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Remorse [A KH AU Fic]



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Izayoi

galactic cancer
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The idea to this as a fanfiction wasn't to go strictly by the rules of the KH universe, but to take the terms and such and put them into my own story. You'll see many KH elements here, but under different contexts. I'm hoping my writing is passable, as I've been told it's good but have never gone out and wrote so much at one time for something so big, especially since I'm planning such a story. Anyway, enjoy, and I'll take any critiques, even though I'm aware my writing can sort of draw on.

~~~~~

Chapter 1 - Impulse

Another rainy day in the existing dreariness that is Amparo City.

He sighed, boot splashing into a puddle on his first step out of the hotel. A wonderful way to start the morning, he thought begrudgingly; he could already feel the moisture seeping in through the worn leather. Hardly a man of seventeen, Gabryl had his squinted eyes peer up to the dark gray sky, admiring the visible rustling of clouds, and blinked when a flash of lighting in the distance impaired his vision for a moment. He popped the hood on his jacket up and walked on, ignoring the fact that his very presence went unnoticed by every civilian; any sounds he made, the way he looked, and his own feelings. Standing, on the corner of the block the high-class hotel towered over, he waited for a familiar feeling to surge up his chest. It was just a matter of time. It always is, as he expected it always to be.

Gabryl was not happy with his life as a Reaper; it wasn’t really a life at all, for more reasons than one. Being undead, in a sense, he was at a loss for a heart. It had been only a couple years since he had died; not in any stunning manner, but seemingly fated for his duties in the afterlife. He would recall the happiness he felt in the hours before that moment of destruction; being surrounded by loved ones, hearing them laugh and doing so in return; his life was no different, so why should being dead very in any way? He shook his head, blinking up at the street lights, telling him to walk across. A lock of black hair fell over an eye from the sudden movement, and Gabryl took it in two fingers, tucking it behind an ear. His hair as a whole was messy and greasy, from not having bathed in days. He looked down at his feet as he made it to the other side; why care? Not like anyone had ever seen him, or would. Gritting his teeth, Gabryl attempted to cease all those thoughts. It was those regrets that stopped him from getting any sleep; he needed to not think and go about his usual schedule. Everyday he made his rounds in this bleak and boring area of the city, waiting for the impulse he knew would come; the impulse that lead to his killing.

A Reaper; bringers of death and sorrow to their victims and those close to them; Gabryl he was ashamed. When he ever came close to one of these unfortunate people, he suffered from a painful lurch in his stomach, rising to his chest and burning his lungs. If he had a heart, it would be thumping madly, deafening him and heating his head. It was funny, however, if he didn’t have a heart, why did he feel such remorse for taking lives? Gabryl had always been told that it was the heart that controlled emotions, and housed all the feelings he should be having. He knew there were hundreds, maybe thousands of Reaper in the world, maybe Amparo alone; did they feel the same? How could so many people suffer and still go on; maybe it explained the dreary atmosphere in the city, because of all the unseen beings doing their jobs; their depression radiating off. When Gabryl started his evil life after death, he expected that the bloodshed wouldn’t bother him a bit; he had been told he’d feel nothing, in fact. Yet, every time he saw the looks in the eyes of a helpless man or woman fated for a gruesome end, he would give anything just to put his weapon down. The impulse wouldn’t allow it.

Gabryl came just to the middle of the next block, almost stumbling over and letting out a small gasp, his eyes dilating, forcing him to close them from the light pouring in. Stopping in his tracks, trying to keep balance, Gabryl clutched his stomach, as if to stop the familiar urge from crawling upward. The pain, however, squirmed up his trachea too fast, nearly exploding in his throat.

