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Master was a person they couldn’t live without. Master was someone who’d been there by their side to fight for freedom no matter the price and Brown Bess had deeply respected and cared for them because of that. Despite how much he pretended to loathe him, Kentucky would never have disregarded Brown Bess’ undying loyalty towards Master. He truly enjoyed fighting by his side and had always secretly harboured deep respect towards him as their unofficial leader.
And yet, despite all those honeyed words that he’d blindly believed and wholeheartedly followed…!
“Brown Bess, you’re a coward! You absolute bastard!”
Kentucky’s voice shrieked loudly into the night, his voice shrill yet hoarse from screaming so much. The rain continued to pour down around them just like his tears, and Kentucky set a piercing, disgusted glare towards Brown Bess, his former comrade, who held his musket cocked in one hand with something akin to disdain in his dark, yet brilliant emerald green gaze.
“What, will you reprimand me for this, yankee? I did what needed to be done. They were a nuisance. If you upgrade your musket, then you too could see that the world has much need for what the World Empire has in store.”
The limp body of their Master sank a little into Kentucky’s arms, and he clutched them tightly in hopes of holding onto whatever bit of warmth that remained of the life that had just spilt out before him, not caring if his clothes were to become even more stained with their spilt blood.
Blood oozed slowly out of three point-blank shots. One into their chest, one into the side of their head, and one onto the most sacred place of all: their hand that bore the rose crest. Destroying Master’s hand, that healed their battle wounds with the gentlest of touches, the same Master who would keep their traumatic memories of war in past lives at bay with their precious smile, the same smile that they’d sworn to protect… to Kentucky, this was the same as treason, and it was the worst kind of betrayal possible.
“Come now, Kentucky. You’re an excellent shot, so join me in fighting for a Master who is worthy of us. It’s about time you and I left this dumpsite behind.”
Bess coldly extended a hand, as if he hadn’t just shot their precious Master right in front of him.
The look on Kentucky’s face seemed unreadable, yet even a fool could see the anger that set ablaze like a forest fire in his magenta hues.
“How DARE you ask such a thing of me!” Kentucky growled lowly through gritted teeth, his arms gripping Master ever closer, ever tighter, as though if he spoke with enough emotion, maybe, just maybe they'd come back to him. But war is cruel, and things are never that easy. Gently releasing his grip on their cold, lifeless corpse, he lowered them to the dirt of the battlefield with extreme reluctance. He didn't want to let go of them, but he was still on the battlefield, and he had to stand tall in order to repay every ounce of kindness they'd ever bestowed upon them.
"There’s no way I’d ever betray the Resistance, and I will NEVER throw away the freedom Master worked so hard for all this time. You wanted power and let it go to your head and forgot the very reason you called yourself 'noble', the very reason you could use your soul gun in the first place. That's why I'll never forgive you, Brown Bess!"
Reloading his musket quickly with practised precision, Kentucky lifted it, aiming at Bess with a bloodthirst, unlike any other modern gun they'd faced to date.
"You forgot the very reason you carried such ideals in the first place, and someone like that is someone I will never follow."
A gunshot resounded through the desolate battlefield, and Bess lethargically raised his arms to catch Kentucky's body as the sniper fell forward.
"H-How..." Kentucky gasped for air whilst coughing up blood, his eyes widened in shock. Bess hadn't so much as moved, so how...?
Out of the corner of his eye that he was slowly losing vision through, Kentucky could see the silhouette of a tall, blonde man making his way over the two of them, carrying a modern sniper rifle in his hand. Smoke was freshly billowing from the muzzle, and while it was barely noticeable, even at the brink of death Kentucky's pride and joy were his incredibly keen eyes, and he quickly realized the modern sniper rifle was what had done him in so quickly.
Scoffing lightly as he held Kentucky's body which was becoming limper and limper as the seconds passed, Bess gazed down upon him with an expression devoid of any kind of affection or remorse and whispered lowly, "I no longer have any need for those ideals that you speak of."
Releasing the musketeer and tossing him to the ground as though he were a ragdoll, an old plaything, Bess walked forward to meet the modern musketeer that had finished off his old comrade.
Unable to place why exactly it was that his heart ached so much, Bess chalked it up to having missed out on the opportunity to convert such a promising musketeer. After all, Kentucky had a one-shot, one-kill policy that had carried the Resistance to victory so many times, and surely his talent would be useful for furthering the Empire's plans. But the Empire had no need for toys that would not follow the mould, so he was tossed aside and utterly crushed to the ground and was to become trash that could no longer be fixed, the kind of trash that could no longer harbour a soul. Trash that would no longer get in their way.
"It is as planned, Einz. We proceed to the second phase."