Crier la mort
Author: Nyx Midnight
Rating: PG-13
Status: 1 of 1
Fandom: Shin Megami Tensei Dressing Room
Type: AU, gen
Characters: Femme!Hitoshura
Warning: Violence, character death
Disclaimers: Characters, names and likenesses owned by Atlus. Interpretation of the different characters belong to their respective players.
Feedback: Yes please! Critiques welcomed.
Spoilers: —
Thanks: Wolfsbride
Focus on everything better today
All that I needed I never could say
Hold on to people, they're slipping away
Hold on to this while it's slipping away
It had started almost innocently. Standard weekly disaster, from this moody hairball in space. Shura had awakened that—day? night?— to find that, suddenly, a sun had appeared above the mall, bathing everything in a harsh light. Despite the weird sensation buzzing under her skin, she had given little thought to it.
That is, until Isamu gathered the janitor zombies' magatsuhi to establish his Reason. The full weight of reality catching up slammed into her like a runaway train right then.
She hadn't wanted to, but without Noah and his freak Reason bearer body, Isamu was just a human, just a boy, so fragile... Before she even realized it, he was in her arms, oozing blood, body broken, eyes empty. She held a funeral, like for Ryoji and Ryuji, but this time, no one came. Even Kyoji only reluctantly let her use his PA system. Afterwards, everyone's gaze on her seemed either heavy or reluctant, filling Shura with dread.
She tried to appeal to the Summoners Council to help her get rid of Kagutsuchi, without success. Gouto all but scratched her face off when she tried. She figured she was a rogue demon who had killed a human, but, still... couldn't they see she had done it for the greater good?
Apparently no one did.
Suddenly, people started developing Reasons. Chiaki returned from wherever she was hiding. Aleph. Kazuya. Tatsuya. Adil. Sheffield. O'Brien. Akihiko. Shinjiro. Mitsuru. Even Kyoji, Raidou the 40th and Ryoji tried their hands at it.
Shura tried. She asked them to stop. She told them it wouldn't solve any of theirs problems, least of all bring them home. She really tried. But no one listened, and the very existence of the world was suddenly threatened by the amount of people trying to use its energy.
She did not remember very well what happened afterwards. Everything blurred together in a maelstrom of thick, sticky reds, of metal against flesh and flesh against flesh, of fractured bones and dying screams.
Once she could think clearly again, she was holding her male counterpart by the horn; or rather, she was holding his horn and he lay at her feet, dead, a massive hole in the back of his neck. There was nothing but carnage around her. The Mall had been razed. Raidou, her face crushed beyond recognition, was still protectively lying in front of Kyoji's torn body. Akihiko, her dear friend... his red vest could hide the blood, but not the hole in his chest, right over the heart. A pile of limbs and identical blue haired heads lay nearby, the morbid monotony only broken by the few raven-haired heads casually thrown in the pile.
Stepping forward, over the lifeless body of the other Demi-Fiend, she headed for Kagutsuchi, glancing around her. Igor, laying prone, dead, a group of Elizabeths at his side. A Nyx, broken like a dropped porcelain doll. Nyarlathotep and Philemon, still at each other's throats even in death, impaled together by countless magic javelins. And in her hands, as she looked down, the severed head of Lucifer's child avatar, its expression peaceful as if only sleeping.
She looked up again, and Kagutsuchi shivered, its corona suddenly falling off like a sheet in the wind, revealing the glowering face of the Great Will. His triumphant laughter rose around her like the roar of an army rushing into battle as His face was partially eclipsed by Nyx Avatar's mask. Dropping Lucifer's head, Shura fell to her knees, a drawn out scream ripped from her throat at the realization of what this world had been for all along.
She woke with a start, heart stammering, groping for Futomimi on the other side of the bed. Feeling nothing but the mattress, she turned hurriedly; the other half of the bed was impeccably made. Futomimi had to be out. Shura rose to her feet, breathing shallowly, then staggered to the bathroom. As she poured herself a drink, she looked at herself in the large mirror. Her hair spiked in all directions; her red rimmed eyes leaked tears down her cheeks; goosebumps prickled all over her skin, and she wondered when exactly she had learned to function rationally with the icy hands of fear and anguish tightly wrapped around her throat, lungs and guts.
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