Zeon walks the fine line between protecting his brother and abiding his ideals. Rated: K+


To Kill or Not to Kill


To kill or not to kill?

It's incredible how many thoughts can go through the mind in a few seconds.

After navigating a stream of thoughts that winded through infinite outcomes in the space of a second or two, Zeon's world had narrowed to this one question.

To kill or not to kill?

The violent part of him found the question cumbersome: if he weren't thinking about it, everything would be over already and everyone would go on with their lives as usual.

But in a more peaceful realm of his mind, he found the question unnecessary. He could just walk away. Everything was over already, and everyone can go on with their lives as usual.

The assassin was three times bigger than he was. He laid in a heap on the floor. He was still conscious, though he wouldn't raise his head. He was singed and trembling in fear, as should anyone who was punished by the sting of his lighting. Perhaps if he could see his face now he could better judge his worth to inform his decision. But if he ended up killing him anyway, why would he need to see his face?

He knew Zatch would object. His philosophy of coexistence was that all the different types of demons, weak ones and strong ones, crafty ones and innocent ones, could live together in peace. In his little brother's world of kindness, there was a place even for the trash he had at his feet. It was his job to protect his brother, and by extension his ideals. It was from the interface between those two duties that the question emerged.

To kill or not to kill?

To let him live meant to give him another chance to attempt at his brother's life. Zatch was a kind king, but not a kind fool. He knew evil existed and that it had to be stopped. That's what he would be doing by killing the assassin: stopping an agent of evil. He should—and did not—have any compunction about it. What objection could Zatch possibly raise against that? What reason could he come up with not to kill him?

He had tasted the sting of his lightning. That guaranteed that this was the last time he would try something like this. He would live with the scar for all eternity; even his posthumous soul would be branded. The scum at his feet was an assassin. His kind did not have families, or severed all ties with them. He wouldn't have anyone who could heal the wound of his lighting like Cherish did

Although that also meant that nobody would miss him if he died. Zeon could only imagine him sitting in his lonesome hideout, doing nothing with his existence whilst he waited for his next request. He was no one. A floater with no face or name. He never existed in the first place. No one, not even Zatch, would care if he died.

Perhaps that was why the decision was so hard—because either choice was so inconsequential. But shouldn't that make the choice easier? Zeon clenched his teeth.

He loathed the feeling of indecision.

And he loathed those that were indecisive.

Zatch wasn't indecisive. Indeed, his decisions were unflinching. He could personally attest to the strength of his resolve after their battle in Faudo. His heart would have no trouble choosing now: he would forgive. Every demon, humble ones and arrogant ones, diligent ones and slothful ones, had a right to live in the world as Zatch viewed it. There was no true rationale to it. His brother simply followed his nature. That's all Zeon had to do. Follow his nature.

To kill…

or…

not to kill?

Zeon lifted his arm and incanted a spell. Light that could blind all eyes and sound that could deafen all ears filled the world. The assassin trembled no more. Zeon turned on his heel and left for the palace to meet with his brother.

Every demon had place in his brother's world. Harsh ones and soft ones, merciful ones and merciless ones. Zeon counted among those demons. Zatch would understand.


Written on October 31, 2016

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