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He first killed a hellion two weeks after the people could no longer see him. He'd panicked, grabbing Siegfried and pulling the safety, firing the gun on instinct. Blue flames engulfed the hellion, and it returned to its human form. Relieved, Zaveid went to check the human when blood started seeping out from the human's back.
His eyes widened, and he felt sick to his stomach. Zaveid vomited, stomach bile being the only thing he could throw up. He coughed, putting a hand to his mouth. He'd just killed a person, he'd killed another living being.
Just like that misfit group, he was a murderer.
He hated killing, and yet he'd killed a living being because he wasn't paying attention. This human's blood was staining his hands now. Zaveid threw up again, making a noise of pain. His stomach hurt, yet he was still attempting to clear it of whatever was in it.
He put Siegfried away, hoping to never use it again.
The next time he killed, he and Eizen had been exploring a ruin on Eizen's insistence. It was so boring to him, and yet here he was. The Earth Malak was observing a carving on the wall when it appeared. The hellion attacked Eizen first, who got ensnared in its tentacles. Zaveid grabbed Siegfried, loading in a bullet and pointing it at the hellion. His hand shook like crazy as he did, memories of the human he'd killed flashing through his mind. But Eizen choked, struggling to breathe, and Zaveid aimed the gun. He pulled down the safety and fired, the shot forcing the hellion to let go of Eizen as it died. Another human laid dead on the ground and Zaveid dropped Siegfried, vomiting from the sight.
He collapsed to the ground, sobbing lightly as he tried to keep from throwing up again. Eizen grabbed him and yanked him to his feet.
“Stop crying. You did them a service.”
“Eizen, I killed them! That's wrong! I shouldn't have-- I didn't want to-” He was cut off as Eizen punched him in the stomach. Stumbling back, he clutched his stomach and grit his teeth.
“Death is a salvation for those who'll never return to their normal selves.”
A tiny wind seraph was running from an overgrown hellion when a pendulum knocked it aside out of nowhere. Zaveid walked up to the hellion, pulling out Siegfried and shooting himself in the head with it, feeling the power rise up in his body. It was an addicting feeling, and Zaveid couldn't help but grin. Fighting the hellion was amazing, and killing it was nothing. He still felt sick to his stomach, but at least he'd finally become able to kill without throwing up. The tiny seraph walked up to him.
“That... That was soooo cool! Thanks for saving me, mister!”
“Ain't anything to be thankin' me about. I live for the thrill of a fight, so me takin' it's life was... just a bonus.”
He stared off into the mountains. Eizen had turned one hundred and fifty years ago, and he'd been left to keep his promise to kill him. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Killing his friend was something he didn't want to do, after all. Eizen had helped him get over the ill feeling when he killed a hellion, and had forced him to make an oath. The oath helped him remain as himself as he travelled the world, but at a price Zaveid had never wanted to give up.
A sneeze snapped him out of his thoughts, and he looked to the tiny seraph, who sneezed again. Sighing, he undid the belts on his jacket and pulled his gloves off before pulling the jacket off and kneeling down, wrapping it around the seraph. “Here. Keep it safe for me, alright? I'll want it back someday.”
“Okay...” The seraph sneezed again, and Zaveid laughed. Picking up his gloves, he took a look at them before looking to the belts. Picking them up too, he stood up and walked off, waving a farewell.
A new glove adorned his left hand and the belts rested on his wrists like bracelets. His pants, modified for easier movements, gave him no trouble as he walked towards the Spiritcrest. Boots, adorned with steel, crunched against the grass underneath. Holsters once worn properly now hung loosely on either hip, neither holding Siegfried but a multitude of items. The aformented gun was shoved into the back of his pants and waited for another use. Silvery-white hair ending in a lime green once only at his shoulders now reached his hips and was slightly unkempt from years of travelling.
Zaveid smirked as he reached the bottom of the mountain, seeing three people fighting against a hellion. Barely denting it, too.
The smirk formed into a deadly smile.
It was his turn to play now.