Well what is left for me big to say?
As I dare hope, the following words - except for the orthography - will not cause you to laugh. Otherwise I would have definitely missed the intended topic of this story. The idea came to me on a Slipknot song called "Vermilion."

Immediately an all-clear regarding my grammatical (wrong) skills! In that fanfiction, I tried my best to use as few foreign words as possible, so it should basically be understandable and "relatively" easy to read.

Without further ado, I wish you all a lot of fun.
(In view of the subject, that almost seems ironic, doesn't it?)

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The blood ran down the dull, shiny blade in thick drops. A slight crack adorned the smoothly polished metal, which seemed to laugh through the cheerful rays of the sun far away from any reality.
But the swordsman didn't feel like laughing at the moment ...Before him lay the battered body, covered with many wounds. A look at the slightly rising chest wall made him look angry.

“Are you still alive?” A question of purely rhetorical origin, since the person opposite didn't seem to be able to give him an answer anyway. He continued a little more quietly.
"I'm sorry, but there was no other way."

The danjian fell to the floor with a clang, and the upper third of the Japanese-made sword broke off noisily.
"Look at it positively, you defended your honor even if it brought you death."
A humorless grin lay on the speaker's features.

A small gust of wind scurried weakly over the badly damaged concrete and took a few of the loose newspaper sheets with it.
With the gentle fading of the breeze, the brief flicker of a smile also came to an acute end.

"You know? I have often imagined what it would be like to knock out you, my strongest rival, and stand in front of your whimpering figure."Small and inconspicuous, a drop of sweat came off the face of the winner, who brushed the winner along with a few strands of black hair from his wet forehead.

"But you didn't give me the satisfaction of seeing you lying like a crawl in front of me, instead you fought to the last breath."

The silence that followed was broken only by a window slamming in the distance and the noise of traffic.
But all of this seemed to come from a completely different dimension and was not even able to break the unreal situation for a single moment.
Two teenagers, both hair black as the darkest night, stood facing each other, at least one was standing halfway upright, while the other was lying on the floor, breathing heavily, almost panting.

"I leave the choice to you. How would you like to die?"

The addressee looked up at his victorious adversary, his face twisted in pain, and wrinkled his nose disparagingly."The question…"

A gasp and a little blood stopped him from talking.

"... I can only put it back."

“Typical, always self-confident and optimistic.” An insane laugh that almost seemed to break out filled the oppressively heavy air in the small backyard.

The floor was marked with pools of blood and looked more like a butcher's kitchen than a former battlefield.
Somewhere in the distance a dog barked and a weak child's laugh rang out.
He would have to hurry, since it would certainly not make a positive impression if he were standing here next to the supposed corpse of his defeated opponent.

“Well, did you make up your mind?” The voice sounded harsh and impatient now.

"Why are you rushing? Are you afraid I might ..."

Saliva mixed with blood ran down his chin after a strong coughing fit while he tried convulsively to calm his aching bronchi.

"... run away?" If the beaten man had still been able to do so, he would have laughed.However, he limited himself to a slightly imposing, derogatory grin.

"Certainly not, but I'm not too keen on a close-up of my face next to a portrait of your corpse. I'm sure you will understand that."

The words rang out in a tone that seemed to be a choice between two flavors of ice cream. The apparent carelessness of the winner looked scornful in view of the given circumstances.

"Sometime…"

The painful coughing cramped his dust-dry throat, which anyway contained more blood than air.

"... someone will avenge me."

The person opposite even seemed to consider for a moment, while he playfully touched his chin and looked at the person in front of him on the floor with disinterested looks.

“Maybe, who knows, and even if, who could believe that I have defeated you?” A refined smile lay on his lips as he took a step forward and the noticeable but much too mild breeze his hair slightly whirled through the air.The thoughts of one lying in the final pangs of death were easy to portray.

° Lost to this failure, I forfeit not only my life, but also my honor. °

"I'll just tell them you went on a training trip."

"And if someone ..."

The figure lying on the floor struggled to suppress a wheezy cough.

"... should think so?"

"You mean your remains?"