“Alright, damn it. Alright!” He choked, arm whipping out, horizontal, to his side. Black smoke materialized about his wrist, forming on his clenched fist and swirling into a thin column in his grasp. A shaft of deep, violet metal slowly appeared from under the smoke; topping off at the peak with a long blade, said smoke leaving the mythical icon of death; a classic grim reaper’s scythe, personalized for Gabryl in the slightest ways, with wide curves on the underside of the blade itself, and a small extension on the opposite side. Breathing heavy, he used the long weapon to hold his weight up, leaning on it and snapping his other hand to hold it tightly. His mind swirled; the explosion in his neck snaking up his neck, into his skull, like multiple tendrils of fire filling up his head. The impulse would give him a sort of sixth sense to find his victim; already a path spanning down a few blocks visualized in his mind. Sighing, struggling to a full standing position, he lifted the scythe, giving it a good practice swing through the air, and took a few steps before his sorrowful eyes swept the immense crowd. Muscles tightened in his stomach when a pair of heads appeared bolder in his eyes.

The fingers on his left clutched his abdomen as they latched back to it, and he walked on, pushing through the busy and ignorant pedestrians; they turned their heads as they felt an invisible presence, only to shrug it off. Limping a little, a clearing was reached, near another street crossing. Gabryl’s targets walked over the asphalt, darkened by the downpour of rain from the previous night. When Gabryl finally lay eyes on the heads, he locked on and made a brisker pace, making sure not to get too close; anything to not get too attached to the people he had to kill. Regardless, he’d need to be near when the time came. Scythe slung over a shoulder, Gabryl was now walking on a diagonal behind them, eyes trained at their feet rather than faces, but the single instant he had to look at them was enough to send his imaginary heart sinking to his own feet.

Oh, these were the worst sort of kills to make; and hearts to take. It was a young couple, not much older than himself, perhaps in their twenties. Arms around each other’s shoulders, not going to fast; seemingly in bliss, in love, In their own little world.. His chest lurched at the smiles on their faces he had seen before averting his gaze. Too many times had he ruined the lives of so many, due to a single death, especially those that cared deeply for others. However, this time both bodies radiated a bright glow that only he could see. That meant they were both meant to die, and to think that they didn’t even know it; all the things they must have planned for the future. Families and friends would be torn over their mangled bodies, and who knows how many Reapers would get new impulses due to the resulting grief. He shuddered at the thoughts; all the death that would stem, the emotion from the heart that he craved to have for his own driving more of it. Gabryl found it ironic, in a horrible way.

These wretched thoughts. These emotions boiling inside him; that he shouldn’t even have! It made him want to pass up ever killing again. The last attempt at that had failed, though, and Gabryl knew that it was nearly suicide to try, good as an escape as that would be. But it was only nearly. He knew never to try that again, because those higher ranking would reprimand him in ways unavoidable and unimaginable. Another shudder, and he checked the happy faces before him, looking back down. Why would a being created to destroy still be able to feel remorse for his actions? The couple near him spoke amongst themselves, and Gabryl decided to block their voices out and just follow, and grieve in his own dark philosophies, mumbling and waiting. The couple then turned on their heels, walking into an alley. It’s not like it was one of those dark, dirty, and ominous-looking alleyways you see in cliché films; it in fact was wide, and about as bright as they come in a continuously cloudy city. That gloomy sky being the prime reason for it looking like such a dangerous area, if at all though. They strolled on though, without a care. It pained Gabryl to watch this; knowing that their end would be a few steps down. There was something terrifying about knowing these things.

Closer to the imminent tragedy, Gabryl’s breathing unintentionally sped up, a bead of sweat coming around his cheek. This wasn’t just from the anxiousness he had, never, gotten used to. Black smoke, like earlier, spiraled from his shoulder, to elbow, and finally to his wrist, where the blackness tightened. A shiny leather band appeared, still morphing like the scythe had minutes ago, with blades snaking over each knuckle. They elongated, defiantly sharp, made for combat at in close areas. This was one thing Gabryl never understood originally; he only needed to kill for the heart of a victim, so a scythe made sense due to it’s obviousness and simplicity. But a blunt, gauntlet-like weapon? It just seemed ridiculous that he’d ever need such a thing. The thought was a lot more funny until he actually had to use it. Wincing, glancing at a dumpster to his side in the alley, he recalled the realization; to kill a person you had to be physically there for some period of time, right? Raising the clawed arm, he tested the distance to the man of the couple.

