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For this is my blood of the new testament, which is shed for many for the remission of sins.
At first he thought it was from cutting wood with Miki's father. Then, it was the cough that wracked his ribs for days.
But even a week after that, it remained. And now it had become constant.
“Ryo...that looks pretty bad.” Akira’s bushy brows furrowed, an almost childish amount of concern in his voice as he watched his friend undress beside the closet door. “Maybe you broke some blood vessels coughing?”
Even from here, he could see the bruises, dark and pearlescent, that covered the span of the boy’s shoulder blades. They were swollen, almost grotesquely. He grimaced, his heart aching with sympathy.
Ryo paused, mid unbuttoning the cummerbund around his waist.
“I don't know. But I don't want you telling Miki or her parents about it.” His voice was low. “I am not going back to the hospital.” The boy slowly turned around, the pain he was enduring shining through those blue moon eyes.
“Ryo…”
--
Over the next week, the bruises faded, only to turn into what looked like welts, beading down the upper spine and over the shoulder blades. The skin had begun to peel away, and in the coming days the swellings became hot blisters. As if something were pushing out from the inside.
What had once been hive-like itching, was now unbearable pain.
“Ryo, this salve isn’t working. And your back’s…” Akira winced as he felt hard, thick lumps and pockets of liquid under the skin, “...there’s...something...really fucked up about it…”
They sat together in the bed, Ryo facing away in Akira’s lap as the boy tenderly applied a cooling lotion to the disturbed flesh. His hands shook, appalled at what he had to touch -- not that he couldn’t stomach the sight, but that it was Ryo. That Ryo was suffering unimaginable amounts of pain.
His friend turned his head slowly, cold eyes piercing Akira’s worried ones.
It was if he wanted to speak, but no words could describe the dried blood that stained his nails, the scars deep in his back from clawing away peeling skin, but worse, the knowledge he could feel something….
Moving.
Under his skin at night.
He simply breathed harder, brow quivering, jaw tight.
“...Ryo, please. Let me take you to the hospital, they can just, take x-rays or something, it won’t hurt, they won’t--” Akira was reduced to begging.
The pain in Ryo’s eyes increased tenfold at the thought of that place, and his body tensed seizure-tight. Hot tears beaded at the corners of his eyes before freely spilling over. He did not have the strength to wipe them away.
“...Then I will stay with you. I will endure it with you.” Akira whispered, kissing at pale, dry lips, the salt bitter on his tongue.
--
They were fortunate the Makimura’s had been visiting family the night it happened.
Ryo had woken with a piercing scream, clawing frantically at Akira who lay beside him, tearing at his chest. His friend barely had time to react before Ryo flung himself from the bed, gasping and retching as he stumbled towards the guest bathroom.
Akira was up in a flash, slamming open the door, eyes wide as he saw Ryo shuddering uncontrollably on the floor by the sink, his saliva foaming at the corners of his mouth. He could not scream, he could do no more than breathe and brace himself -- though in his agony, he would lash out, trying to dull the pain with more pain.
Akira was swift to grab his shoulder and hip, clutching them in strong hands to keep him from flailing too hard and hitting his head.
“RYO!” He barked, but there was no light in wide blue eyes. The boy’s jaw suddenly pulled back into a fierce grimace, and he vomited bile repeatedly. It was all so senseless. Ryo barely even knew he was still alive as the pain rent his flesh like the fires of Hell itself.
Akira jerked back as something hot moved against his side, and made the horrible mistake of looking down. Even in the dim light of the bathroom, he could see the outline of something pushing violently against the very seams of his beloved’s back.
“Ryo…!”
He could not hear. He could not see. It was no longer pain.
It was divine judgement.
With a sickening sound, a hoarse scream that ripped open a mortal’s throat, a tearing of flesh -- Akira was flung backwards against the wall, a fountain of blood and lymph spraying forth from Ryo’s shoulders as two sinewy appendages burst through the skin.
