Garden Of The Abyss

A look of surprise took hold of the eyes of each of the vampires who spectated the merciless action. 

A fountain of bubbling blood flowed from the open cavity of the headless man's neck as his body lifelessly fell forward onto the abrasive white. 

"He was a danger to us all, right? That's what you said...For the ones I have to protect, he can't live. Right?" he said, swiping the fresh crimson from his blood as it painted the snow. 

Standing quietly, he froze for a minute, attempting to process the actions he just took even as words left his lips. 

Blinking, it felt as if he just snapped out of a trance--attempting to allow his brain to adjust to what just happened. 

He squinted a bit at the repulsive sight as he returned his blade to his sheath. For a moment, the three of vampire blood stood in silence before looking at him. 

"Damn, 'ya got 'im good," Leonid muttered as he ruffled his bristly locks. 

Armen knelt down as if confirming the death of the man, though such confirmation didn't seem necessary by the state of his body. 

Looking at him, Vale remained silent as her crystalline, scarlet eyes seemed to try and read him, only speaking after their eyes met. 

"I see. You're able to make that choice then: one to take one's life," Vale commented. 

"...I did what had to be done, right? Right?" He looked at her as his words left his cooled lips. 

For a brief moment, Vale remained silent before nodding her head, "It was the right choice. But, you didn't need to do it."

"Why?" He asked. 

"You still have life in your eyes. Or rather, your eyes still hold purity in them. That's why I knew with one look that you weren't a true companion of his...you weren't devoid of emotion," Vale said with her fingers close to her lips, "...was I mistaken in that assessment? I can't tell which side of the threshold you stand on now, young one." 

Ignoring her question, he felt his entire body shake after what he had just done finally sunk in. 

It took a minute to settle in, but for some reason he just realized it. 

It didn't feel voluntary; his body moved on its own to accomplish what felt like the instinctual, optimal choice. 

What did I do? He asked himself. 

Looking down at his hands, they were painted in fresh, still warm blood. 

...Why did I do that? Huh? He thought. 

All that he could hear was the running of flowing blood, listening as if it was occurring right beside his ear as it flowed and flowed. Such an intrusive, abhorrent ambience filled him with disgust as he stood still, beginning to huff. 

Grabbing his own wrist, he attempted to take hold of his trembling fingers, but he couldn't stop it. 

Immediately, a sickness set into his stomach as he covered his mouth--the sight of blood dying the once pure snow invited unwelcome memories. The sight, the smells, the taste of death; he remembered it vividly as he fell to his knees. 

No, no, no...this is wrong, it's flawed--terrible. I'm not that kind of person. I...I don't kill just because it might be the path of least resistance. Why did I do that…? 

It wasn't to protect anyone. I was angry. I was furious...so I swung my blade. I made a choice--a choice that wasn't mine to make. 

Iris wouldn't want this...she wouldn't want to be saved by a Ren who isn't even Ren anymore! He thought. 

Releasing onto the snow his sickness, he looked at the tainted frost as Vale knelt beside him. 

"...I don't know. I don't know what the right path is…! I don't have a single damn clue what's right…!" He strained his words from his throat as he gripped the snow beneath him. 

Broken. 

Shattered. 

Fractured. 

Conflicting. 

Inside of him, it felt as if two halves were being tugged on, each trying to overtake the other and cement the person he was. Two, conflicting, opposite paths that wanted to do away with the other entirely. It was a battle that left his mind fractured and without unison. 

It felt like his brain was pulling itself apart at the seams, unable to process what he truly felt was the correct way. 

The gentle hand of the mysterious, youthful seeming girl caressed his back as she looked at him. 

"Hold onto that. That disgust of what you've just done. Never become indifferent to taking a life. But don't lament it; remember what you've saved by acting. Just be able to swing your blade when it needs to be swung," Vale spoke softly to him, "now, young one--rest."

Listening to the gently spoken words that fell to his ears like a lullaby, all of his pent up exhaustion finally hit his boiling point. 

With fading, swaying vision, he fell face first into the cold snow as his consciousness fell into a state of much needed rest. 

I'm not there yet. I'm...I'm not a killer. 

It's just not in my blood, is it…? 

But if that's the case...then what does Belmon want with me? He thought. 

Even if he stepped over the threshold, he kept one foot left on the other side. 

Not fully, not yet at least, he hadn't lost himself. 

Parting his eyelids, the soft whispers of a lit flame met his barely waking ears. What first met his hazy vision was the gentle light emitting from the orange fire; blinking slowly, he sat up. 

"Ngh…" He groaned. 

His head throbbed wildly, but caressing it with his hand seemed to dull the pain somewhat as he found his back pressed up against the rough back of a tree. 

"Evening," a voice greeted. 

The sudden presence startled him into full consciousness. 

Sitting across from him was the silver-haired, pale-skinned man from earlier, cleaning his thin-bladed weapon casually. 

There wasn't anyone else sitting around the campfire, just him and the quiet man. 

"...Evening," he hesitantly greeted. 

All his eyes could fixate on was the shining, pointy silver weapon the vampire quietly held, running the handkerchief over its immaculate steel. 

"Vale used a sleeping spell on you. You were beginning to break down, so she spared you from losing it further," Armen told him. 

It seemed as if the stone-faced, pale man read his mind by the way he explained the situation without needing prompting. 

"Oh...I see," he replied. 

After seeming to finish cleaning his rapier, Armen returned it to the thin sheath stationed at the hip of his lengthy, sable coat. 

Armen brought his scarlet eyes up to the young man, resting his chin on his black-gloved hands. It seemed the noble-faced man with illustrious locks wasn't much for conversation as he simply sat there silently, staring at him with those inhuman, scarlet eyes. 

Around them, the grey-skinned trees sat around like listening walls that somehow added an air of comfort in their tall, obscuring form.. It seemed the era of frost had passed as the grass laid verdant once more like an empty spring.