They were like talons; each one going to a fine point without the faintest sign of dulling. Flexing his fingers, sighing again, letting out a misty breath, he admitted that it made sense, since he’d probably have difficulty swinging the scythe in a place such as this to begin with. Still, there are times when Gabryl thought that some enchanted pistol would be preferable to wrenching someone’s organs out, but such trivial ideas got him no where. He looked up, having to squint as his eyes let in more light, on the thin line of his murder scene. A man who had jumped out in front of the couple, was now menacingly holding up a pistol; this is what he was waiting for. Usually, in such cases, the deaths were always set up, as it were. This way, it wouldn’t seem too out of place or suspicious to find a pair of bodies with stab wounds that looked as though they were from a machete. In the end, Gabryl would leave three slaughtered bodies, making it look like a murder-suicide, with ample struggle. What divine forces made it so the predator and prey fit together so well, without knowledge of the former’s presence? The idea that someone could be thinking such things up was disgusting. Kill them, take their respective hearts, and leave someone else for the blame. Wonderful.

The mugger raised his gun, point-blank at the woman while muttering some threats. Another thing Gabryl would tune out; he despised hearing the distress, the fear, the sheer agony of feeling your life on the brink. Then the events leading up to the triple killing began. The man struck out at the mugger’s arm, managing to knock the gun out of his hand and send it falling to the cracked ground. They both scrambled for it, punching and clawing at each other for the item of ultimate dominance. The woman stood back, against the wet wall in fear, tears mixed with a lightly drizzling rain, in too much dispense to even scream. Gabryl, in a single moment of instinct, took his clawed hand, the fist still clenched tightly, and brought it up in an uppercut, driving it into her stomach. He was visible only for a moment when the life was taken, ripping the metal from an increasingly bloodied body. The arm carrying the scythe sprung into action now, and Gabryl swung it over his head, from his shoulder, the tip of the blade stabbing perfectly downward into the male lover’s back. The mugger hadn’t noticed, and went for the gun as his opponent’s hand went rigid. He was pointing it at him, smirking in pointless triumph, without noticing the writhing body, and didn’t get a chance to shoot. Bringing the scythe out of the man, Gabryl’s narrowing eyes focused on the mugger. In one fluid motion the weapon came from the corpse, gliding around in a crescent and making a quick slice to his throat. It hadn’t decapitated him; it was discouraged really, as he had been told, most likely due to the rarity of decapitations in mere muggings, but it was understandable. Stealth played a large role in the killing process of a Reaper.

Gabryl, with a firm grip, rotated his weapon once it retaliated from the swipe, flipping it. The sharp pike, the blade that stood poised on the end of the scythe pointed directly at his chest. Gabryl felt a sort of vengeance against this person, amongst his cavalcade of other emotions, because this man had caused two others to die. If he had never decided to take up stealing form innocent people, then the two bleeding bodies at his feet wouldn’t be laying there. In an unanticipated burst of anger, he thrust the scythe-turned-javelin through the sternum, causing a sickening crack, followed by a splattering. Gabryl held it there for at least a second longer than he needed to, scowling, and twisting it as he pulled. He clenched his teeth as the triad of bodies glowed a pinkish hue for a moment, the light moving to each of their respective chests and gathering. Out of each corpse, a radiating, pink, heart-shaped figure arose. The spiritual and almost just as physical heart of each of them. They lit up the alley, casting the same colored light to the brick walls, and Gabryl stared on in awe. Every time he watch these hearts, they seemed simply beautiful. Whether or not it was his longing for one, they were stunning.

So pure, made of feelings and memories and what made a person whole. Floating higher, at least two stories high, by looking at the buildings. Gabryl felt the envy that he should have for not having one of his own, twisting in the area where his should be. But damn, why did he feel this way then? This sadness and longing; these were emotions too, so why were they there? Maybe all the stories, and beliefs that many in Amparo went by were wrong, and was the kind of thing only a dead man could know for sure. As they reached the third story, Gabryl noted by the third window up, each one burst into a small cloud of purple; a mix of the darkness surrounding them and light contained within. He sighed, eyes landing on the ground, and he walked out. If there’s one thing worse than killing a person it’s seeing the horrified reaction, and the wasted heart and the life it contains fade to nothing.