The splattering noise rung out in Akira’s head, the throbbing giving him blurred vision. He watched on in horror as the new flesh bunched up, blood streaked with freakish, bone-white spines.
It was over. Scraps of skin and other unmentionables littered the walls and floor of the bathroom, and Ryo lay unconscious, body shivering.
Akira was quick to stagger to his feet to flip the light switch, and recoiled at the sight before him, his stomach lurching at what remained of his dearest friend. He felt Amon’s rage swell in him, every hair on his body bristling with fury -- but it all disappeared at the sound of a whimper -- hushed, like a dying whelp.
Without hesitation, Akira was at the boy’s side, thumbs peeling back his eyelids, forefinger at his jugular, praying for a pulse.
Nothing.
He was still.
And he was cold, as were the tearstruck eyes, rolled far back, heavenward.
And he was cold.
--
Akira did not know how long he wept, how long he screamed into the boy’s neck, till his throat bled, how he bit at his own arms like a rabid beast, eyes red with the final sorrow.
The silver moon fell, burning gold as it slipped below the horizon, only for the sky to remain an uncertain grey.
The boy slowly pulled his childhood friend into his lap, cradling him in strong arms.
He could not do this a second time.
He could not do this.
Morning came against his will. The sun rose despite his broken sobs and pitiful, childish weeping.
So caught up in his misery and fatigue, he did not notice the stirring of the appendages on Ryo’s back. They twitched and flexed, shivering with cold.
“...Ah….ki….ra….” The boy breathed, body too weak to curl, but the desire to feel his love’s warmth overwhelmed his weakness.
A few moments of lingering awe at the sound of his name were all that kept Akira from shaking his friend in rapture.
Ryo was suddenly swathed in loving, burly arms, his sweat and blood streaked face covered in salty kisses, quivering lips failing as the tears burned cheeks anew.
“R-Ryo…”
--
Time stopped for the pair, as Akira was careful to carry Ryo to the bed, a pail of warm, soapy water at the foot. He took his time patting down shivering lilywhite flesh. Though the skin around the new appendages was broken, it seemed to have scabbed quickly.
Ryo did not wake for a long time, only able to cry out softly for his beloved, or to drink water held to his lips. But instinct told him to lean in to every gentle touch, to whine at every soft word spoken.
The next few days were a blur. Akira did not leave the room for more than water or to bring up food to hastily eat. Even sleep evaded him, and his rest was fleeting, time better spent comforting his nigh-comatose friend.
--
On the third day, Akira woke with a start, alarmed to see Ryo sitting up, nibbling on a slice of bread from the nightstand. His eyes were once again bright and clear, but something had changed.
The fleshy, spined appendages on his back -- they were now layered in a thick coating of...down?!
Plush, silvery velvet covered them, much more warm and comforting as opposed to the harsh calamus and tender, pearly flesh.
“Ryo!” Akira gasped, almost falling over to try and reach out to grasp his friend anywhere he could reach, fingers curling, trembling as they cupped soft cheeks.
The boy smiled serenely back.
“...I’m afraid something happened to me at Sabbath, Akira.” It was obvious he was desperately struggling to keep calm. This acceptance was merely a mental dulling to keep his sanity.
“A...A demon?!” Akira hissed, eyes wide and searching frantically for answers. His hands fell to his sides, becoming fists.
Ryo slowly shook his head, voice barely audible.
“...Perhaps the opposite.”
--
“...So, they’re…” Akira cocked his head, the morning light striking the cottony tufts of down that sprouted along the sinewy flesh, quills shimmering beneath the fuzz as they shivered. “...wings?”
Ryo nodded slowly, then faltered.
Vulnerability struck like a whip at his heart, sunk its fangs into his chest like a viper, venom squeezing out what few tears he had left. He gazed forlornly at his friend, baby blue eyes overflowing -- the blind sight of an abandoned child -- and in this sobering moment, Akira realized they truly were just that, but had also abandoned everything else around them.
