.

The way that the older teen handled the scooter furthered my idea that he should never be let anywhere near an actual motorcycle, at least not with me on it as well. The boy somehow managed to drive like some kind of deranged speed demon despite this only being a Vespa, at least if I wasn't riding with him, he'd be able to use his ability to make his antics seem less life threatening to the teen that actually seemed to care about the whole living thing.

"Monsters don't stay dead in the mythological world," I explained, leaning closer to the other teen so that I could be heard easier without having to speak as loudly, "not really anyways. They die for a while and then revive sometime later."

The older boy nodded, his hair brushing against my skin as he did. "So why do you want him dead so badly then if he's only going to revive again?" The teen asked, a reasonable enough question that only reminded me of how little the other knows of who I was before.

"He tried killing my mother when I was twelve," I said carefully, keeping my voice it's normal emotionless calm. "She was all that I had growing up."

Between the teachers, the other students, and my god damn lousy excuse of a step father, she was the only person that I had back then that protected me when everyone sought to cut me down at the knees. It was a self sacrificing kind of love on both of our ends, something real built only on lies. But it was the only thing that kept me alive back then.

The other ability user only gave a quiet, "Oh," the was almost swallowed up by the night as we got closer to the battle.

The bridge was ablaze like the night sky on the Fourth of July as we came closer to it. Cars burned in such a way that only paled in comparison to that of what was left of the green flames sparking from the tips of arrows on both sides of the battle. There was a quiet rage to each of the flames, as they fought the night winds, desperately clinging to life just as their creators did.

Explosions violently shook the ground as we rode closer. They were the only thing that was able to cover up the sounds of the mortal screams echoing through the night. Monsters charged forward and roared as they turned to dust as arrows sunk into their hearts, but only laughed wickedly as they were harmlessly blocked by the creatures' armor.

Hellhounds ran rampant across the bridge, teeth bared in an open declaration of war. Most were killed with the endless volley of arrows being gifted to the enemy ranks, but some managed to slip past and feasted upon whoever the beast could reach.

Everything about the scene before us was that of an endless symphony of death and yet I felt at home. War didn't ask for its composers to be kind, nor did it look down upon them as monsters when they were cruel. War lets you lay your soul bare to it and take with you what was left with of it at the end. It takes all of the lies that you were created by and turns them into every inch the truth that you always pretend them to be. War will forever be something gruesome that poets ripped apart and turned into something much more beautiful than it ever had the right to be.

War was what I was created for.

We abandoned the Vespa as close as we could to the battle without immediately being drawn into it. Chuuya and I faced one another and I couldn't help but think that if this was a book, this would be the part where the characters say something beautiful to one another in case this happened to be a final goodbye. But neither of us have ever been much for beauty, not when we were shaped by everything but. So we didn't speak aloud, but studied one another for a moment as if carving the memory of one another in our minds forever, turning the other into something that could never be forgotten.