Gabryl walked out of the alley, but his weapons had not faded away like the hearts. As he turned a corner, there was a scream echoing the streets, no doubt someone had discovered the scene. He brought up both hands, looking at the claws on his left, and then up to the blade topping his scythe. Straightening them in a snapping motion he let some of the blood, that wasn’t dried, fling off to the ground. In the distance, a bell echoed from the clock tower, atop the church, nearly a mile away. Gabryl counted the chimes; nine of them. It was so early, and already three people were dead by his hand. As bell chimes were absorbed into the usual sounds of the crowd, Gabryl’s eyes closed slowly as they dilated once more, and he clenched both fists. Rapidly heating warmth expanded in his stomach once more.

Scrambling among a tangle of sheets, Gabryl eventually sat up, blurry vision surveying another temporary bedroom. Blankets wrapped around him in a messy fashion, having tossed and turned in haunting nightmares; blood having splashed onto him from a previous victim dyed them red in startling splotches. He brushed a few strands of black hair from his eyes, having a double-take at the layers of bloody fabric that covered him, for a moment forgetting his disposition as a harbinger of death. Dried blood, not belonging to him, covered his fingers, and he scowled at it, cursing under his breath.

Sighing after a shower, he looked into a steamy mirror, wiping off the excess fog. His eyes were darkened with rings, which in no way complimented their blue color, not having glinted like they did years prior. One could say they had almost turned a grayish hue. Slipping on his garments, he eyed his bare torso’s reflection. It was never very sunny in Amparo City, and Gabryl’s preference to stay inside as of late didn’t allow for him to get any sun. The rest of his paling skin was bruised and scared from fights with tougher targets who managed a good struggle; Gabryl had no idea if Reapers were physically immortal, and he wasn’t big on finding out. He buttoned the leather vest that he normally wore over his shirt, and whilst shaking the water from his draping hair, made his way through the rest of the house.

Being naturally invisible most of the time, and having to constantly kill every few hours, it’s difficult for a Reaper to hold up a job and get a regular income. Perhaps it’s different for others, but Gabryl would never get any money or supplies without the troubles of his urges getting in the way. So it basically came down to living off of that the dead owned. In fact, the house that Gabryl was sleeping in was that of a victim from yesterday; his last of the day, and after killing he had fallen, knocked out, on the luxurious bed. He turned to a shiny new coffee machine, pouring in water, and then heaved a heavier sigh once his eyes laid upon the multitude of exotic mugs. Why did the people he kill always have these little things to make his guilt grow even more? Gabryl finally decided on the least decorated one he could find, and brought the hot liquid to his lips. A particular odor didn’t leave the air however, despite the pleasing smell of ground beans.

Gabryl narrowed his eyes to the living room, in which a suede armchair sat with a surprisingly low amount of blood splattered on it; the man who lived here was to die of a burglary gone wrong. Fortunately it was while he was in his sleep, so there didn‘t need to be much of a struggle with potential gunners. Still, it was immaterial considering what Gabryl had done in the past. These sort of deaths, at least, allowed for him to live the rich life for a night and morning. Under other circumstances he’d stay longer, but due to family photographs dotted around the home, there would most likely be people returning. Regardless, it was acceptable since Gabryl had only come to escape the ensuing storm that had thundered the other night. Apparently there couldn’t be a full twenty-four hours in this city without it raining, he grunted to himself, but a bed never felt so good, even if it was bloodstained. The empty coffee mug was left in the sink; no reason not to be courteous when he could. He stopped in the doorway; oh wait, there was.

Walking outside, abandoning the cozy house, Gabryl brought his hand up to shade his eyes from a ray of sunlight. Thick clouds were still rolling around the sky, with light only escaping through cracks, one of which were over him through some ironic happenstance. The mix of dark and light sky was eerie and unattractive at the same time. Eyes settling, pointed downward like usual, all Gabryl had left to do was patrol the city until his impulses took over. It would just be another one of those days he had to grate through, one death after the next. Stuck in his cycle, he always secretly hoped for something exciting to happen, even if it was some interesting play on a murder or death-related event.

