No words were able to be spoken, except for a befuddled question, not necessarily a question, but a reply.. A reply that symbolized utter uncertainty.
"What?"
No silence followed aside from the sound of skin being torn open, a sudden pallid arm ripped through Hayate's head that was now tilted to the side, the smile that was adorned in calm remained, stagnate as if that was his last facial expression.
Another pallid arm reached out through the same tear, and the arms grabbed the shoulder and head, pushing itself out.
An evicersal amount of blood bled from the neck, until another torso ruptured through. The body was naked, resembling something human, yet morbid, there were no signs of humanity, just the white humanoid creature, a creature that shouldn't exist, habiting the very body of someone that was dear to him.
The head, the head of this wretched beast was an eye, an eye that screamed, without a mouth, but upon closer inspection, the mouth was in the pupils, hidden behind a small veil of the cornea.
The creature was eternally soaked in this dark liquid, was it the thing's sweat? But Satoya could only think of the only logical answer to this whole ordeal, and that was simply to put it, Hayate was injected with the Wrehtched blood vial, becoming an Iya..
Perhaps the Iya-ification was more tame than he had thought, perhaps it was because Hayate had likely consumed too little.. The dagger left on the ground, discarded in the last moments of Hayate's humanity.
Satoya slowly grabbed the hilt of the katana, unsheathing it. He was unsure why he wanted to fight, however, his mind was empty. He may not have a Verity, maybe one that had obvious effects, but, this went back to that simple question he kept thinking about, that meager words that made him ponder in his Elusive Solace.
"What lengths would you go to prevent all of this?"
So Satoya charged, his footsteps were slow yet calculated to an amateur degree, managing to avoid every assault from the Iya. He would get injured in the process, a puncture into his side, but he kept moving. He somehow sliced off the colorless Iya's arm, the limb flying through the air, bleeding the same dark crimson, plopping down onto the floor, he had no reason to continue fighting, why risk his life? He wanted to fight, out of frustration. Frustration from never trying, frustration from never accepting the good things in life, maybe if he tried, maybe if he hadn't daydreamed and lived through this enshrouded must of a world only lived in by him, would he have the possibility of preventing this horrific incident.
He swung, the blade leaving a trail of blood, the blood was splattered from the blade, reaching the ceiling of the basement. He was unsure how his body was moving this way, this agility, too agile for even him to understand yet moving by the instinctual desire to not die, the technique of which he swung.. Maybe Satoya was right? Did Rin do something that would probably be illegal in the laws of the world?
Thoughts rushed in his mind, although the situation was inappropriate for it, he kept fighting, he kept thinking.
What is truth seeking? Why am I suddenly remembering, no, understanding somethings I never knew before? Am I capable of doing something?
Satoya never thought this way, his life, his thoughts were empty, a loud quiet void of a conscious mind, he lacked any talent, maybe the talent to pass everything in school, but he never bothered to do anything useful, something beneficial. So why is he trying so hard? Questions with easy answers Satoya kept asking and answering, he was too unsure of himself.
He himself doesn't understand what he words he told Rin, however, he snapped out of it, creeping up upon the Iya's large eyeball of a head, the mouth had fangs, fangs of a canine, and in a single stab, he stabbed his katana through the cornea into the pupil.
Blood spluttered out of the wound, covering Satoya in a spray of blood. He leapt back, his body soaked in the disgusting liquid. His katana was half drenched, the blood slowly trickled off of the blade into the floor, as if it's the realization of cruelty in this world.
He collapsed, his knees feeling wobbly, maybe he was exhausted? Maybe the mental toll was too great? He leaned his head on his hilt, the katana acting as sort of a cane.
Was all of this really worth it? Do I keep going?...
Sadly, there was no one in Satoya's 19 years of life, where he would receive any tips, any help at all… Was his childhood really.. ▇e▇l?
He stood up, holding the katana with his right, sheath on his left. He quietly looked down, at the rapidly decomposing body.. Suddenly gaining clarity, a clarity of negativity, a realization.
That's right… I remember.. I heard something.. "Anyone who went through Iya-ification will never receive a memorial… Because an Iya's corpse decomposes too fast for mourning..
Satoya thought of that memory, watching as the corpse of the Iya, that was formerly Hayate Seo, someone who accepted Satoya for who he was, someone who truly understood him, decomposed into the ceiling.. A last grasp toward a better fate.. If only...….