That they were true orphans now, in the literal and now metaphorical sense, as even their humanity had slipped from their trembling fingers.
No amount of “it’s gonna be okay”’s or “we’ll be alright”’s would fix what had been brutally taken from them, wrested from their weakened grasp.
Was this a surrender of will? Was this divine intervention? What remained of them in this state?
The boys lay together on the bed, sharing tender touches and words, unable to cry any longer. Fear, uncertainty, even crippling anxiety could not penetrate this silent, invisible bond (as those were the most powerful on Earth).
Not while they still had one another.
And yet...
There was a simple, yet terribly fragile peace in these delicate moments.
Fatigue was a strong motivator for reason, and Ryo spoke up first, voice cracking.
“They must be. Haven’t you seen baby birds? They’re quite awful looking at first.” Ryo churred, relaxing instantly at the sensation of Akira’s arm slipping around his waist to pull him close. He nuzzled sweetly under his friend’s jaw.
“...” Brown eyes wandered over the pair of quivering wings, exhaustion keeping his heart from questioning it all too deeply any longer.
--
By nightfall, the boys had come to the conclusion they would worry about the severity of the situation after they had eaten.
Akira worked hard to cook with what the Makimura’s had left them while they were away. He wasn't the best, but he had helped Miki plenty of times to know how things were done.
In the guest room, Ryo perked up from where he sat on the bed, back facing to the mirror. Despite his growing unease and quiet panic, he knew he must stare this horror in the face. As he had done before with the demon skull.
And again....Akira was with him. He closed his eyes and sighed to himself. Even if he lost sight of it all, if he fell to his own human borne insecurities, he knew Akira would not.
Slowly, the boy knelt over, taking deep breaths as he flexed his shoulders, mentally trying to locate the nerves of the new muscles and bones that connected to old. Frustration peaked quickly as he realized he could do no more than shift them about, their weight and tenseness absolutely infuriating to him. It was if they were made of stone, not flesh.
With a defeated huff, he sat back. All he had gotten was a strange itching feeling in his forearms, as if his brain were mixing signals -- how utterly asinine. He felt a smile tug at his lips for the first time in ages. This sardonic way of thought had gotten him through many a hopeless situation.
The door was lightly kicked open, startling him. The down bristled instinctively on his wings, but it was quite a hilariously underwhelming effect.
Ryo blinked up at Akira, who shuffled in with a large tray of food. His stomach downright snarled and he swallowed thickly at the smell of beef stew and eggs over rice.
“...Do they hurt?’ The taller boy’s brow was knit in a dark scowl, as if he wished to tear the damn things off and get it over with. They had caused his beloved so much suffering -- but of course, simply ripping them from him would be tenfold the agony.
Ryo shook his head, humming softly.
“No, they’re just...sore, I suppose. And stiff.” He eyed the tray hungrily. “I can’t move them much, either.”
Akira caught the look, and set the food down by the nightstand, ladling out some stew into a small bowl of rice for Ryo.
“...Well, so long as they don’t hurt…” He mumbled, observing as his friend ate slowly at first, then hastily, as if this were his last meal.
The boy paused mid chew, raising a brow, eyes sparking.
“I sprout wings and you're more concerned about if they hurt, rather than how the hell they got there in the first place?” He grinned, watching Akira wilf reluctantly. “You certainly walked out of Hell unscathed, to still think like that.”
The blonde settled, sheets wrapped around his torso and waist -- wings still too sensitive to comfortably handle having blankets on them.
“Trust me, I’m absolutely in a state of panic right now, I just don't have the energy to show it.” Ryo laughed raspily, “And my body feels like I laid in traffic for a few hours. But,” He shoveled the rest of the beef and rice into his mouth, “There’s really nothing we can do about it now. As much as I can hear it gnawing in the back of my mind, crying about it won’t change anything.”
He thrust his bowl out for a second serving, blue eyes blazing. Akira, though thoroughly concerned at this behavior, quickly obliged.
