Mohji Kudou

Why such a horrified face, Weiß? Don't you think she's pretty, leaning against my chest? Her hair loose and wavy and silky soft, and that lovely navy colour? She's beautiful, isn't she? Naked, and unconscious in my arms. Just like a corpse.

She is a corpse.

I'm smiling at him, speaking my mind. GOD wanted this to happen. He's shaking, and I want to laugh.

Would you look as beautiful, against me? Cold and dead and full of my cum. Would you look like her? What's the matter, Weiß?

Those gorgeous violet eyes of his shimmer with fear. Afraid of me! His rage is too great - he can't control it. But I can.

Would you tremble when I kissed you? Groan softly when I played with the THING you have between your legs and make GOD cry for you?

His legs have crumbled beneath him - a weak man, indeed. I scoop him into my arms, his sister's corpse forgotten.

Hush, little pet, God will cry - or perhaps he won't. Maybe GOD doesn't CARE!

Such delight.

He's limp, in my arms. I kiss his hair and let my hands do what they will. His sobbing has stopped, but he is still tense, all over. Despite my gentle touches. Perhaps he thinks I'll kill him. He's probably right.

Have you forsaken GOD, my beautiful toy?

Yes. His voice is barely a whisper.

Tell me why this has happened.

Because GOD is dead.

I smile, my fingers wandering over what has become his erection. God IS dead. Good.

And GOD does not care.

My sweet little pet. You need a new name. Weiß does not suit you. He's arching upwards, against me, violet eyes glazed with God - with God's apathy. It is making me angry with him.

Smile. Smile because GOD is dead.

His arms are around me tightly. I CANNOT GET AWAY. And he's smiling. He has a terrifying smile - like a skull. It's hollow, and I don't like it. I DON'T LIKE HIM. Get him away from me!

But he won't let go, and that smile is floating up into his eyes, drowning out the apathy of God. HE CAN SMELL MY FEAR. And now I'm fighting to get away, urine soaking my pants, the hospital bed, and him. It's sour odor filling the stale air. His blade is at my throat, now, and I'm smiling right back at him.

Like a mirror.


I don't care. Just like God. His voice is so quiet.

And I see blood splatter on the walls - I feel it roaring up my throat, and spilling down my chest, over his blade.

I don't care. He spoke so gently to me!

But now I'm dead now.

GOD doesn't care.

Neither do I.

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