Work Text:
Horror. Destruction. The darkness of humanity.
Nothing among that is unfamiliar to Kureshima Mitsuzane. There is no depth a human could succumb to that would surprise him any longer.
And yet.
Rape. Fear. Power. Control. Help me!
Death. The greatest void. Power. Fear. Horror. What have I done?
Hatred. Fear. Disgust. Privilege.
Humanity. Endless .
He sees it all at once and he sees it in flashes. He is murdering a man in America and he is being bore down upon by a cruel parent, too small to run or fight. He is everywhere and nowhere.
He is the victim and the perpetrator and it is barely the most horrifying of his nightmares.
This is humanity.
A voice whispers the words into his ears.
This is the peek of evolution. Endless potential for power. For destruction. For evil.
And Mitsuzane wants to sob, perhaps curl up in a ball until he dies. He wants to scream with all of the fear and rage and hatred and hunger of humanity’s darkness.
But this is a dream, and he can do no such thing, merely experience the sufferings and wrongdoings of humanity.
Is there even a point to having tried to be better?
(He can’t escape it all. The horrors and the sufferings and the inhumanity of humanity. He tries and he tries but he can’t help the part of him that believes all of this.)
…And then the world is silent, if dark, and Mitsuzane can possibly, possibly with all of his strength make himself move.
He still desperately wants to collapse, but he can’t, not now that he’s free to move.
Not now that he’s chosen to do right. For Kouta’s sake, for Mai’s sake, even and perhaps especially for Takatora, who had never known he was the good one, who had chosen the right thing before it was too late for the world.
He has to get to his feet.
When he stands, he feels the nightmare ends, even if the darkness doesn’t change.
He’s swaying. Mind still heavy with that horrible nightmare. Body still tired from the fight.
Alone in pitch black darkness.
“Mitsuzane.”
A familiar voice behind him. He turns. It really is Takatora, or at least is his armor.
Their armor, in some fucked up way, by virtue of Mitsuzane’s own horrific actions.
His voice.
His brother’s voice. A raised weapon.
Mitsuzane hates himself, hates his life, that he already has the cutting knife down over his Lockseed before Zangetsu’s blow fully lands.
Hard to match a Genesis Driver. Hard to match his brother because, yes, those are his attacks.
(Please let it be a mirage, he nonetheless begs to gods he doesn’t believe in.)
“Nii-San,” he says. “Why?”
His brother says nothing, merely takes advantage of Mitsuzane’s weakness to shoot him back so hard that he feels his armor collapse. He looks down at his hands, perfectly visible.
A black suit jacket, a shirt somewhere between black and grey and lavender. No. Why is he wearing this?
He thinks about his dream. About the fight. Is this the hell he deserves?
Another energy arrow generating. Mitsuzane dodges on instinct.
In this strange void of darkness, he can see that somehow his gun hadn’t faded with his armor, and it’s closer to him that his Lockseed had fallen.
He should stop fighting, probably. Something is off with his brother. He’s no doubt under the control of the monster who had put them here. Perhaps being forced to fight Mitsuzane again is a torture both ways.
He can’t make himself, however. He wants to, refuses to move, but his body just reacts .
Or maybe it’s forced, Mitsuzane doesn’t know. He doesn’t care, either.
All he cares about is that he shoots, and it hits dead center, a break in the armor with a blast that sends Takatora hurtling back. He stands up, grabs his Lockseed once more.
(This can’t just be instinct. It’s too premeditated.
It’s exactly how he would handle this fight.)
Takatora stands, slowly, as Mitsuzane stalks forwards. Transformed again, gun ready.
Budou Sqash!
He shoots.
And then his armor falls away as the realization and horror sets in.
Because there is Takatora’s body on the ground, and until that moment a part of Mitsuzane had been praying that the Zangetsu before him was a fake.
Mitsuzane lets out a noise somewhere between a scream and a choked out sob. He doesn’t know how else to reacts.
He collapses to his brother’s side and wished he had an excuse.