Curtain Call
by Helena Handbasket
Hakkai’s eyes fluttered open, and it took him a moment to recover his bearings. He was in a chamber, dark and vast, staring up into the limitless shadows above. There was a ceiling somewhere in that stretch of darkness, but it was too high, too far away for his eyes to penetrate. He let his head fall to the side; that was when he saw the corpses and remembered just where he was. Hundreds of demons, maybe thousands, all dead. He and Gojyo had fought them all, staved them off to give Goku and Sanzo the chance to move forward, to finally confront the evil bastard behind all of this. He wondered if they were still alive, whether they would succeed, but in the haze of pain that encompassed him, he knew he wouldn’t live long enough to learn the answer.
The others were gone – Kougaji, Lirren, Yaone… Dokugakuji. That last one had been the hardest. Hakkai had torn his way through dozens to get to him, rending their flesh like fragile gauze, just so he could kill him before Gojyo had to do it. Feebly, he lifted his hand, bathed in so much blood it would never come clean. His fingers were distended, pointed and deadly, but through all the blood and his blurred vision, he could still make out the traces of vines. The minus wave had been dismantled, and he felt very much himself. He was grateful, at least, for the privilege of dying that way.
In the end, the initial mass murder he’d perpetrated so many years ago was merely a drop in the ocean of his death toll. But the only death that troubled him now was Dokugakuji’s, because in a single, brutal blow he’d wiped out the very last connection Gojyo had to his family, his heritage. With effort, he turned his head, seeking out that flash of crimson hair. He had to find him one last time. Had to say goodbye.
He finally spotted Gojyo several meters away, body framed by a lake of blood, and horribly still. Hakkai struggled to his knees, determined to crawl to him, but as he tried to move forward, he slipped and plunged back down to the cold stone. What had stopped him? He looked down and saw that his knee was planted on a fleshy strip of entrail that lolled nauseatingly out of his own stomach. His old wound had reopened, and even Gojyo wouldn’t be able to put him back together. Not this time.
Gathering up the intestines as best he could, he clutched them to his gaping stomach and inched forward, shoving aside or just crawling over the corpses that blocked his path; each iota of progress was agony, but he couldn’t fail. This was his last mission, and he would see it through no matter what.
Hakkai barely kept himself from retching when he saw Gojyo’s body. His right arm was ravaged, severed muscles hanging away from shredded skin, the bone exposed. But that wasn’t the worst injury: an axe was buried in his chest, a parting gift from his final opponent, the youkai general that lay beheaded a few feet away.
Hand shaking, Hakkai felt for his pulse, smearing blood across the unblemished flesh of his throat. The pulse was present, but fatally weak. Yet he had to believe that there was still a chance. With his claws, he sliced off a strip of his sash and bound Gojyo’s arm tightly. It would have to be amputated anyway if he managed to survive; it had no more use for the blood being pumped into it by Gojyo’s overtaxed heart. Taking a deep breath, he gripped the axe handle with both hands and pulled with all his strength, removing it as swiftly and cleanly as he could. Gojyo’s body bucked as blood blossomed out of his chest, and Hakkai placed both hands firmly against the wound, summoning everything he had, every last quantum of chi. He would pour all that remained of himself into Gojyo’s battered body and hope it was enough.
He had barely started the transfer when a hand gripped his wrist; the grip had no strength, but it conveyed a deep insistency. Hakkai looked up and into Gojyo’s half-lidded gaze.
“Don’t,” Gojyo murmured.
Hakkai shook his head, determined to the brink of insanity. “I have to.”
“It’ll kill you.”
“I’m a dead man anyway.” He went back to his ministrations, his chi weakly flaring, but his attention was arrested by the unearthly sound of the air being sliced by a blade of uncanny sharpness. When he looked up, Gojyo was holding the glimmering crescent of his shakujou to his own throat.
“I will kill myself before I let you do this.” Gojyo’s expression wasn’t maudlin or pleading or even smiling. It was just openly, baldly honest, like he was stating a fact rather than issuing an ultimatum. And immediately, Hakkai knew that he was telling the truth.
Already on his knees, Hakkai let himself fall to the ground at Gojyo’s side. Together, they stared up towards the invisible ceiling of the chamber that had witnessed incalculable slaughter. They’d done their part. It wasn’t everything Hakkai had ever wanted, but it was enough.
Dizzy from blood loss, he felt his breathing grow shallow as consciousness slipped away, until Gojyo’s voice, unnaturally quiet, drew him back.
“Y’know, it’s kinda funny.”
“What’s that?”
A pause. “All those years of womanizing, and it turns out that the last time I go to sleep, it’ll be with a man.”
Hakkai managed a weak laugh that covered up the gentle lurch of a sob. “Sorry about that.”
“Nah. It’s cool.” Gojyo let his head fall to the side, looking into Hakkai’s eyes. Then, with painstaking slowness, he reached over with his left hand and took Hakkai’s right, never flinching at the fierce deformity of his fingers, and pulled it up to press it gently, briefly against his cheek. “In fact, I’m kinda glad.”
Hakkai looked back at him and rolled on his side, lifting his head to rest it upon what was left of Gojyo’s demolished shoulder, knowing he was now beyond pain. Squeezing Gojyo’s hand with what little strength remained to him, he said, “Yes. I’m glad too.”
They lay quietly together for a few moments longer, fingers intertwined as their hands rested upon Gojyo’s rended chest. Hakkai felt that shallow heaving slow, then weaken, then stop. Then he closed his eyes and let the darkness overtake him.
End.