“Complete demon possession is nearly instantaneous, and though I can only think of one other instance where I lost all inhibition--” He smirked, terribly satisfied with the scarlet blush that warmed Akira’s cheeks, “I can’t imagine that was the defining moment.”
His friend frowned. “But you said you didn’t think this was demonic.”
Ryo snorted. “Eat, it’ll keep your thoughts clear.”
Didn’t have to ask Akira twice, and the boy dug into his own food ravenously.
Ryo continued, cheek full of rice, and accentuated his words with his chopsticks.
“My father only studied demonic behavior. However, I’m no fool.” He looked up, locking icy eyes with warm ones, “Not all demons were born into hell. Satan, Lord of all demons, was once an archangel, did you know that?”
Akira shifted uneasily, lip slightly curled to reveal a fang.
“I think so.”
“Well, the bastard took all the angels he had turned against God with him to Hell when he was cast out of Heaven.” Ryo swallowed a thick cut of beef, eyes watering. “So, as there are still demons, there are angels that oppose them, theoretically.”
Akira grumbled a bit, not pleased in the slightest that there was another supernatural set of creatures he may have to worry about.
“So you think...an angel was present in Sabbath? Nothing God-fearing would step foot in a place like that, Ryo.” He shook his head, pouring some soy sauce onto his rice.
“Not necessarily. The bible has instances of angels dipping their feet into the flames of hell to provide relief to those who suffer." His friend went for a third helping, "However, I think the poor bastard tried to take on more than he could handle, personally.” Ryo scoffed, “Perhaps he went to stop me while I was having a grand old time eviscerating everything in sight.” His face drew up in a fox’s grin, startling his friend. “And got caught in the process.”
“Stuck? Like he fused and…?” Akira trailed off, utterly confused.
“I don't know. But obviously, something's happened, and I’m sure we’ll find out in time what it all means.” An odd excitement flooded Ryo’s voice, but even Akira could see through it for the stained glass it was.
Ryo was actually terrified. Permanent changes to one's body, ones as drastic, catastrophic even, as this...were not easily accepted. There was denial in those familiar blue eyes. There was a wide open fear of the ultimate compromise -- his very soul, his very consciousness -- the fear of the unknown.
Bitter thorns had grown so thick to protect what delicate and beautiful roses hid beneath the surface.
“...Take it easy, Ryo.” Akira murmured, setting down his bowl, “We can work through this. You’ve been sick for a week straight before all this started, so your health comes first.” He stared intently at his friend, voice low. “There’s no reason to ignore what your body needs right now.”
Ryo blinked, a little taken aback.
His shoulders slumped, and he glanced away.
“You’re right...I don’t wish to become like my father, Akira.” He whispered. “I loved the man dearly, but…”
Blue moon eyes glistened up at his friend.
“I love you more.” He drew closer, his bowl forgotten in the sheets as he crawled into Akira’s lap to be held, “I want you more than I want myself.” He murmured, relaxing as a familiar warmth swathed him, strong arms wrapped tenderly around his slender frame, hand to the back of his head, the other buried in the thick downy fluff between his shoulder blades.
They comforted each other for longer than time itself knew to count.
--
Ryo quickly grew limp in Akira’s arms as they snuggled deep under the covers of the guest bed, drooling as calloused fingers combed through silky hair. Where did dream and reality meet? Was it here, on the edge of consciousness?
--
Morning came, and with it, so did more down.
Ryo now sported two, very fluffy, mourning dove-grey wings, about a foot and a half long and wide. The down was thick, and no longer did the boy complain of cold or stiffness. Every so often they would unfurl a little, or beat lightly to ruffle up the feathers for more insulation. It was all instinct, and Ryo found it nigh impossible to control them on willpower alone. They kept themselves tightly furled for the most part.
He snuggled deeply into Akira’s breast, snuffling sleepily. Despite the night’s lingering fear, twisting like thin vines around his heart, he felt a sense of peace. Of hope.
