Blue Butterfly | Amajiki Tamaki

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Six years ago...

He ran.

He ran and ran and ran, ran as fast as the wind could carry him, lactic acid burning in the depths of his abdomen. A small piece of uneven flooring sent him almost barreling across, but he picked himself up and kept running, letting out a small cuss at his sloppiness. Blood glistened across his face; his vision blurred to the point he thought he was going blind. His muscles ached with the familiar hot-white burn of exhaustion and his lungs felt like they were going to melt at any second, but he wouldn't stop. Couldn't stop.

Why?

Why?

Just why?

What was he doing? One moment he was in the office of a yakuza boss, things going great—until they didn't and he was running for his life, trying to escape monsters the underground had created. Everything was a blur. Colours exploded in his vision but they were blurred out of focus, strips of red and grey unravelling before his eyes. Flashes of lightning blared across the sky, illuminating his face in the dead of the night. Thunder roared, but his pounding heart deafened the sound of the gods.

Then for a moment, he stopped.

The world stopped.

For a split second, light ceased to exist.

And the ground broke away from his feet.

***

Rain pelted his skin like a thousand bullets.

The pain that once burned like fire had faded away to an icy numbness. Black filled the edges of his vision and the only thing he could hear was his own heartbeat and the incessant dribble of rain on the ground. He let out a blood-curdling yelp as he clawed at the ground, trying to drag himself to somewhere more secluded—somewhere more peaceful. He couldn't feel his legs. They were already a pile of mangled flesh, crushed and rendered useless. Still, he pushed on, using the last scraps of his strength to reach the clearing in front of him.

He'd already lost more than enough blood; a huge chunk of his abdomen had been ripped out and as the rain continued to beat down on him, he wondered why he was still alive. His pain was an icy wind choking the breath from his lungs and making a noose around his neck—fuck, why couldn't he just die already? Or was he supposed to bleed out and endure the pain till sweet oblivion claimed him?

After destroying and ending so many lives... It wasn't surprising at all to see cold death knocking on his front door. He had expected it to make its grand arrival with torturous pain, but the rain kissing his body made it all the more welcoming with mellow warmth he would soon forget.

The rain made it more unbearable.

It was reminding him of everything.

King lifted his hand to the murky sky, blood sliding across his face like rain on a window.

'No, I can't.'

"If I die now," he croaked, coughing out blood, "then who's going to protect [Name]?" He slammed his curled fist onto the ground. 'Fuck, this is all my fault. If I go now they'd go after her... all those bloody bastards. They'd find her and make her take my place to continue their bidding...' Rage burned like a flame within his chest. 'I should have killed every single one of them when I had a chance!'