Embrace Your Cowardice

It seemed the lord of the estate had undergone the same emotional shift as him, his fear converting into anger as he spoke of the crimes befit for the deepest layers of hell.

"I get it--but, wait, what're you doing?" Ren asked with a hint of confusion.

The nobleman had a look of newly found conviction forced into his face, tightening his gloves as he forced his fear down his throat and away from his mind.

"I feel partly at fault for your summoning into this world. I...have lost all that once belonged to me, both material and immaterial. Even if I managed to escape now, it would be a life disgraceful for one carrying the burden of gentlemanship I hold," Althaus' voice carried with it an air of quiet confidence.

"What're you talking about? You said it yourself--we need to keep moving!" Ren pleaded with him, picking up the sound of distant footsteps approaching their direction.

"This is my resolve as the last member of the Althaus lineage, I shall see to it that you survive so that one day maybe you can see the true, benevolent beauty of this world. Now go, run--!" Althaus commanded him.

He couldn't find it in himself to persuade the man any further, as to not insult his stainless conviction. The guilt the nobleman must've felt in this situation, watching as all of his colleagues and long-time friends had been slaughtered because of his own greedy motifs--this was his resolve.

"Ren Nakamura, I ask of you--embrace your cowardice and run, don't look back, and don't you dare say goodbye! I shall not be jinxed in such a way, my foreign friend. Now leave, it seems our unwelcome guest has arrived," Althaus adjusted his crimson coat.

It was hard to say if it was just an act of selflessness or resignation from life. The moment Althaus' eyes met with the lifeless husks of his associates, it seems the place in his heart for fear went vacant, and with it, guilt and anger arose. He didn't want to take credit away from the man's act of heroism, but he knew deep down, Althaus wasn't the kind of man for heroics.

Looking back one last time, he forced himself to move onward, leaving the nobleman alone to confront the devilish fiend. He threw himself against through the door, falling over and picking himself up in a single motion as adrenaline filled his veins. Even after what he was told, he still felt his naive mind scream at him to look for Meinhard.

Any moment he spared checking the mutilated bodies of maids and other staff, was time that could spell the end for him. No matter where he went within the manor, it seemed death had plastered itself on the refined walls, coating the furnished wood with a layer of dripping crimson.

Even Johannes had succumbed to the overwhelming avatar of death which was Rouge, crucified against the wall as his still warm blood dripped onto the floor below.

--Johannes...you were a good guy.

The paintings that decorated the place with history and fanaticism were torn apart, flung through the corridors, nothing was left untouched in the manor.

He tried to dull the cascade of noises ringing from the ballroom, not wanting to listen to what was likely the end of the proud nobleman. Every room, every body--he desperately sought out his one and only friend in that world. It was a gamble, a coin toss between life and death each time he turned a stained corpse over. Before long, his own palms had been dyed red, muddied with the lukewarm blood of the lifeless.

At last--his eyes caught something. The unmistakable golden sheen of hair, peeking out from the hedge of a door. His flow of thought had ceased in the moment, unable to move his eyes as they locked onto the point of interest.

"Mei...Mein…" The words parted from his lips in a quiet tremble.

Attempting to take a single stride, his legs ignored his commands before he fell to the ground. Every possibility raced through his frantic mind, trying to convince himself it wasn't him--that it couldn't be him. There wasn't any thought to dissuade the obvious reality in front of him, he had to check for himself.

"It's not you...right? It can't be. You're stronger than me. You're special--there's no way you'd die in a place like this, not now," His words were heard only upon his own two ears.

Crawling over in a mess melded by a flow of tears and mucus, leaking out of his face, he gripped onto the lifeless shoulders of the body below him. He was unable to harness any of his strength as his hands trembled uncontrollably, desperately attempting to grip the crimson-stained white cloth. Even amidst the death-filled mansion, being so close to the necrotic husk hit him with an unbearable stench, composed of corroding copper and mildew, of which was marinated in a sewer. Pushing past the mind-eroding smell, he finally flipped the body facing upwards.

"...!"

He felt his stomach churn at the sight, all of his fears had jumped out at once, leaving through his pores in a sweat. Those crystalline emerald eyes that once emulated the very essence of joy, now stared off into nothingness, devoid of sentience.

"Meinhard...no, no...no," Ren whimpered as he shook his head slowly.

The state of the young man's body was incorrigible, every other inch of his body housed lacerations, his pale skin dyed in his own arterial liquid. He gently tapped the now cold cheek of the lifeless body, attempting to wake him from his eternal slumber to no avail.

"Come on, wake up, Meinhard…" Ren pleaded with him, forcing a trembling smile, "this isn't any time to be dozing off, you know…"

Even face to face with the presence of absolute death, he still rejected the very idea. The delusional young man stood himself up, carrying the husk of his best friend over his shoulder.

"We'll find you some help, Meinhard, just wait a little longer," He whispered, breathing heavily from the encumbered stroll he set himself on.