Of love.
A smile slowly spread across his face, and he whuffed to himself, wings twitching every so often with a pleasant sensation as they were stroked by rough hands.
Quietly, he pulled himself up, sitting lightly on Akira’s hips, leaning over him, angel blue eyes fixed on his beloved’s sleeping features.
“Akira.” The ruddy hands slipped from his back, and fell to the boy’s sides. He snored softly.
“Akira…!” It was hushed excitement.
Tentatively, Ryo bounced a bit to try and wake his friend, his ribs already puffing with silent laughter.
The boy grumbled loudly, cracking open one eye. The other soon followed at the sight of Ryo staring down at him, absolutely glowing.
He frowned. Wait, no. No, that couldn’t be.
He hesitantly reached up a ruddy hand, eyes widening as the dark skin shone, reflecting the delicate light that emanated from Ryo’s cheek.
“Kiss me.” His friend whispered, eyes an impossible sky blue. His heart pounded. Pulsed. Burned away the dusty vines that clung.
He had woken up beside his Beloved. In the arms of the man he called Home. Nothing else mattered.
“Ryo, you’re...you’re--”
“Kiss me…!” He chirped, his entire body trembling under the cosmic weight of peace.
Starshine eyes were veiled by raven lashes as his lips were brought to Akira’s, a sensation unrivaled by even the sun bursting forth from its cold prison at dawn. The horizon of their mouths spanned the entire outline of where their bodies met, a stream of sparks filling the contours of their tender passion.
Ryo shook. He quaked as though buffeted with a divine wind, and it took every last ounce of his strength to keep his lips pressed to Akira’s.
There was a sudden shock that shot up his spine, ruffling every quill on his wings, bristling every last downy feather, and it spread like electricity from wingtip to wingtip. A mighty clapping sound was heard as they suddenly unfurled and stretched heavenwards, fanning out.
Akira jerked backwards, eyes flying open at what must have been a wingspan like an albatross, fully fledged primaries spread wide, shining a perfect flaxen gold, the same color as Ryo’s hair.
They powerfully beat once, stirring the air in the room, rattling the windows and knocking the calendar off of the wall.
The boy’s eyes were the dawn light, the sun mirroring them.
“I feel it, Akira.” He breathed, but it was more like a chorus of voices. “I feel it, I feel it all, Akira.”
“It really was--” The boy shivered, the air caught in his lungs.
“--an Angel.” Ryo finished. But the sun had pierced the heavens, and the horizon bled rainbows no more. The strain had taken too much a toll on the boy’s mortal body, and he fell, wings swiftly furling up and turning dull.
Akira was quick to catch him, still awestruck as he watched once golden feathers fade and turn a dusky rose, the first light before dawn. The fully fledged primaries were no longer, and in their place were thick-fuzzed, plump cherub wings.
Ryo curled instinctively above Akira, shivering. Calloused fingers soothed him, and the comforter was pulled carefully over his newborn wings.
--
Suffice to say, the rest of the day was spent quietly, and the boys explored one another’s bodies like curious children in a state of wonder.
First, after they had eaten a little to tide themselves over, they went to shower, the bathroom in a much better state after the horrible event -- Akira having cleaned it in a stress induced panic as Ryo rested the first day.
“Will getting them wet...hurt them?” Akira murmured, helping his friend into the tub, the boy’s knees still a bit weak.
“I don’t care. I feel disgusting, and I want to bathe.” Ryo laughed bitterly under his breath. “I know you did your best but…”
Akira shook his head. “I want to take care of you. Show me how.” Though it sounded calloused, it was pure devotion.
Ryo blinked, cheeks flushing.
Take care of…? What a domestic thing, a STUPID thing, to say. His heart trembled giddily.
--
They sat together in the bath, Akira’s hands more careful than when he had handled the baby bunnies they'd found. (Which had now turned into fat, healthy juvenile rabbits in the hutch at school.) He made sure not to brush the hidden quills roughly, and stroked down along the grain, pleased to see the water bead more than soak in.