The vanquished was incapable of more than an exhausting nod.

"Simple answer ..."

For a moment the silence dominated and made the surroundings look like an urban mausoleum with the corpse belonging to it, but the supposed corpse still showed few signs of life. An unkempt backyard wasn't exactly the ideal burial place.

"... if you find them here and you will ..."

A knowing smile, which seemed downright diabolical, revealed plenty of dark thoughts.

"... the find should consist of a heap of ashes.There isn't much to identify. "

The person lying on the floor widened in horror.
“You want to burn me?” Bewilderment rose in his almost hysterical voice.

"As soon as you have finally resigned, yes. That corresponds to my plan." The pair of dark eyes glared coldly at the defeated, before a deep sigh escaped the owner.

"You were always a good martial artist, that's why she loved you too."

A gasp of disbelief escaped the other, along with a loud fit of coughing that exposed some blood and saliva.
"Because of that? You want to kill me because of YOU?"

It wasn't a question, it was a statement.
A hesitant nod followed in response.
In stark contrast to the precarious situation, the tormented man began to laugh, like the doomed, first croaking and weak, then hysterical and powerful.

"You are really pathetic. Slave to your own love!"

A noticeable twitch went through the recipient of the insult and his facial expressions lost their last remnant of humanity, giving way to an expressionless expression."Perhaps it may be so, but your soon-to-be master will be much more dominant than love, because as far as I know nobody has freed themselves from the clutches of death."

The warm air rose and flashed a few shards of glass, perhaps from a cheap sake bottle.
From one moment to the next, a nearly thirty centimeter long blade materialized in his hand and the formerly indecisive expression on his face gave way to a smug look driven by the desire for revenge and a grin.

"Do you know the taste of death?"

A pained smile graced the painful features of the formerly good-looking youthful face. "No, until now I've always ripped off him."

The smile that followed, with which the winner acknowledged the previous statement, was the origin of a strong nostalgia. As if to himself, the owner of the almost arm-length murder device spoke in a whisper and a dreamy glint in his eyes."Yes, indeed, you have always survived until now ..."

The last remnants of grace gave way and hardened into a determined will, which the constitution of the facial muscles knew how to reproduce.

"... but now this will come to an end. Enough time lost, now you will die."

One step followed the next, leisurely, but quickly the winner moved towards the person lying on the ground.

Almost friendly, if not to say affectionate, he whispered a few last words in the direction of the dying boy.

"I'll save you a slow death, sleep and never wake up again."

It was impossible to tell whether the eyes widened in disbelief or pain, almost emerged from their sockets.
The other person stood up with an indifferent expression on his face, the smoothly honed dagger glistening exactly over the place where a competent doctor would have suspected the heart. The first volleys of blood slowly emerged from the newly formed wound.

The victim's vision gradually became obscured, a chorus of soulless voices sang a song of mourning and without being able to defend himself, Ranma Saotome lost the most important fight of his life and that for the same.While the black hair gave a few last twitches, more reflexively, as if of free will, the tall Amazon turned away and took his glasses frame from his nose.

A slightly soiled cloth was pulled out, with which he cleaned his thick glasses.
With a satisfied grin he considered his work, pushed his glasses back on the bridge of his nose and drew a lighter from the deepest depths of his right sleeve.

Small, cheap, probably no longer functional after the second time, but that was enough for him.
Another reach into the vast expanse of his robe produced a tinny gasoline canister, the liquid contents of which he carefully poured over the corpse. The chuckle of the liquid echoed off the walls like the paranoid laugh of a mentally ill person.

Satisfied, he turned away, opened the cheap lighter, which gave birth to a small flame after the second attempt.One last laugh escaped his throat before he tossed the little thing seemingly carelessly behind him.

Even before he had turned the corner, past the dilapidated brick wall, which had more posters than some advertising pillars, the flames began greedily to follow the small rivulets, to climb the path over the limp hand and from there to strive for gas cans.
A moment later, a flame of almost four meters burst open and apparently consumed the dead, the former heir of Musabetsu Kakuto Ryu, with relish.

On the evening news, about four hours later, there was talk of