[img]https://i.imgur.com/rsKmcfv.png[/img]


[b][color=7ea7d8]Streets of Shinto: Under the uncaring moon.[/color][/b]

He could barely see it happen. So slow, slow. His words were slow, and even as the world spun and the sensation of pain blinded him he could feel the moments so small that they seemed like grains of sand slip by. The vital moments of destiny that fell before they had a chance to reach out for them.

Barely past the moment his words were said he felt the sting of a cut. He couldn’t feel that pain, not something nearly as small as that. It was the rush of wind, the force that pushed into him. The small nick wasn’t felt. There was too much going on to feel it. In comparison it would have almost been comforting. Hurt him hurt him, punish him, absolve him. All the wrongs he did, all the evils born from him must be paid for with pain. But that pain no not that pain that pain that pain that pain. 

Something like mere physical pain would have been fine, even if it was the sensation of being boiled alive, or burned and melted down into a paste.

He was gone, Berserker was gone. Without even knowing things like the identity of his servant, knowing all that much of the war itself or even being able to stand a chance, he had lost. It was a half-baked participation that started with an accidental summoning. No one could blame him for the way things turned out. Yet…

He ran, ran as soon as Berserker disappeared, when the last mark faded away. He knew of defeat and knew that there was no reason to be there anymore. Turning away, hoping to flee from that hell that his mind would fall apart in, he ran. 

It was like there was no sound, no life. Running through the city that seemed seeped in a complete darkness and pause, he could not hear even the steps of his feet as they struck the streets, nor hear the blood that seemed to boil in his body. It felt useless to run from that, after all it was an ultimate end, the final destination of a soul seeped in evil.

He never considered himself a good man.

He only stopped running when the ground suddenly rose to strike him. No, wait. He only just fell. That was all there was to it. The shock of the impact that suddenly struck him brought the world crashing back into his perception.

He felt the impact across his hands, his hip, his knees. But he didn't feel anything. Everything was dull, almost dead feeling. He rolled over to stare up at the moon. It looked comforting, it looked mocking, it looked judgemental. No, to begin with such perceptions and thoughts were just thoughts that he pushed into it. It was just a piece of rock in space.

What a half-assed attempt. Even if he wasn't what a master should be he still was intending to be as serious as he could be about this war. His hope at the moment of the fight was dashed away, and he felt the small niggling of hope, of the thought that perhaps he could attain a normal life swelling to make itself known before it was smothered.

Ah this ache. This ache he felt was a pain he didn't know, not even thanks to that hell. If that pain was of all the torments and curses that struck one with inevitability then this was a pain that one would never expect, even if it was realistic to know it would inevitability come.

This was what wanting something was like. His life he went for what was less bothersome, less painful. He danced around his vision, and never really stepped out towards something. Even if his vision was a thing there was more he could have done. Ah, in the end maybe he was just blaming it. No, it definitely was the fault of his eyes, but…

That didn't matter, whether he was to blame or they were to blame.

He began to feel things again. Warmth seeped through his body, but it felt like it was there only to be leached away by the voracious wind. His vision got blurry as the ache deepened.

He wanted it, that wish. He truly wanted it. 

[color=662d91]"Ah, damn it!..."[/color]

His voice came out as a croak as the first tears began to drop. Toshi stretched out his hand, no longer with the symbols of a master branded upon them, towards the distorted moon in his eyes.

It was definitely a mocking moon.

Even if it was too late, even knowing it was most pointless now of all times, he made a wish. He made a wish with his aching heart and spoke a wordless cry. He wanted the grail, he wanted to win. Then why? why did it have to be like this?

Even dying for the wish could have been more satisfying, but he couldn't find himself to want death even in this humiliation and heartbreak.

He wanted it.

Did he ever actually want anything else.

Ah. This is what real personal pain was. The ache was different, less abhorrent than the horrors of hell. Yet in a way it was just as disgusting. It was the tragedy and disgustingness of himself.

The Grail.

Why couldn't it have been his?

Feeling sorry for himself, perhaps as he had his entire life, he let out his tears and wept.