#finally we get kittygaya

[hymnoire]

“ i’m more than willing to rot in hell with you. “ lots of love, kitty with a knife in his hand <3

The Black Swan stumbles, her side bleeding freely, but a Swan doesn’t feel pain. Her body,  battlefield of scars, moves slower now, her metabolism is faltering and that.. She can feel. The mad chase through Seoul led the Yamazaki Syndicate and Kitty’s men to her hidden red mansion in the hills far from the riots. Her sanctuary, so far removed from the city’s chaos, should have been impenetrable. But they found her. A mole? Perhaps. It doesn’t matter now. Everyone else is dead. Her guards, her security, even the shadows she trusted : all massacred by the savages. Gaya had been forced to fight. Trained as she was, she managed to take some of them down, but their number overwhelmed her. Now she’s here, in her office, her last refuge, standing on the woodened floor, the large windows in her back, the moon piercing through them. She’s cornered by him, Kitty. His reputation preceded him, but to her, he was always a nothing. A petty criminal, like all of them. Yet here he stands, smug. Gaya’s laughter spills out, unhinged, delirious : one of these laughters that usually don’t belong to her. Blood loss has turned her into a figure of despair, swaying like a broken marionette. Her voice rasps, her words cutting through the tense air. “Oh, you. Here. How FUCKING rich.” She laughs again, not from humor, but at the absurdity of it all. This man, a nobody, standing before her now, thinking he’s won. And well, he did won. The city has changed in five years, Gaya made sure of it. Seoul had become her chessboard after she killed her adoptive father, Kang. She’d taken the title of Judge Kang, using justice as her weapon, putting criminals behind bars and cleaning the city’s filth. But they never saw the real game. Kitty, the Yamazakis, the criminal underworld, they all thought she was just another authoritarian figure disrupting their little empires of drugs and exploitation.

They couldn’t comprehend the scale of her plan. Seoul was just the starting point. Gaya had actually been trying to dismantle Misericorde’s influence, piece by piece, even though it would have taken her a lifetime. The cult had deep roots, not just in Korea but across the globe thanks to the Twelve. Libitina and Nero have wormed their way into powerful families, governments, and alliances like NATO, weaving a web of control that reached everywhere. It wasn’t for power that she wanted to take it all down. It was for survival. She finally understood what Kaeleena would do if she becomes Mother Supreme. With her memories restored, Gaya knew how it would all end. Kaeleena would rise, turning the world into her plaything, twisting the obscure forces to her will, she would end The Twelve, she would plunge the world into pure chaos. All of this has to be stopped and yet here she is, bleeding out in her office, facing a man who could never understand any of it. Her fingers tighten around the shotgun in her hands, lifting it to point at Kitty. A deranged smirk spreads across her lips, an expression more feral than human. “Good thing I brought a gun to a sword fight,” she mutters, her voice dripping with venom and bitter amusement. Explaining her life’s work to him would be pointless. A man like Kitty couldn’t grasp the enormity of what she was doing. He lives in a small, selfish world of gangs, grudges, and vendettas. “You made a mistake walking in here,” she says, her voice low but charged. “What is it? Still pissed I locked your psycho best friend up for no reason?” She is coughing now. Blood spatters her lips. It’s pathetic, really, to even feel anger toward him. Kitty’s world is small yet Gaya envies it in a way. How nice it must be to live without the weight of gods and doom on your shoulders. “When will any of you start seeing the bigger picture?” she asks, her voice rasping with desperation, fury, and resignation. “Never, right? None of us ever see what’s coming. And from my fucking grave, I’ll rise and shout—I TOLD YOU SO.” The words taste like blood in her mouth. She knows explaining anything to him is futile. “But it doesn’t matter,” she says, a deranged smirk curling her bloodstained lips. “If I die today, you’re coming with me, Cat Boy.” With those final words, her trembling fingers tighten on the trigger. The shotgun roars, the deafening blast echoing through the room as the bullet tears through the air toward him.

&. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐧 (𝐞𝐩𝐬. 𝟏-𝟒) 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬. (still accepting)