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"Oh. Nice job."
Gonou's scattered thoughts instantly cling to the voice. Steady, reasonable. Everything this bedlam around him isn't. The voice, the voice. Why's there a voice? There isn't anybody supposed to be alive now, is it?
His claws are sticky and reeking, the chi of the voice's body is... strange. Strange like making Gonou alarmed, even in this... form. He heaves up bile, spits it somewhere into the dark. Leaves his crouching position. Being crouched over... something. Something he had left.
After all, there are things left. Gonou wonders.
"Why, of course there are things left," the other says, and steps into a beam of clouded moonlight. "Look at you. What are you going to do now?"
Gonou is aware of the piles of corpses around him. The slaughter he had indulged in is over. Is it? He feels like losing it, again. A pale and beautiful face, full of false concern and worry appears in front of him. "I said, look at you," the thin mouth before him hisses spitefully, spittle sprinkles Gonou's over-sensitive skin.
And Gonou moans and looks down, feeling strangely detached from his body. The knife falls out of his hand; he had trouble anyway, holding it with the long claws. His clothes are sodden. The trouser waistband keeps most of his entrails somewhere close to their usual whereabouts. But some of them are dangling to the floor. Gonou whimpers, sounding weirdly throaty.
"Do you really think you're done now, coward?" the despiteous and raspy voice spews. A strong hand cups his jaw, turning Gonou's head from side to side. "Gutting yourself, now that's a not very fast way to kick the bucket, I tell you."
Gonou's vines are weak, some of them already begin to wither. His head hurts, his heart hurts. He smells death, unavoidable.
"Not just yet, my sweet Gonou. This would be too easy, no? There are so much possibilities left to commit sin. And since you're a sinner already, let's see what different ways of hurting yourself are left to be explored by you." A thin and cold tongue licks its way up and down Gonou's ear shell.
"Please," Gonou whispers. His extremities are trembling already.
"Please, what?" Another sweep of wet and stale saliva.
"I don't want to die."
"No?" Gonou feels like pressed against the ceiling, his limbs are weak and light. "I can understand. It's a hassle," the voice declares nonchalantly. Then, fierce: "It's not for free, worm. You know what I want."
Gonou wheezes. Pain curls around his eyes and lungs. "I have no soul anymore."
A laugh. "So you think, sinner boy. I'd take what's left anyway." Another sweep of wetness, this time across his blood-smeared lips. "Decide. Quickly. You're a dying man."
Gonou feels the void tugging at his skin. "Oh god, yes," he agrees eventually, then falls.
The rain is heavily pouring down on his battered bones. Pressed against the ground, he robs through the sludge. Three piercing pains remind him of death, love and sin. He's sure, he'll never be able to live without them.