Garden Of The Abyss

"No...it wasn\'t me," he shook his head as his eyes trembled, "I didn\'t do this. I didn\'t do this."

Decartes continued through his lips that spilled his maddening words, "It may have been through my own hands, but you forced them, Ren! If only you embraced the Mistress, if only you recognized her love, and only hers, this wouldn\'t have happened! There is nobody to blame but yourself--you cursed her, you cursed her, over and over and over and over and over, with your love!"

Following his accursed words, Iris\' body began to convulse once more in the young man\'s arms as dark blood escaped her pores.

"No...no, Iris!...Iris!" He cried out.

There was nothing he could do with his trembling, shaken fingers as he tried to caress the girl--only feeling as if he was worsening her body as he attempted to help.

"Useless! Helpless! Unable to do a single thing! That\'s your depravity, Ren! No matter where you go, your accursed being brings ruin to those around you! Everything you do, everything you\'ve done from the moment you arrived here up until now was in vain! That is all your actions amount to--nothing, nothing, nothing!" Decartes howled.

The maddened words embedded themselves into his body as he rocked back and forth, holding the blood-laden girl as he became dyed in the crimson color, himself.

However, all of the skin-digging words fell to null as he heard faint breaths from the girl in his arms--so faint and weak he hardly believed what he heard, but he immediately embraced her, bringing her closer.

"Iris?!" He called her name through tears and desperation.

Guiding her eyes as he caressed her cheek, their eyes met, though the resignation of life sat in hers; only a small glint of life persisted in her azure jewels.

Weakly, she sat her hand on top of his, holding it with what little strength persisted in her body.

"...love...you…"

Even as a whisper, it was more powerful than the most boisterous yells as he felt his chest tighten with a burning, contorting force of utter anguish.

The moment her words faintly escaped her lips, the last bit of glow left her eyes before he could give his reply.

Alone. Without a doubt, he was alone now, though the final words persisted in his heart, he slowly set her body down, gentle before he stood himself up without a word.

The maddened, inexplicable tears of the Marquis continued as his crazed spiels came to an end as he looked at the young man.

I  don\'t care anymore. I\'ve lost everything. What little I had, I was happy with. I thought there was a future for myself.

Again, I\'m the last one standing in a massacre. A bloodshed that came from my existence. All because I had to be born. No...it\'s because of evil bastards like him. People like Rouge, people like Decartes--it\'s because of them.

I don\'t care if this is the end--I\'ll kill him. I\'ll kill him. I\'ll kill him. I\'ll kill him, he thought.

"Have you finally realized it, Ren?" Decartes asked, leaning back unnaturally.

Lifting his gaze, his eyes were bloodshot with tears as he finally let out all of that anguish, sorrow, and guilt in one scream.

"Decartes----------------------! I\'m going to kill you---------------!"

Without any restraint for the wellbeing of his throat, his continued, held scream felt as if it tore apart his throat as his yell trailed into a rugged, tearful howl.

There was no grace to his movements, no strategy or technique, he simply moved with the intent to kill, and to die.

Decartes lit up with a wide smile that stretched ear-to-ear in delight as he welcomed the enraged young man.

"Come! Come, show me!" Decartes called.

As he stood there with echoing laughter, the Belmon followers dressed in black robes got between the Marquis and Ren.

Throwing their daggers at him swiftly, most landed, embedding into his shoulders, arms, legs, and some into his abdomen. Even so, with the flood of emotions coursing through him, he didn\'t halt but for just a moment, pushing his body even as it was skewered.

"Decartes---!" He yelled again.

Accompanying his yells, he cut through the two frontmost of the followers, carving through them ruthlessly with his blade as a mixture of tears, blood, and saliva trailed from his screams.

Through his mind, memories of his time with Iris flourished; each time he saw her warm smile, it felt as if he was supplied with enough strength to take another step forward even as his body was stabbed with steel.

Iris----! He thought, gritting his teeth.

Blood began to seep from his lips as he held himself together, not falling even as one of the followers stabbed a dagger directly into his side.

Maintaining his anguished call to vengeance, he gripped Belus with both hands before bringing the steel directly through the hooded follower\'s neck, decapitating him without a second thought as he screamed out.

