Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Slice ❯ One-Shot

Disclaimer: I don't own Wiess Kreuz. It belongs to Koyasu Takehito and Project Weiss. I'm just borrowing it. I don't own the song 'Crawling' either. Linkin Park does.

Warnings: Cursing, some shonen ai at the end, self violence, suicide, drug use, disturbed mental states.

Pairing: Hint of BradxSchu.

Author Notes: I finished this at 11:30 at night after trying to write it for 3 days. Gomen if the ending's bad.

Song lyrics

'Schu's thoughts.'

/Schu's demons./

"Talking."

Slice

By DragonSoul

Crawling in my skin,

these wounds,

they will not heal...

Crimson lines on pale skin. It was an addiction, the pain that followed the slim blade as it raced over his skin.

It was his secret, his shame. Old scars overlaid by a lattice work of new. It was as intoxicating as it was deadly. How many times had he contemplated letting the blade slip, to cut deep, dark liquid welling up from within. How many times had he thought about ending it all? It was always the same though. As soon as he thought it the pain would change and become darker, no longer sweet as it should be. It clung to his soul, pulling him down as the blade began to bite too deep. But always his fears of darkness would rise up, pushing away the shadows hat dulled his mind. It was a ritual, the only thing he could grasp in an ever changing life.

It had started with the drugs, attempts to block out the world by snorting meth or injecting heroine. The dangerous stuff that would trash your mind if it was taken wrong. He didn't care. If he died or crashed during a bad trip, nobody would miss him. He was useless. A slut, a pawn, street trash. A thing to be played with, manipulated even as it manipulated others. But the drugs just made it worse. They stole his sanity and broke his spirit, leaving a shell of the boy he once was, his mind invaded by a thousand others and he couldn't block them out.

Fear is how I fall,

confusing what is real...

When he attempted to end it all, he found out that pain could be addicting, even more so than any drug he'd taken. Emotion would sing along his body as the knife cut deep, reason, hope and all his worries spilling out with the crimson flow. But it failed that first time. He lived. Another trophy to prove his failures in life to those who dared get near. He was untouchable, unwanted by God or by the devil. Forsaken by all.

It became his dependence, this ritual the scarred his body even while it freed his mind, separating him from everything else. And even while he reveled in the few minutes of peace it gave him from the minds that would soon intrude once again, he knew that it wouldn't always work. The pain would dull, and the minds would cease to quiet. He was rock bottom, but he didn't care. He had his knife and an addiction that was free. It just didn't matter anymore.

But then he came, the American who knew his deepest secrets, looked into his future and told him what he saw. It was frightening, but then again, it was knowledge that was as sweet as the pain that kept him sane. A chance to use his curse to get revenge on the world, and to be able to block the minds out completely. All it required was that he leave his old life behind. It wasn't a choice. He left.

There's something inside me that pulls beneath the surface,

Consuming,

Confusing...

Men screamed as he tore their minds apart, reveling in the sense of power and control it gave him. He could make promises and never have to keep them, just wipe the mind blank. It had been eight years since the American picked up off the streets and the scars had faded. The addiction had faded, then disappeared as he found out how sweet another's mind could be. He fed off the souls of the others, his own soul long destroyed. He was a demon, predator of the night, running with those who were the same.

Oracle, the one who saw the future and used it to his advantage, chaos and anarchy following in his wake. Cold gold eyes sought out weaknesses, found fears and shone with an unholy light as men died before him.

Prodigy, cold and restrained, his anger could unleash the destructive force of hell if he wished it. Striking without sound as seemingly innocent blue eyes watched unemotionally as buildings and men fell at his feet.

Berserker, truly possessed, unfeeling of pain. Mind sharp as the knives he carries, but twisted beyond recognition by a childhood betrayal. The only one who could truly understand the feeling of power as man died beneath his hands, his single amber eye uncaring as he watched God weep.

And finally himself, Mastermind, heartless and jaded, he could tear a mind apart with a thought and played with the emotions of humans like toys. A lord among demons, the darkness was a part of him now, his retreat from he world. He commanded himself like he commanded the minds of others and his green eyes were malicious.

This lack of self control I fear

Is never ending,

Controlling...

/You're useless you know./

'Shut up!' Emerald eyes flashed jade fire as man fell to his knees, a bullet in his throat.

