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The rain splattered into the ground, riveting up dirt and sand before throwing it back in a harsh tackle. Waterlogged and slippery, the wooden pathways that lined the building drowned in the attack. Patiently, the water waited for its next victim.
Plants were force fed to the point where they swelled. Their bellies were pregnant with death as they ached out, ready to rupture as more and more rain filled them. The sky was falling apart. It wailed so horrifically, warning of the eventual flooding that would take the whole valley and everything with it.
Saizo’s yukata, it grey and white, clung to him. His hair was limp as it stuck to his forehead and covered his eyes. Fortunately for him, Saizo did not want to see. Fortunately for him, Saizo did not want to do anything.
The rain was deafening, like an orchestra of amateurs playing so out of tune that it was more akin to the wailing of devils and things that wanted to be god, but could never be. Yet, Saizo did not hear it. How could he over the slick of his sword as it sliced through something and silently, abrasively tore through their flesh and muscle and blood and ligaments and bone and guts and everything and nothing all at once...
Yet, he could not hear that over the sound of the rain as it belted so silently, so harshly that his ears were bleeding and the tree that he was perched on was torn apart. Soon it would be no more he suspected. Soon it would still be in its place.
Then, the sword slicked out. Red blood like poppies that tasted like peppermint coated the polished steel. From it sprung a well of blood that pooled onto green grass that wasn’t really green any more. It was thick, like tar, he thought and bright on white fabric. Then, the rainwater that pelted down diluted it and made it weaker, blending it into the soil and washing it away.
His skin was ice cold, goosebumps painful to the touch, but still he laid there in the sakura tree. Its petals did little to protect him, that is if they shielded him at all. Fortunately, Saizo was not bothered. The sky could rain on him for all he cared. It could scream in his ears for all he knew. He would still lounge and take the barrage that was akin to a thousand arrows primed for him.
Since the morning, he had lived there in the sakura tree. Before, as the clouds masked a sun that should have been peaking out into a new dawn, his eyes were half-lidded watching not much at all. Now, he could barely open them. It took too much to pry them and see that too grey sky and the too pink petals.
His breaths were shallow and slow, he wasn’t even sure he was breathing. But, he was. Only barely.
He remembered those eyes once so bright with a life hardened and sharp but now they were nothing. No longer they shined as there was nothing to shine out of, just the memory of what there once was.
His own breathing was like that. A perfect mirror of that moment. It snuck into his ears and wouldn’t stop repeating and he wanted to let go but couldn’t. For if he were to then he would live and he couldn’t have that.
Saizo’s leg dangled down the side of the sakura tree The wind tussled his damp hair and his nose smelt out the thick smell of salt.
Then, using the last of his energy and the last of his will, he took a peek from the corner of his eyes and searched out. He looked out for Yukimura who might have been watching him, wanting to do something but unsure in the steps to take. Or maybe there would be Sasuke looking for him, wondering when he would come back inside.
However, when he looked out and scanned the horizon, there was nothing. All he could see was the empty buildings and the rain splattered grounds. There was no Yukimura or Sasuke or Blood or Bone.
Resting his head back on the sakura branches once more, he supposed there never would be anything out there for him.
Nothing but rain and sakura petals.