The memories continued, playing side-by-side in his mind as he continued thoughtlessly carving through the hordes of enigmatic, robed men in an effort to reach the smiling, pale-skinned Marquis.

It was too painful; the throbbing in his heart--he already missed her far too much. Even as he cut through the, he couldn\'t halt his tears as his grief still flourished.

"I\'ll kill you---! I\'ll kill you, I\'ll kill you, I\'ll kill you------!" He howled.

His mind was too disrupted for magic, but with his reinforcement alone he managed to paint the stone floor in the blood and entrails of whichever of the followers came at him. There was nothing inhibiting him; he simply swung his blade, cutting down whoever he had to, all the while the Marquis\' laughter continued.

Clearing the path between him and Decartes, he strengthened his grip.

Though before a single step could be taken, he was halted by memories of the girl, still. All of it at once--all of the times she comforted him, smiling, caressing him with care.

"Live," it was her voice, somehow it resonated within his mind as if a command etched into his soul from the memories with her.

"Iris…" He held his head.

Before he could fix his thoughts, a sharp impact embedded itself into his shoulder blade before another followed, another blade digging into his back.

...I...I can\'t...die. I have to...live, he thought.

Only one word came to his mind on the thought of living, only one aspect he could trust, only one word, entrusted to him, "Arrive---!"

From his command, shouting it out through his strained through as blood seeped from his countless wounds, he ushered for his familiar to come.

--Nothing.

"Arrive…! Arrive!" He repeated.

Nothing came in response to his desperate calls as each yell spewed further crimson from his lips.

"Oh? I see. You\'re trying to manifest him here, aren\'t you? Ren, Ren, Ren," Decartes shook his head with a devilish cackle, "have you not realized yet? Have you not opened your eyes, ears, nose, your very pores to realize where you are?"

He stopped as his summoning failed, huffing as the Belmon followers seemed to halt the moment he did.

"I\'m going to kill you, Decartes…" He muttered through his teeth.

"You have a one track mind, don\'t you? Kill, kill, kill--have you ever actually stopped and thought about saving the ones you care about? Either way, it\'s simply not possible with the state you\'re in now. I\'d say you\'re minutes from death, even fewer if you continue this childish tantrum. You\'re in my Hell, Ren, what do you think you can do?" The Marquis asked with a wide smile perched on his twisted lips.

"..." He stayed silent while huffing.

"I\'ll take your silence as intrigue," Descartes cackled, "you want to know what I\'m talking about, right? Why you can\'t summon your precious, little familiar, right? It\'s because I don\'t permit it. It\'s as simple as that; in here, you\'re subject to the shades of my madness--the moment you and your friends stepped in here, it was all complete."

As he stood there, the constant blood loss made it impossible for him to lash out as he could only stand there and listen, focusing on staying conscious. Soon, his blade dropped from his loosened grip as his vision began to sway.

All that flooded his mind was blinding emotion; sorrow, guilt, rage, regret--most of all, he was anguished, dearly missing his comrades, and most of all, the one he loved.

Decartes slowly stepped towards him with his hands held behind his back, holding the same, ever-present smile that displayed his crazed-self so blatantly.

"It was clear Liber would fail in capturing you, though he accomplished whittling your sanity by killing those other two. Such a revolting, disgusting, loathsome, disappointing one he turned out to be--no matter," Decartes momentarily lost control of himself as he gripped at his hair, rummaging through it before stopping and composing himself, "All that matters is you\'re here now, with me, in my domain."

"...I\'ll kill you. I\'ll kill you, Decartes. I\'ll kill you," he repeated.

"You can\'t even lift your blade anymore, so I\'d think twice about what sort of threats you\'re making, Ren," Decartes leaned his face close to his, "Drip, drip, drip...you\'re bleeding, Ren. Two minutes? One? Forty seconds? How long do you think until you succumb to blood loss? Do you truly want to die for nothing but your own little tantrum? Do you want to waste the life given to you? By Iris...by Meinhard, hm?"

The moment that name spilled from his lips, he attempted to swiftly draw his dagger and stab it into the side of the Marquis\' skull, but his attack was halted by an unseen force.