Chapter 83: Kneel, Heavens

The perspective of Zuri:

"Should we talk to him?—or do we just go with the arrest right away?" I inquired.

Kross proceeded to sigh, closed his eyes and walked a couple of steps forward.

"Don’t misunderstand," he mumbled in a way that questioned my interpretation. "You already did everything you had to, Zuri—you just sit down and relax with a cup of coffee while I take care of this."

Angelo stood there without saying a word, but I could see from his expression that words were stuck in his throat as a mince of uncomfortable rocks.

I didn’t call it out, either—it was his friend, so it was his responsibility to speak up while he still had the chance to.

But he didn’t—and so everything was settled thereon.

Kross stepped out—and each step he took polluted the room with eerie MANA that tangibly changed the air around us.

"An unstoppable force, huh," I quietly let out—it was just Angelo and I now; this little whisper wasn’t meant to yield a comment out of him, yet for some reason it did.

"That’s right," he voiced as he glanced at me—a melancholic smile signaling defeat, you could say.

I left the Information Center and was met with bursts of MANA in the sky—it could be felt by anyone, and it was obvious whose job that was.

"To be fair..."

Rain began pouring—cries of the gods.

"I don’t care about justice or whatever."

Already next to the bureau, yet I paused and dropped down the umbrella.

"I never cared about it..."

"I’m not interested in solving cases either."

The weeps soaked me—tainting my suit in its unadulterated sadness.

"This World we live in..."

I smirked—in melancholy.

"...I’m aware of its rot, and how unchangeable it truly is underneath all the masks it puts up to appear better than it is."

Shook my head.

And then a single tear escaped my eye—right one.

"Any and all effort for change will be met with further indifference by the gods—and time will yet again become a flat circle with rot repeating itself endlessly."

I could feel my heartbeat increase—tenderly.

"So, why attempt fixing a World that is so indifferent to our efforts?—why waste our time on a futile task that will be simply laughed at by the gods?"

Then the rain paused—and laughed.

"Enough monologuing—you’re tainting your brain with pseudo-philosophizing bullshit that leads nowhere."

I turned around—and a bag was thrown my way.

Kross then added with a yet again apathetic and bored expression:

"Focus on tangible shit, not whatever was that I just heard; I’ll forget about it as well."

With colors merging with the atmosphere, I opened the bag.

For a moment, I simply stared at what was inside of it:

Fisk’s head—makeup contaminated as if he had wept prior to getting decapitated.

"Let it soak in—and then move on when you’re ready."

He walked past me—hand on the entrance of the bureau.

I could tell Kross was a cold man—from his words, MANA, attitude, and whatever else, he wasn’t the type to think or fret about emotions.

His voice also complemented him at all times—a deep voice that seemed fictitious, as if he’d been deepthroating cigarettes from the age of zero.

His get-up wasn’t saving his case either... was it just an aesthetic or was he actually into some black-magic satan shit?—is there even black-magic or whatever?—or is that fictional as well?

I didn’t particularly care—I didn’t care about much to begin with, and I didn’t want that to change.

I wanted to get through life as a good-for-nothing that put in just enough effort to pass life without anyone batting an eye to me.

Sometimes, I would get a little overexcited—I would overreach, and whenever I did that, I would harm those close to me.

Like a stark reminder that I should mind my place—remain in the background as a person that operates from the shadows rather than the spotlight.

"Boro..."

...I’m sorry for not minding my place.

"And..."

"...what can I do to make it up to you?"

Slightly, my expression adopted anger.

"What can I do... to make it right for you?"

During Boro’s funeral, the heavens wept again.

They always did.

Was that a sign that our misery was being respected?

I was sober for it—no psychedelics nor dissociatives.

Perhaps, I should remain sober as well.

After the funeral was over, I went to Boro’s apartment.

Soaked.

After entering it, I was greeted by Black Death.

You could say, it was in-person.

Because it was everywhere—walls, the desk, and even the floor had been scattered by research on that thing.

Then the little Black Death came up to me and said just one word:

"Meow."

I smiled and held it up in my arms.

"So?—this is how I can make it right to you, Boro?"

I whispered to the cat—with a dreary yet comfy smile.

"I understand..."

"...I do."

And so, I grabbed everything—every poster, every newspaper, every single thing that had been in the apartment now belonged to me alone.

My expression that previously never gave a shit about anything...

Had changed.

And it would remain seated in that position until things were right once more.

"Until then... heavens..."

I went outside.

"...I ask you to remain silent for me."

*SKREEEEEEEEE*

A raven flew away.

Then the rain rescinded—and the sun embraced the atmosphere in its tender beauty.

For that is how I will make it right.

The System Killer... Black Death...

"You two...!!"

I know you’re still out there—even if society turns a blind eye to you and chooses to ignore what you’ve done.

Not out of justice... not out of my own desires... nor for the betterment of the World...!!

"I will wrap my hands around you and cast you towards the location you belong in...!! The grave..."

So, be patient with me, Boro...

Your legacy is with me...

"And that is as unchangeable as this pathetic, shallow World that I do not care about...!!"

And so...

"Watch yourself kneel before me, Heavens...!!"