Chapter 8: Death of a Thousand Years Old
Two bodies collapsed to the ground.
A scream tore through the night, sharp and shrill, and in an instant the crowd scattered. Feet pounded on the frozen earth as villagers fled, vanishing into the dark like startled birds.
Silence remained. Silence and blood.
"Cough… cough…"
A faint gasp broke through the stillness.
"Akito!"
The shard of glass slipped from Akira's trembling hands, shattering at his feet. He spun, falling to his knees beside his brother.
Akito's face was pale beneath streaks of blood. His breaths were shallow, ragged. Crimson stained his lips, smeared across Akira's palms as he cupped his face with shaking hands.
"Akito! How are you? Stay with me, please! Hold on—hold on! I'll get a doctor. Just don't close your eyes!"
Without a second thought, Akira hoisted his brother onto his back and ran.
Snow whipped at his clothes, blood soaking into the fabric until it clung like lead. His lungs burned, his arms screamed, but still he sprinted. His feet tore through the streets, scattering white powder behind him.
Not like this. Not him. Not my brother.
The clinic loomed ahead, lanterns glowing faint in the snowstorm. Akira crashed through the door, nearly collapsing beneath Akito's weight.
The doctor recoiled at the sight, eyes widening at the boy limp on Akira's back. But training overruled horror. He rushed forward, guiding Akira onto a bed, hands already probing.
Minutes stretched into eternity. The only sounds were the doctor's movements, Akira's frantic breathing, and Akito's faint, rattling gasps.
At last, the doctor stepped back. His shoulders sagged. His eyes lowered.
"I'm sorry," he said softly. "Prepare for his funeral."
Akira blinked.
"…Funeral?"
The word was foreign, meaningless.
He stared at the doctor, waiting for him to laugh, to take it back, to say it was a mistake. But the man only repeated himself.
"His internal injuries are beyond repair. His organs are crushed. No human can survive this. Unless you can summon a god to mend him, his life is already half gone."
Akira's heart stopped.
"No."
The denial was instant, visceral.
He lunged forward, seizing the doctor by the collar. His voice cracked like thunder, raw with grief.
"Look again! You're lying! He's still breathing—damn it, he's still breathing! Don't you dare give up!"
But the doctor's eyes were steady. Pitying. "You know the truth already. You felt it the moment you carried him here. He's slipping away."
Akira staggered back, vision blurring.
Deep down, he had known. From the moment he touched Akito's skin, he had felt the cold creeping in. But denial screamed louder than reason.
Not him. Not Akito. Not the one person I swore to protect.
"Brother…"
The whisper was faint, fragile.
Akira dropped beside him instantly, grasping his hand as if it might vanish. "Akito, I'm here. I'm right here."
His brother's eyes fluttered open, glassy with pain. His lips moved, trembling. "Am I… going to die?"
"No." The word tore from Akira's throat, fierce and desperate. "Don't say that. You'll be fine. I'll fix this—I promise. Just hold on."
Akito's hand rose, trembling as it brushed against Akira's cheek. His touch was weak, but his gaze was clear.
"Even if I'm not there… live on, brother. Please."
"No. Don't talk like that." Akira's tears spilled freely, tracing his face. "You're not going anywhere. You'll see. We'll open the shop again. We'll laugh about this. Just—just stay with me."
Akito smiled faintly, though blood flecked his lips. "Remember… we dreamed about a life together. A shop, a family. You taught me to cook… You gave me a home. Even if this is the end… I was happy."
His voice cracked with effort. "You're not my real brother. He died long ago. But you… you made me feel like I belonged again. You made me feel like I had a family."
Akira bit down on a sob, clutching his hand tighter.
"I wanted… to see you married," Akito whispered. "To meet your children. To watch you grow old."
"Don't say that," Akira begged, voice breaking.
Akito coughed, blood staining his chin. His breathing rattled. His strength was failing.
"Promise me… you'll find someone. A sister-in-law. Someone who'll care for you when I can't. Because you're strong against demons… but helpless with everything else. You forget to eat. You work until you collapse. You don't know how to ask for help. That's why I stayed… to keep you alive."
Akira shook his head furiously. "Don't talk like that. I don't need anyone else—I only need you!"
But Akito's grip tightened, one last surge of strength in his fingers. His eyes locked on Akira's, burning with quiet resolve.
"Live, brother. Promise me… you'll live."
Then his hand slipped.
Falling, feather-light.
His chest stilled.
His final breath escaped with a faint smile—one meant only for Akira.
And his eyes, even as they dimmed, never left his brother.
---
For a long moment, Akira could not breathe.
Then the sound tore free. A raw, ragged sob ripped from his chest, echoing through the clinic like thunder.
"Why… WHY?!"
His cries shook the walls. His fists pounded the earth. His tears soaked the blood-stained sheets.
He had given up everything—his fight, his power, his place in the Corps—for this chance. A quiet life. A human life.
And now that, too, had been stolen.
Not by a demon.
But by the very Corps he had once called his family.
The irony was crueler than any blade.
---
Time lost meaning.
Eventually, Akira rose.
He looked hollow, as if grief had carved him out and left only an empty shell behind. His movements were mechanical, stiff, but deliberate.
Slowly, he lifted Akito's body into his arms. He cradled him carefully, as though even in death he might break.
The doctor backed away, trembling. He did not speak. He did not meet Akira's eyes.
Akira didn't look at him either.
He only muttered, again and again, like a prayer etched into ice.
"Brother will take you home… Brother will take you home…"
His voice was hoarse, broken, yet steady.
He stepped out into the falling snow.
The world had turned white. Flakes drifted down, clinging to his blood-soaked clothes. They dusted Akito's face, pale and still.
Villagers peeked from their doors, eyes wide with fear. When they saw Akira, they fled. No one dared approach. No one dared speak.
They had seen the storm in his eyes.
Akira walked on.
Step by step, his footprints carved a trail of red into the snow.
"Brother will take you home…"
The words repeated, rhythm of a broken heart.
But where was home now?
The house would still stand—the walls, the roof, the bed they had shared—but it was only a shell. An echo.
Because Akito was gone.
And with him, the warmth, the laughter, the fragile peace Akira had built.
Everything that made life worth living.
Now there was only silence.
Only snow.
And a boy with no destination, carrying the last piece of his heart through a world that had turned its back on him.