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Nishitani being covered in someone's blood is not a rare sight. It's almost a second skin with how often he wears this shade of red. Splattered and hand-pressed into his hot pink suit and silk black dress-shirt. He's been covered in his own a lot less often.This man he was strangling the life out of beneath his weakening hands had just murdered the only family he had left. His screams, gasp, and gurgling meant nothing but atonement to him.This is how he grieves.
Not a tear shed for Billiken, but blood.
Despite his chaotic and eccentric demeanour, he is still a seasoned murderer. Whether killing with a tanto blade or his bare callous hands, he knew how to orchestrate death's song out of anyone. His fear that he enjoyed the sound too much never crossed his mind anymore, it's all he’s known.It all came naturally to him, but he was growing tired.
There is no forgiveness for people like him and he didn't care to receive any. He had lived life fast and ruthlessly, taken so much of what didn't belong to him, and now is his time to die. He felt indifferent at the idea of his own death, pissed if anything that the party stops here. But in this cold, musky, and dry Sotenbori jail cell he’d called his home, he wouldn't want to die anywhere else.
The man bucked, writhed and groaned between Nishitanis thighs, knees pinned to either side of his head. And usually he'd enjoy this under different circumstances, but now he just wanted this to be over. With withering strength, he released one hand from off his throat. He pulls out his tanto, biting a hold of it's sheath, revealing the blade. With one swift motion he stopped the man's movements permanently. His blood began pooling beneath him and mixing with Nishitani’s. Now that the room has fallen to silence, he realized the adrenaline was leaving him and replacing what was once vigor with tranquility. He can't stand up anymore.
He slowly pushed the lifeless corpse aside and rest on his hands and knees now, shaking in his attempt to keep himself up. He refused to die lying down.
His head slumped over, tracing the blood dripping from his wounds with his eyes. He turns and with his hazy vision, it's hard to see things that are far away clearly but he spots a shadow.
Another lifeless body on the floor. Lifting his head, he could make out Billiken in the harsh white light.
He still couldn't believe it. After all they've been through together, the close calls with gangs on the street, the emergency hospital trips after a badly placed bet, and this is how it ends for them. Suddenly he's crawling. Slow painful movements entirely motivated by the desire to just be near him, even If he isn't there anymore. He reached Billiken face, his last expression was full of anguish. His last moments spent warning him to run. Nishitani felt a small fire of rage underneath the waves of calming death. “ You.. have no right to die lookin’ like that… imagine what your daughter would say...You ought to greet her with a smile… ain't you been missin’ her, Uncle B...”
He wasn't sure If the words actually left his mouth or were just thoughts in his mind. It didn't matter, he thought. He'd be able to tell him face to face soon.
Nishitani sat down beside him. Sitting upright against the wall. He didn't want to be forced to stare at the lights. At some point they became blinding and painful, on top of everything else. Feeling anxious as he sat there,energy draining by the seconds, he subconsciously pads for his cigarettes and lighter. Patting at the new holes in his body, his cigarette box and lighter were drenched and ruined inside his breast pocket. Hell if his own blood would keep him from the dying wish of one last smoke. It was the hardest thing to do. Hands tangled in invisible knots, box turned into an iron trap, lighter turned into an ice cube, eyes un-focusing repeatedly. Successfully, he got one cigarette between his chapped lips. How he wished Majima were here to light his smoke, cause he wasn't confident he'd be able to anymore. But with a few attempts, he managed to bring the flame to his bent and waiting stick.
Majima… his last train of thought arrived at Majima Goro. A starved young man hungry for the world. He had done his research on him, about his past, how he ended up working under Sagawa and at The Grand. So many details were hazy and scattered around his head. He could still recall Majimas face when fighting with him. How his slim body reanimated with such life and power. It was a bit weak, but there was something screaming and clawing its way out of him with each kick, punch, and throw he doled towards Nishitani. He loved it. He's going to devour the world someday, and he wished he'd be around to see it. Oh what a show he'd be missing.
He regrets nothing about telling him to leave him behind, even though it meant never seeing him again. "Bust as many skulls as you can and ya best have a blast doin' it" he said.
“Make ‘em wish there was a big enough hole to put you in now.” he thought
A part of Nishitani hoped he would remember him. Even if they didn't know eachother well enough to warrant it. He hopes he made some impact. Some kind of mark he can remember him by.He painfully inhaled, exhaling a smoke. He began begging the swirly mist in front of him that he believed looks like Majima, to live his life the way he wants. Let himself out of his cage.
As he started to lose consciousness, his clouded mind made a collage of images and fake memories where Majima was fighting with a wild smile, obnoxiously laughing, screaming with joy, absolutely reveling in his own madness. Hair a flowing mess, jacket openly swaying, and his quick feet dancing around his enemies.He imagined him laughing and fighting right there beside him.
Nishitani smiled.