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It wasn’t the sight of the ICU’s ceiling that shocked Justin when he woke up but the fact that he’d woken up at all.
He should’ve been dead. Why wasn’t he dead?
He couldn’t see out of one eye and attempting to raise a hand to feel what was blocking it only resulted in him discovering he’d been strapped down to the bed he lied on. Any attempts to summon a blade to free himself failed, creating a sinking feeling in his stomach.
“It’s about time you woke up. Your soul wavelength’s been flailing about for days; it’s been annoying.”
He froze, easily recognizing the voice. He’d gotten to know its screams rather well over the…how long had it been? Weeks? Months? When you lost yourself fully to Madness, it became difficult to judge time.
He turned his head so that his good eye could see the figure standing there in the dim “nighttime” lights of the ward, a figure dressed in black with a shadowy cloak wrapped around his shoulders. Three white Rings glowed softly like halos on the other’s head, and golden yellow eyes matched their glow.
Death the Kid. And it seemed he’d managed to fully awaken as a true death god.
Justin’s mouth went dry as he remembered standing around and listening to the boy’s screams as Gopher had tortured him. Back then, he’d reveled in the sound while the Clown hummed along as if the cries were a symphony.
His thoughts stopped. The Clown. He couldn’t feel the Clown anymore. When was the last time he hadn’t at least sensed its presence lurking nearby?
“Your confederate is dead,” Kid said flatly, startling the former Death Scythe who wondered if the reaper had somehow read his mind. “You were barely alive when the DWMA and Witches recovered the casualties. I ordered you be brought here to recover while I decided what to do with you.”
Justin shrank down as best as he could. “And…the Kishin?”
“Sealed away.”
He wanted to ask how Asura had lost and why Kid had insisted on his recovery, but the look in the death god’s eyes silenced him.
“Your Mad God is gone. Father has passed on. You realize what that means, I assume?”
The blond swallowed harshly. Oh, yes, he did know. He knew very well indeed:
This newly-crowned Death, the one he’d wronged, was now in charge of deciding his fate. Justin had no one else to appeal to for help, the same position Kid himself had been in during his captivity.
“For right now I just want to understand: Why, Justin?” Kid demanded softly. “Why did you follow Asura?”
The former priest felt tears stinging his eye and he choked on a sob. He wished the Grim Reaper would collect his soul and be done with it, no questions asked. However, the young man’s face was soft and desperate for answers for how someone who’d once been such a dear friend of the family could betray everyone and even murder the people he’d once worked with as a friend and colleague.
He couldn’t bear to admit the horrible truth, the source of weakness that the Clown had exploited to fill his world with Madness: A man of God was supposed to love God not be in love with God.
With the Madness the Clown constantly infected him with gone, he felt the guilt all the more keenly. Despite the three completed Rings, Kid still appeared as delicate as the day Justin had met the young son of Death five years ago when he’d first become a Death Scythe. He still looked like the young adolescent Justin had fallen in love with three years later over the course of an afternoon they’d spent together.
It was the ultimate blasphemy. Kid was a god and, therefore, forbidden fruit, yet the former priest had relished every time he’d gotten a chance to touch the other’s soft hair or he’d coaxed a smile from the serious boy’s lips. His dreams were haunted by the one he’d vowed to kneel before in supplication. Such hubris was unbecoming a man of the cloth.
The Clown had somehow found out and constantly whispered in his ear, somehow managing to cut through the loud music the young man had constantly listened to, echoing the thoughts Justin sought to bury:
‘What kind of good and righteous god would dangle such temptation before the faithful and demand they never partake of it?’
‘He’s flesh and bone just like me. Doesn’t that make us equal?’
‘The Kishin is the only true source of justice in this world: He allows me to enjoy the suffering of gods in retribution for the suffering they inflicted on me.’
It had taken time, not nearly as much as it should have, but the Clown had succeeded in wearing him down, and he’d welcomed Asura as his new god with open arms.
“I…I can’t tell you,” Justin whispered hoarsely, shame choking him.
“You can’t or you won’t?” Kid, no, Lord Death snapped.
“Can’t. Just that my soul wasn’t as strong as everyone thought it was, and the Clown found the weakness.”
He wanted to look away, but primal instinct kept his only working eye locked on the young Death. He was completely at the other’s mercy, a criminal before an all-powerful Judge. Even if he somehow escaped, there was nowhere to hide. This newly-crowned death god didn’t have the limitations of the previous one and could chase him to the ends of the Earth. Even if Justin were never caught in life, Lord Death would be waiting for him the moment he breathed his last; the God of Death had more than enough time to play the part of the patient hunter.
“BJ. Tezca. Father knows how many more,” the reaper said with a grimness befitting his title. “You weren’t in your right mind, but you still murdered them. Now your fate is mine to decide.”
The former Death Scythe shivered, knowing that there was one other crime that this Lord Death hadn’t mentioned. Then again, he didn’t need to: They both knew how Justin had done nothing to help when the young death god had been captured. Even if the former Lord Death were presiding over his Judgment, there would’ve been no impartiality: The older Death’s beloved son had been tortured while Justin, someone they’d both trusted, had stood by and simply listened.
The current Lord Death leaned closer to him, fury written in every line of his face. His eyes morphed from their usual double irises to a pair of skulls.
The machines that had been muted background noise suddenly began screeching as Justin’s heart raced. He was at the mercy of the Grim Reaper, and it was likely the staff knew the young god was here and had been ordered not to interfere. There would be no one to stop Lord Death from doing as he pleased.
“Killing you right now is very tempting,” the reaper hissed. “But I don’t want to make it easy on you. Death is kind, and right now I’m not feeling very kind. The sort of justice I have in mind for your victims requires you to live.”
The blond shivered, not simply because the Grim Reaper’s breath was ice cold.
“Luckily for you, I’m still working out the details,” the reaper told him before heading towards the door, shadow cloak drifting about him. “Enjoy your rest while you can.”
Nurses swarmed into the room the moment the death god exited. Justin didn’t look at them, barely acknowledged their presence as drugs were administered to calm him. All he could do was watch with unblinking eyes as this young Lord Death walked past the window and disappeared around a corner, mesmerized. He didn’t stop staring at the last place he’d seen the reaper until the drugs finally pulled him down into darkness.