Chapter Text
Ilay held a knife with a swift hand that could slice through the body easily. The blade had just the right amount of weight to each swing. It was stained with blood and grease, but it was still sharp. Hot blood trickled down the grooves of the blade, soaking his already dripping gloves red.
He stained it again. It felt neither good nor bad. It was a pleasant enough sensation, he supposed, but it was not impressionable enough. It was just as if he was doing a warm up and a light exercise.
Unless it was for catching the prey he was after, the exhilaration of simply moving his body didn’t feel satisfying.
Thud. one.
Thud. Another one.
"Where is it...” Ilay muttered low like a hum.
He had to be somewhere in this building, that worthy prey.
He didn’t care if he dies, or if someone else dies in his place. Either way, he wanted the man who brought this situation to this point to be caught.
And then,
“…Aha,” The silver haired laughed.
There he was, at the top of the stairs, in pitch blackness without a single light.
“I have a very good nose, but I also have a very good sense, especially my sense for a prey in particular has never been wrong.”
The moment Ilay had whispered that, the prey began to run away. In the darkness, he left just enough traces to make him easy to follow. He didn’t say a word and his hurried footsteps were somehow unnatural. Maybe he was hurt somewhere.
It didn’t matter. All I had to do was catch the source of the sound fleeing into the dead end darkness and slit his throat. That was it.
Well, you never know. When i fired a gun at him last time the gun exploded, and this time the blade might break. But it’s doable to slit a man’s throat with a broken blade. I wondered what kind of miracle will his freakish luck show this time? I wondered if instead I will really die this time?
It didn’t take long to catch up with the prey. Ilay was amazed at the way the prey moved to subtly deflect the swings of his blade. His reflexes were saving his life rather than his luck. At least for now.
Indeed, no matter what, you just don’t die that easily.
A sense of joy mixed with murderous intent slowly bloomed inside Ilay.
It didn’t matter if he dies or not, but if you had to ask, it was better for this man to die still. Of course, wouldn’t it be better if there were no other people who had an unbreakable relationship with him? —well, but at the same time, that was the problem. If I killed this man with my own hands, he would certainly blame himself.
That thought alone dulls the tip of his blade. But how far is this man’s amazing luck willing to go? Ilay felt like trying it out.
At a dead end, the hunter turned the blade and grabbed it. Without hesitation, he stabbed the knife towards the prey who was breathing heavily before his eyes.
However, the sound of gunshot rings out at exactly the right moment. It left a pungent smell of gun powder smothering the air.
“Get away from him.”
Yes, I knew that middle eastern man would come, I knew you'd find him here. I was thinking it wouldn't matter if you didn't, but if you did, all the better. The silver haired laughed.
It didn't matter who came first. It didn't matter who he killed or who would die. The fact that the man was holding a gun didn't affect him; what bothered him was the crowd that had begun to clamor up from below. They seemed like slugs the way they were crawling up late.
Ilay’s body was hurt. He had a fairly deep cut in his stomach, but he only clicked his tongue briefly.
This could be considered a cheap price to pay for tonight’s brief entertainment.
Just as Ilay was thinking of putting away his knife, he heard the people coming up from below had almost reached the trio.
Good. Tonight was quite fun. Now, if these people never show up in front of myself or /that man/ again, that would be enough.
Ilay didn’t care what those two men are talking about. He was thinking of going back to Berlin. He somehow took the long way all the way to Frankfurt and took the man who was staying in Berlin with him and kept him somewhere nearby.
The silver haired man shook off the sticky droplets of blood that had hardened on the blade. The blood, thick as caramel, glistened crimson under the flashlight of those who had caught up from below. A ray of white light pierced the darkness and illuminated them.
Under the light, Ilay wiped the knife again against the hem of his clothes and turned away with a meaningless gaze. There stood his victims—his would’ve been victims.
Even before Ilay could say something to help get away from the pursuit, a face stained with blood and dust caught his eyes.
Their eyes met. Ilay’s hand that was cleaning the blade stopped at the same time. He stood frozen, staring blank into that face. He blinked twice not believing the eyes that recognized someone who shouldn't be there.
“Tae—“
His tongue stiffened in mid-sentence, He were about to utter the name of someone terribly familiar, but the thought failed to form in his momentarily empty mind.
The owner of that name shouldn't be here.
He shouldn't be in that place.
The brown haired man sitting there was the one he had tried to kill with his own hands a moment ago. The man who had been staring at him without blinking even once, and only blinked when sweat mixed with blood trickled into his eyes. Only when Ilay saw the man’s wet eyelashes moved did he realize that there was nothing wrong with his eyes.
Was that the man I was trying to kill?
If only his hand had been off by an inch. If only he had been more serious about cutting the man's throat.
He could have been looking at a corpse right now. A corpse illuminated by the flashlights, whom his faithful knife would have slit its throat.
“…”
The man slowly rose to his feet, leaving his unconscious comrade as they crashed down on top of him. The man, who seemed to have lost his balance, stumbled even though he was holding onto the stairs railing, and staggered over to Ilay.
Ilay touched the shorter man’s face with his forearm and clicked his tongue at the sting of his wound. He stood there motionless. Staring until the man stood right in front of him, then the man spoke.
“Ilay. You should be in the hospital.”
“What…?” He couldn’t hear what the man is saying; he just looked into the man's living eyes and checked if his lips were moving.
“You’re looking foolish right now.”
He followed the man's gaze for a moment, never fully looking down, only pointing downward with a nod. His own stomach was gaping open from a knife slash, and his entrails were rattling and threatening to spill out.
You.
What were you thinking.
Did you call my name in your mouth as you ran away, unable to speak?
Did you yell at them to stop?
Did you scream inaudibly as the blade tore through your flesh?
“Let’s go.”
“Where—“
Ilay desperately grabbed the shorter man who turned his back away from him. The man, caught by his forearm, turned his head and looked up to him with wide eyes.
“Hospital!”
“Ah… Hospital… I don’t need it.”
“I need one!” The man insisted with a stern face. Ilay stared down at the man for a moment before he obediently followed and walked ahead him, only to be stopped again by the screaming man.
“Stop walking! Get the stretcher out!” The man shouted.
Ilay didn’t take his eyes off him the man who shuddered and muttered, “You look like a corpse except you’re moving.”
He’s not dead. He’s alive. I didn’t kill him.
The freezing sensation in his gut, too cold to be called relieve, didn’t ease at all.
His frozen heart began to pound, slowly beating as if it had come back to life as he watched the man run to ask people to get a stretcher and then run back.
“Ah... you're a sight to behold,” He said. “I'm afraid I'll die if I stay with you.”
The brown haired frowned as his gaze drifted cautiously down to his body. “Shouldn’t I wrap it with a bandage or something?” He muttered under his breath.
“I’m fine.” Ilay replied to the man fumbling around in front of him.
The shorter man met his gaze with a fierce stare. Only then did Ilay felt a faint sense of relieve. He quietly took a deep breath.
However. He realized then.
This could happen again at any time. Regardless of one’s will.
His own nature, the people all over him, the circumstances around him, and the shenanigans that surrounded him could always be repeated.
That was the price he had paid for the life he had led so far.