/Why do you keep up this facade Schuldich? You don't belong here./

'I said shut up!' It was different tonight, the demons in his mind refusing to be silent.

/Why, I do believe you are trying to order us around aren't you?/

'Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!!' Green eyes narrowed, pupils dilating as the telepath gave in to his rage. 'I can control you! You're not real, you're in my mind!'

/Ah... but what's in the mind is often much more dangerous than what is real./

I can't seem

To find my self again

Another shot glass slammed down on the table as nimble hands only slightly shaky from the alcohol sloshed whiskey into it, unheeding of the liquid that spilled over the edge. The demons were silent now, watching amusedly as he downed the alcohol shot after shot, attempting to lose himself in the haze that would follow.

/You're losing control aren't you Schuldich?/

'Shut up.' Trembling hands clenched as he fought to maintain his shields and not tear the minds of everyone in the bar to shreds.

/You know what's going to happen don't you?/

'It's none of your business.' Another shot burned down his throat. Maybe the next one would quiet the one demon that never left him.

/I'm a part of you. Tell me now./

"No." The word was spoken, the boundary between the physical and the mental blurred by chemicals in the bitter fluid he had been drinking all night.

/It's betraying you isn't it? The darkness is no longer comforting./

Silence.

My walls are closing in.

I've felt this way before,

So insecure...

Schuldich cursed as he realized he had pushed the man before him too far. A fist slammed against his cheek and he went flying. 'Why the hell won't he listen!? I can't do what he's asking me to!'

/Oh, but you can Schuldich... You're just scared./

'Scared!? What the hell are you talking about?!' A groan pulled free of his throat as a foot hit his ribs.

/You're scared of losing the sense of control you have, of returning to the way it was before.../

'Whatever.' A last thought before the American's fist connected with his temple and the darkness hid him from sight.

Crawling in my skin,

These wounds,

They will not heal...

The white ones were there... Ironic how they were the white hunters and yet they wore black. Nagi was squared off against the kid with the darts...

/Bombay/ The demons supplied the name. How they know while he didn't, Schuldich didn't know.

Farfarello was against the brunette with the one who looks like he just came out of a milk commercial. 'Siberian.'

The flash of a silver blade on his opposite side caught his eye. The red head /Abyssinian./ was attacking Crawford.

'Great... now where's the fourth one?' The German reached into his jacket to pull his gun as the demons in his mind snickered.

/Scared Schuldich? You should be. These guys will chew you and your buddies up and leave you to die./

'Fuck off.' Staring into the dim room, distracted by the fighting, he missed the slim wire flick out, didn't see a thing until his gun was yanked from his hands. "Shit!" He knew the last one was there, but he could find him, both with his mind or with his eyes. The wire flicked out once more and wrapped neatly around his throat, cutting off his air.

/Schuldich is gonna die, Schuldich is gonna die.../ The demons were laughing, falling on their asses at the thought.

"Shut up!" The word was strangled, barely intelligible, but the other assassin's grip on his wire loosened, and Schuldich clawed his way free, only to have Abyssinian's katana slice deep into his shoulder. 'Shit!!'

"Prodigy, Mastermind, Berserker! Fall back. We'll retreat for now." Crawford's voice was barely audible over the clamoring of the demons in his mind.

But at that moment, Schuldich couldn't have cared. He would have left anyways.

Discomfort endlessly

Has pulled itself upon me.

It was back. The same sense of a thousand minds pushing on his. Nothing helped. 'Why me?!'

/You still have your knife Schuldich./

The demons had left. All except one. They weren't necessary to keep him under control anymore. The thought of life on the streets again is what kept him bound to the group of assassins that felt nothing but contempt for him.

/You still have your knife./

'Shut up. I don't need it.'

Distracting,

Reacting...

He tried to ignore it, the craving that pulled at him. He had given up the habit long ago, when he realized that he could block out the minds. But they were back and so was the pull.

The knife was still sitting in the same place as he had put it eight years ago. On his dresser, collecting dust, untouched. He wouldn't touch it and no one else went in his room.

It wasn't out in the open either. You'd have to move things just to see it. But Schuldich knew it was there, and so did the demon in his mind.

/You know you're going to end up using it again./

'No I won't. I don't need it.'

/You do./

'Not.'

/Fine. Believe what you will./

'I don't need it.'

Silence.

Against my will I stand beside my own reflection

It's haunting...