“I’m no ornithologist--” Ryo caught the dumb look on Akira’s face, and crossed his fingers he’d understand it in context, “But I think birds stimulate oil release by preening the quills.” Hastily, he continued, “Please don’t take my word for it, it’s been a very long time since I studied animals.”
Akira laughed brashly.
“I only know about rabbits, honestly.” He admitted with a warm smile, leaning in to kiss behind Ryo’s ear, and felt velvet wings flutter against his chest as the boy blushed furiously. “If you had grown big ears and a bunny tail, I’d know what to do, but…” He chuckled as his friend rolled his eyes.
“...Honestly, I’m just worried they’ll be permanent, and keep growing.” Ryo turned back to face the faucet. “With Devilman, you can freely control having wings or not. But these don’t seem like they’ll pop in and out of existence any time soon.”
“Well, you do wear that bigass trench coat all the time.” Akira mused, tugging lightly on the wings to help stretch them out. They sharply folded back up as soon as he let go, however, and he watched as Ryo hunched his shoulders in melodramatic annoyance.
“...You’re not…wrong…” He slowly relaxed. “But if they get much bigger, it’ll be impossible to hide them.”
Though the reality should have upset him, it was if all emotion was drained from his body, the past few days compressing and concentrating them like a vice until all that remained were false memories.
“I’m sure it’ll work out, Ryo.” Akira stimmed his fingers through the thickest and fluffiest feathers along the boy’s upper spine. “They got all sorts of fuckin’ weird earlier, and now they’re all small again. Maybe they'll turn out just like mine.”
His friend only made a disheartened hum in reply.
--
For once, Ryo seemed more than ready to engage in wildly domestic endeavors, such as not obsessively looking for demons to hunt. Instead, he found himself content to plop down on their bed and be petted, two slits cut into his silk robe for his new wings to poke out of.
“Hey, since I have wings, too, I could try and teach you how to control yours.” Akira offered quietly, his earlier qualms lost to the sensation of being able to stroke this furry, warm bundle of feathers on Ryo’s back.
The boy made a dismal whuff in reply, closing his eyes. His body, though fully recovered, still ached with fatigue.
“...They’re kinda cute.” Akira grinned slowly, playing with the velvety wings, squeezing them gently.
“...Ugh.” Ryo groaned, casting an exhausted, yet baleful glare over his shoulder, “You get a fully formed demon body to control right off the bat, but I get some fuckwit angel that has to re-birth itself through my flesh or some bullshit first.”
“Do you think it could be…” Akira suddenly froze, mid rub, remembering how Ryo had mentioned Satan being an angel.
His friend lifted his head, and bluefire eyes bore into him. The dusky wings shuddered and flapped sharply once.
“Satan has no love in his heart. The king of all demons embodies the emptiness and the forsaking of all things good.” Ryo managed to pull himself up, though his body shook, “I may be a pessimist at times, but…”
He stared Akira dead in the eyes, chin held straight with quiet confidence.
“When I look at you, I feel nothing but love. Whether that makes my heart ache, or my eyes sting, or my chest glow and my face smile -- it’s love, unconditional love. And it’s the one thing demons cannot have.” His voice, though soft, rung out like chimes in the spring wind.
“This is no demon in my body. It longs for justice. It longs for peace.” Ryo leaned forward, hiding the smallest of smiles to himself as he nuzzled noses with a dumbstruck Akira, “It yearns for love. Your love, Akira.”
And the bell tolled.
And within the distant cathedral’s steeple rung out the chorus of hope. Of a promise. Of a union holy and invincible.
And the bell tolled true for Ryo’s fate.
A fate beside his Beloved.
And the bell tolled as they kissed, and with each kiss it rung louder, drowning out all doubt and fear from the night before.
And the bell tolled.
And it tolled for all eternity in their hearts.