Part 1 ~ "The Mersault Assault."

Nikolai's POV:

Oh, Fedya, how divine you are. How celestial your very presence seems. You conjure feelings within me that I thought I had long turned into ash. I crave to darken my soul to black, and yet, because of you, it blooms with pride. Perhaps it now mirrors the shade of a blackberry; deep, rich, and unchanging, like my love for you. Dark, but not without its sweetness.

It is neither too bright nor too cold, much like the mask I wear when I'm near you. My exterior may be calm, but, my love, beneath it all, my insides burn with a crimson fire. I have mastered the art of concealing this madness, this obsession, yet inside I am entirely red, wholly consumed. Oh, how I have refined the craft of desiring you! Should I not be rewarded for such mastery? For learning how to control it? How to twist and bend it to my will?

But control isn't enough, is it? I want more than to possess it. I want you dead. I want to tear your soul from your body and devour it whole. I want to rip you apart, to hate you, to love you. I want to kiss you as much as I want to kill you. I want you to be mine, irrevocably, eternally. And I want to be yours, but only after I've taken everything. I want to end you with my own hands.

This obsession, this grotesque longing will tear me asunder before I can even savor the bitter sweetness of your death. I once believed that killing you would quench this insatiable thirst, that your demise would offer some semblance of peace, an end to this torturous craving.

But you, Fedya, you twist me into madness. You unravel me, because I know what we are—worse than lovers, better than friends. And still, I persist in the charade of the mad jester, hoping, in vain, that you won't see through it. But you've always been too clever, haven't you, my cunning lisichka? All I can do is write. Write my mind to madness, I'll never speak out these words to you. It'll make me seem weak to you anyways, wouldn't it?

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I donned the mask, my well-practiced facade, the performer's guise. It wasn't difficult, after all. I had long become the very character I portrayed. It was etched into my soul. Something that was me, yet, wasn't at the same time.

And so, even in his presence, it wasn't hard to maintain. He just made it crack, 'just a tad.'

As I watched— well, more fantasizing about my muse inhaling the poisonous air of the hell I had crafted for him, I couldn't help but laugh, wild and untamed. He had calculated this so meticulously, hadn't he? I wouldn't be surprised if he somehow knew this was going to happen beforehand.

It wasn't a miracle sent from the heavens above, that would be in him in general. But, he seemed to always be two steps ahead. In all honesty, I had doubted that he would die. But Dazai and Fyodor, oh, they were so much alike. I thought— no, I knew Fyodor would be pleased with the challenge, and naturally, I was trying to kill him... wasn't I? So, of course, this was perfect. Absolutely perfect.

I felt a strange sense of satisfaction in knowing that my plan was perfect for him. Perhaps, Dazai could make Fyodor happy, even in his final moments. His smile was worth more than diamonds, glistening with a brilliance unmatched by anything earthly. Fyodor was a diamond... and so was Dazai. The notion nagged at me, a quiet bother in the back of my mind, because, after all, only a diamond can polish another diamond. And perhaps, just perhaps, they would grow together. Nikolai. Really? Dazai doesn't care for such things. All there is to it is challenge, competition.

I adored everything about him, from the strands of his hair to the purity of his flesh. Something Dazai couldn't care to do. I memorized every detail, every curve and contour. I could paint him onto a canvas of perfection, and maybe, just maybe, I would use his blood to create something truly sacred, something that meant more to me than mere imagery. Oo, it would be hard not to drink it! I always loved cannibalism as a form of love.

I love everything, I could portray everything. Everything, from his hair to his pure flesh, I memorized so well.

But my reverie was shattered by the sight of Fyodor. He emerged from the Meursault, the first to break free, as I always knew he would. Of course, he escaped my game. I scanned for Dazai, but he was nowhere to be seen. Oh, Fedya, you genius. I seemed rather excited, well I was. I put on a big grin.

I ran up to him, my usual enthusiasm bubbling over as I congratulated him, wavering my body around, but he cut me off.

"Cut it out with the theatrics, Nikolai. The case." The way his Russian accent curled around the words... гений, my genius, how could I refuse? I sent him to the helicopter so he could escape, naturally. Then I asked him what he'd do after this. I smiled brightly. "So, what would you be doing after words."

"To continue my plans, of course. Then kill you, since you tried to kill me."

Fyodor used the injection. It might as well have been into my bleeding, caged heart. His words, spoken so casually, filled me with an inexplicable joy. The thought of him killing me... of it being him, the one to end me... There was something so exquisitely beautiful about it. His dedication, his brilliance.. it overwhelmed me. I smiled manically, but it was pure sanity as to reasons why. Devotion.

But then... something was wrong.

"...Fedya?" The word escaped my lips, barely more than a whisper, unbidden.

His life just flashed before MY eyes, even though that's what I wanted. I was very contradicting.

The pilot, he raised a weapon, aiming it straight at Fyodor. Reflexively, I grabbed it, the motion automatic, my body acting before my mind could process. And then I saw Dazai—walking out, as fine as ever, despite the blood on his outfit. This had been his plan. How? How had it come to this?

Fyodor's lips, always so perfect, were now stained with blood. I froze, a torrent of emotions crashing over me like a tidal wave. His eyes, those violet flowers that bloomed so perfectly, were still as gorgeous as ever. But now, something inside me stirred, something primal. Моя душа. The love of my life, my best friend, was bleeding out in front of me, because of me, because of Dazai. It took every ounce of resistance not to reach out and put my thumb on his lips to wipe the blood off.

And in that moment, I did something that surprised even myself. Was it reflex? Instinct? I don't know. I needed to escape my emotions, I couldn't do this. To prove I could be free of these ridiculous emotions, I kill him. But in truth, I knew, it's not that damn simple. I jumped into the helicopter with him, refusing to let him die, not like this. Not in front of me.. more not like this.

Ты будешь жить сегодня? Don't know, don't care. I'm going to kill you by MY hand, Fedya.

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