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I can only lie weakly in front of him. Hand in hand. I felt the life fade away a while ago, but something keeps me here, tethered to his cold, decomposing body. His final words ring in my head like a broken, blood-soaked record, endlessly replaying their hollow tune. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't move. My body feels nailed to the ground, my muscles paralysed under the weight of the death surrounding me. Not an inch. Not a twitch.
"Gods... and Buddha... Please... At least spare my little brother. He's not like me. His heart is kind. He wants... to help people, but I stopped him. I'm the one who's bad. If you must punish someone... punish me... Please."
The words rot in my mind, just like his body. They cling to me, a chain of guilt. What good were his prayers? Did he think the gods were listening? That his words meant something? Is there even a god that listens to a plea as your soul slips through the cracks of existence? I wish I could believe it. I wish anything could matter now.
"The truth is I knew. The 'Mu' in 'Muichiro' is the 'Mu' in 'Mugen'. Infinity. For the good of others... You... can tap into infinite strength."
What's the point of infinite strength when I have nobody beside me? When there's no one left to fight for, no one to carry on, no one to remember us? The only person I could fight for is now nothing but a pile of decomposing organs, bones, and liquid putrescence. Strength means nothing without love, without the warmth of another soul beside yours. I have nothing. I am nothing.
The smell is unbearable now. It wraps around me like a suffocating noose, squeezing the air out of my lungs, forcing bile into my throat. I've seen death before, but nothing like this. The scent of a corpse — it's unforgettable. Mother's corpse was nothing like this. When she died, she smelled like rotting meat, yes, but there was something softer, like a weird fruity undertone mixed with her decay. Maybe it was because Father buried her quickly, letting her slip into the earth before the worst set in, or because she died from an illness rather than getting murdered. This… this is different. He smells like something dragged up from the bowels of hell itself. A rancid cocktail of rotting fish, faeces, sour milk, rotten eggs, and burnt garlic floods the air. My eyes water as the fumes claws their way into my throat, choking me, making me gag. I can almost taste his decay.
It feels like his hand is crumbling in mine. Maybe it is. His face — once so lively, so full of warmth and energy — is peaceful now. But that peace is a lie, a shitty mask for the horror beneath. His fingers, which once curled around mine with warmth, are now nothing but a mass of bloated flesh, swollen and purple, oozing thick, putrid fluid; Turning to a sticky, liquefied pulp, slipping in my hand. His nails have long since fallen off, leaving blackened stubs that weep pus. I glance at his face — or what's left of it. His eyes, once so full of life and light, are now follow cavities, writhing with maggots that wriggle in and out of the socket. The skin around his eyes has been eaten away, leaving jagged, bloody craters where the insects have burrowed deep into his skull. His cheeks have sunken in, revealing the sharp edges of his jawbone as the skin rots away in clumps. His lips have split and curled back, exposing yellowed teeth that seem to grin mockingly at me.
Slimy fluids ooze from every orifice—his nose, his mouth, his ears. A steady trickle of blood-mixed bile drips down his chin, pooling beneath his head in a thick, foul-smelling sludge. His skin, once vibrant and alive, is slick and discoloured, a grotesque palette of dull browns and greens, veined with dark purple as it decomposes. It looks gelatinous in some places as it peels away, exposing the raw muscle beneath, which now hangs loosely, barely clinging to the brittle bones as the decay eats away at what's left.
It's quiet here. So quiet. All I can hear is the wind outside, the rustling of leaves, and the soft hum of flies that have already claimed him. Flies swarm in the air, buzzing in lazy circles, their tiny legs clinging to his hair, laying eggs in the gaping wounds, in the torn flesh, in the exposed muscles. The eggs will hatch soon — more maggots, more ravenous creatures that'll join to feast on what's left of him. They crawl in and out of his open mouth, nesting in the wet, rotting tissues of his tongue and gums. I wonder if they've reached his brain yet, burrowing into his skull to devour the last fragments of who he was.
My brother, my only family, is food now. I stare at him, at what remains, and wonder why no other animals have come. Bears? Foxes? Do they sense my despair? Or do they simply know that nothing good can come from this place?
I should run. I should leave. But I can’t. He’s all I have left. Even as his body rots away into nothing, I can’t let him go. The flies may eat his flesh, the maggots may crawl through his bones, but I will stay. I will cling to this last, disgusting piece of him, even as it turns to muck in my hands. He and I are one. Were one. Bound by blood and life. Now, I'm bound to his death. I don't want to be alone. I can't be. I'll stay with his corpse. This is all that's left for me. His body is mine to protect, even as it crumbles into the earth.
I wonder if he's still here, in some way, Is his soul watching over me? Or has he moved on, like they always say? I reach out with my thoughts, my broken voice, calling to him in the silence, “Why, God? Why did you take my brother from me?”
But no answer comes. Not from God, not from the earth, not from anywhere. Only the cold, hollow silence of death. I try to close my eyes, to block out the image of his decayed body, but it’s burned into my mind. There’s no escape from it, just like there’s no escape from this grief.
And still, I stay. His corpse is all that remains, and I can’t bear to be without it. Even as the fluids seep into my clothes, even as his skin slips away like wet paper, I won’t leave.
But the gods don’t listen. They never did. His prayers fell on deaf ears, and now all that’s left is this decaying husk that was once my brother. The maggots feast, the flies circle, and soon there will be nothing left but bones.
And still, I stay.