Puddles were deep on the sidewalks that he splashed in, kicking some of the water onto the curb. And the darkness that came when clouds blew back in front of the sun only deepened his recent depression, or at least a greater one. He desperately needed some way out of this loop, some way to go on with a life that he lost unfairly. Gabryl wasn’t even entirely sure how to get out of being Reaper; he assumed that at some point he’d reach his limit of killing, or taking hearts, and that would be that; some sort of heaven or hell or shot at life again. Not that he could expect anything so flashy for himself exactly, but hope was one of the few things that he had left, even with it having deteriorated.

A few hours later, Gabryl had dispatched a pair of bank robbers who had been allegedly shot by a security guard. More like stabbed by an invisible being while going out the front door; how did the authorities never notice these things. He sighed at the possible, extreme stupidity of people, and shrugged it off as something along the lines of magical changes in how things looked. It sounded dumb in his head, but Gabryl was a reincarnated being made to harvest the hearts of people. He was in no position to doubt. Gabryl sat on a park bench as he shuffled through such ideas, watching as police cars gathered across the street; reporters and ambulances gathering as well. Perhaps it was the two years of killing people, but Gabryl began to lose interest in anything the media spouted out regarding death and distraught. It all meant nothing to him. He got up, craning his back from the tiredness of half a day’s work, and took a step forward, sighing as the Chapel Hearts bell rang out on the other side of the park.

One place in Amparo he was fairly familiar of from his life, Gabryl could see the clock tower rise over the trees. He saw the old hands point out two o’ clock, turning to walk as the final bell went off. The old church, known as the Chapel Hearts, was probably the most ancient thing in the whole city, with enormous cogs inspected daily, and prayers spoken for centuries announced in sermons on the same exact schedule as the bells. You could set your watch by the knees of the people hitting the floor. Gabryl made it to the edge of the heart, peering around a large tree to see the buttresses arch, meeting at a tall door adorned with stained glass. It was white, and it’s size was almost comical in the uselessness of it all; it was for that reason that side entrance was used. As for it’s name though, Chapel Hearts was believed, and still is by many in the city, to be a sort of gathering place for the spirits and souls of the deceased; namely, of course, hearts. Gabryl had always been skeptical to such stories while he was alive, but seeing the mystical hearts float around first-hand, became a lot more open-minded to the idea that there would be a few in up in the high ceilings of the place. Still, there had to be more important places for hearts to go then to please some devout cultists.

Gabryl shook his head, slowly, putting a hand to his forehead and wiping some sweat. The humidity was getting to him; ranting over and over in his head about some religion wouldn’t get him anywhere, but neither would thoughts about death and such. He stopped, holding his arms up in the air, stretching, looking up as the sun went away once more.

“Something happen. Something.” Huffing, his eyes averting to the large glass window on the bank to his right. It was pretty reflective, and Gabryl noticed how odd he looked with his arms up, and shyly brought them down, during which he realized no one saw him. He was allowed to have dignity while dead at least. His focus shifting, seeing through the window now, Gabryl almost jumped back in shock. There was some activity going on in their, the kind he recognized- murder. Some bank robber, holding up a gun, a flannel sack in the other hand, had taken a shot at a security guard, who lay dead on the floor. Gabryl watched, eyes wide, and patted at his chest, the stomach, and sides. Why wasn’t his impulse going off…? He thought that he may have ignored the warmth in his gut, but no, there was none. Looking back up, nearly freaking out, Gabryl saw a person, running, for some reason unnoticed by the gun man. This person had a bag in each hand, filled with stolen cash, and took at turn for the window. Gabryl almost jogged backwards, and the man jumped; crashing right through the glass in a burst of shards.

Gabryl took about five double-takes, looking for the person who had done this, when their outline faded into view. It was like no one else in the area could see him however, because onlookers just gave blank and shocked expressions, fixated on the scene inside more than anything. With them all looking right past the man, Gabryl was, for a moment, convinced even more of civilian idiocy. Watching the man look for a clear escape, he broke into a sprint, right in Gabryl’s direction. Gabryl, acting on habit, sidestepped so that this bank robber wouldn’t crash into an invisible man, but to his shock, Gabryl was pushed aside before even moving himself.