It was three weeks after the tug first reappeared. Twenty one days exactly. And he had given in. The blade poised above his wrist, gleaming dully in the dim light. The drapes were closed and his door locked. No one would know that his insanity had returned. The only one who'd understand anyways was Farfarello, which didn't stand for much.

A glimpse of color on the blade caught his eye and he stared into the sparkling reflection of his eyes, mesmerized. The madness glittered there, behind the obscuring flame locks, clear for all to see. A curse wrung itself from his throat and the knife slashed down, skin parting easily under the edge.

Utter and blessed silence rang through his mind as crimson droplets welled up. He was free for the moment.

I can't seem,

To find myself again...

His mind was flooded with thoughts, all clamoring for his attention.

'GET OUT!'

/You've hit rock bottom again Schuldich./

'No!'

/Going to pull yourself back up?/

/Of course not./ Was that his reply or was that one of the demons? He couldn't tell. All the voices in his mind were blending into one.

'The knife Schuldich. It's been twenty four hours. Use it./

'No.' The old argument, with him insisting that he didn't need the calming kiss of the blade. But he'd give in. He always did.

He carried it around now. The knife rode in his boot, there in case he broke down at a crucial moment. If any of his teammates noticed the new addition, they were silent. It served his purpose and he was silently glad, even though he couldn't help but notice the strange glances they shot at his hands and wrists, which were now laced with cuts anywhere from small nicks to large gashes. What was even more disturbing was the appreciative smiles that Berserker gave him every time he came in the room.

'Sick pervert.'

/But you're even sicker./ The demon sang, laughing cheerfully.

'Shut up.'

My walls are closing in.

I've felt this way before,

So insecure...

'Recon. He gave me a fucking recon task! I'm an assassin, not a god damned errand boy!'

/He knows your losing it. One morning you'll wake up with a bullet in your brain Schuldich./

'You make no sense.'

/Ah, but why do I have to make sense when you do not yourself?/

'Fuck you.' And the demon laughed.

Crawling in my skin,

These wounds,

They will not heal...

Dark blood overflowed the edges of the gash as his knife traced back along it's path, carving it deeper. It no longer mattered if the the only thing that kept him sane was visible or not. His teammates didn't care. Hell, Crawford had essentially told him that he could die and he wouldn't even bat an eye as long as he did his duty to the team.

'Fuck them.'

/You're gone Schuldich. Off the deep end. End it now under your own terms./

'They won't kill me. Not yet at least.'

/You don't know that./

'That's why I don't listen to you. Why waste the idea when there's a chance that something won't happen?'

/Ah... But there's always the chance that it will./

'Screw off.'

/Maybe later. You're fun to play with./

Fear is how I fall,

Confusing what is real...

Blood trailed down the blade as it hovered over his wrist for the final slice.

/Do it. End it now./

'See you in hell.' The blade descended and the warm liquid welled up, winding down his arm in crimson ribbons. Quickly the knife exchanged hands and repeated the actions, then clattered to the floor, landing amid a spreading pool of blood.

The demon cheered. /I'll meet you there Schuldich./ Then all presence in his mind was gone. The final release. Total silence except the rhythmic drip of blood against the floor.

'Yes...' Darkness dimmed his vision, lips twisting into a final smirk. Footsteps pounding outside his room and the door burst open, the three people who he hated the most storming in. The silence in his mind broke and their voices echoed inside.

"Schuldich, why?" Nagi... Why was he crying? Nagi shouldn't cry. He had no reason to after all.

"Does God hurt Schuldich? You'll have to tell me one day." The Irishman's one eye was solemn. Why would be be like that? He looked betrayed. Was it because he, the slut, was going to be able to hurt God eternally, or was it because he felt something else.

His head turned, taking the last bit of strength he had. Why was he wasting it to look at the American, the one he hated? Crawford was silent, but his eyes told the dying man everything. Love, self hate, sorrow, regret... It was all there. Love? What was that doing there? Some how Schuldich found the strength to look into the eyes of the other two assassins once more and found the same. They all held some form of love in their eyes.

This wasn't right. They weren't supposed to see this. They were just supposed to find his body when they came home. But it was happening and he couldn't stop it, just as he couldn't stop the darkness that over took his eyes.

His head fell to the side, breathing a single word.

"Sorry."

~Owari~