“How…” His mouth went agape, and an arm raised. “Hey! Come back-” No, that wouldn’t work, he was running from the law or something. No, wait, wasn’t this guy invisible to or something? Gabryl took a sharp breath and ran after him, arms pumping, and shouted multiple times to get his attention. Nearly falling over from his pursuing though, shoving people on the busy sidewalk out of the way; when was the last time anyone had made contact with him? This person had touched him, seemingly intentionally, and Gabryl wasn’t going to assume it as a coincidence. Hot on his trail, Gabryl heard a short, surprising clinking of some object with the ground, and, clenching his teeth, reached down and scooped something up in his hand; the mysterious man had dropped this, he could tell. They both came to a clearing, and even though the unknown didn’t know that he was being followed, Gabryl felt as if they were the only two in the large town square, dotted with benches and flower boxes with a marketplace at it’s center. Normally a sort of cultural center, Gabryl was ignoring the sights and focused on the man, hunched over, hands on his knees, breathing heavily. Thoughts raced through Gabryl’s mind, and he looked to the item in his hand.

The strange piece was made of metal, a chain stretching from one end; and judging by said chain, it looked as though it would be connected to something. Perhaps it belonged to some stolen pocket watch, Gabryl would muse mockingly. He picked it up, looking at the shiny emblem dangling before his eyes. It was simple, silver-colored, and was made of three circles; two small ones connected to the largest, almost like the latter had ears. He wondered how special this was, or if it was just some trinket, however, the idea that someone could see him just excited Gabryl to such an extent. What if this person was a fellow Reaper? They could very well provide him the sustenance he needed in his dreary afterlife, socially and for his mentality. Almost smiling, blue eyes glowing, like they were returning to their original color, Gabryl took a step, but froze when someone completely unexpected occurred.

A flash of gold light came down in a pillar in front of the man. Both Reapers, as the unnamed man was, in fact, one, jumped, dead in their tracks, and Gabryl took cover behind one of the planted trees. He peaked around, gripping the chain of the item he found, seeing that his only hope for communication could be threatened, being stared down at with large, blue eyes. Those demeaning eyes burned on top of a dry-skinned, darkened face, and the expression was hardly that of delight. The most notable feature of this being, however, was the large pair of white feathered wings protruding form his back. They shone almost as bright as his eyes, both giving off an ethereal glow. Gabryl happened to know what this man was, rather than who. The only things he knew of with those eyes, wings, and that radiance about them, were Angels. Eyes narrowing, glaring, the man spoke in a deep voice, not suiting him, yet it didn’t seem like any other voice would.

“Lucre, being a little more careless this time?” There was a hint of sarcasm in his tone, like he was joking, but his stare was ominous. The Reaper, apparently Lucre, looked up in breathless surprise, free hand searching his clothing until he came to a pocket. Digging into it, he gasped when he discovered a hole.

“Where is…?!” He was cut off. Gabryl’s wide eyes looked at what he found; whatever it was, it was important.

“Your third offense; using your abilities for personal gain. I’ve warned you before, you know.” Lucre nodded, solemnly bringing his head up. He was torturing himself on the inside for not checking for the Keychain earlier. The Angel brought up an arm, large fingers extended, and his palm generated a ball of light. “I’m sure you know what comes next.” Nodding again, faster, speaking quietly, in subtle desperation.

“Guy’s gotta live, not my fault we get these perks and can’t do nothing useful with them…” The Angel, increasing the size of the energy ball, brought it over Lucre’s head.

“You people do exactly what you have to. Do not think that you are useless, or that you’re special. And don’t think that we don’t know what you all do to get under our eyes.” He seemed to seethe, as if on cue. “We’ll have you all under our oppression, and doing what you deserve to do and only that. Now, your punishment.” And, not even giving a chance for response, the ball shone brilliantly, and a blast of light emitted, slamming down in a pillar like the Angel had appeared in. When it ceased, there was only smoke hissing from the air, and the two sacks of money thumping to the ground. Passers-by saw the two bags appear seemingly out of nowhere. Gabryl saw, upset beyond word, that the man, Reaper or not, had been vaporized on the spot. I mean, he had stolen but why…He had had said third offense, after all but still. Weren’t they already dead? What could be worse? And what was the Angel talking about- Reapers doing things? The Angel’s wings flapped out, and he began glowing, as if to leave. Gabryl rushed from behind the tree; pocketing his scavenged Keychain.

“You! Angel! What-” The large, glowing man looked down as Gabryl neared; his eyes alone scaring him out of saying more. Those eyes, large and blue, seemed to scan Gabryl, seeing right into his mind.

“…Gabryl, is it.” He gave the slightest nod. “You have a violation prior to this moment. I’m willing to make it two but you seem naïve; no prolonged contact with other Reapers. Missed you for a moment but you decided to come out, humph.” Lifting a heavy hand, a beam of light, similar to his vaporizing blast, came out of it, causing Gabryl to flinch when he expected to die. But know, there was but a weapon in his hand instead, not unlike a sword, but more intricately designed. He was barely able to get a good look before it was pointed straight in his face, but Gabryl saw it was predominantly blue, and rounded near the top. At the end of it’s hilt was a chained emblem like the one made of circles he had found, belonging to Lucre. This one, though, was a small book, and whether or not that meant anything he didn’t know. “But you know very well what may happen the next time I see you.” The blade disappeared, as did the Angel, in a flash of blinding light. Gabryl was left to stand, his entire body shaking, as people flocked to the apparent bags of free money left out of nowhere. Wanting to get away from the mess of greed, he staggered over, leaning on a lamp post. He had wanted something interesting to happen today, and it did; but what just happened to him? Why did it, and what would it change?
 
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Orion

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Re: Remorse [A KH Fic]

I fukken love you Joe.

Good to see this thing up.
 

Finland

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Re: Remorse [A KH Fic]

I don't have time to read this now; I'll print the chapter and give you feedback later, Joey-kun. :DDD
 

Danica Syer

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Re: Remorse [A KH Fic]

OMG very descriptive from what I read. Like Frozy, I might have to view this in Printing format as I can't stare at computer terminal too long but I'll know I'll read it and get back. I like it so far. You seem to knack for writing and it's creative as far I can tell. ^_^ Keep up the good work, I might suscribe to this fanfiction. :)
 

Szayel Aporro

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Re: Remorse [A KH Fic]

Holy shitbuckets.
So descriptive.
It's... amazing.

I only read like, 6 paragraphs so far. But wow. Can't wait to see what you have in store next. It's a good thing you took your time with this story, nothing that I was expecting, but a lot better. :D
 

Izayoi

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Re: Remorse [A KH Fic]

Elena I started this as two sepearate chapters a couple months ago and just had a giant editing session the other night :D

I feel the later half is rushed, and that I rfocus too much on pointless things at times.
 

Gildragon

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Re: Remorse [A KH Fic]

I like the descriptions

Gabryl had dispatched a pair of bank robbers who had been allegedly shot by a security guard. More like stabbed by an invisible being while going out the front door; how did the authorities never notice these things.
Best line in the whole fic
 

Finland

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Re: Remorse [A KH Fic]

Well, I have read it now.
FFFFFFFFJOE THAT WAS AWESOME. 8D
Moar chapters! I think I have fallen in love with Gabryl~
 

Cinollex

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Re: Remorse [A KH Fic]

You portray the characters/events so well; I'm interested to see where this is going, Joe.
 

Orion

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Re: Remorse [A KH Fic]

Yes, because we're in the Sarcastic Four.
 

Izayoi

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Re: Remorse [A KH Fic]

I almost forgot, that's right. I can't believe that I would forget I'm in the Sarcastic Four now I'm notREAD THE DAMN STORY
 

Orion

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Re: Remorse [A KH Fic]

WRITE MORE OF THE DAMN STORY
 

Finland

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Re: Remorse [A KH Fic]

I SECOND JEZZAH'S LAST POST.
WRITE U. WRITE LIKE IT WAS THE END OF THE WORLD.
 
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