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In her dream, she was sinking. Sinking through sludge-like darkness, a darkness that wasn’t just an absence of light. It had its own physical form, curling beneath her fingers and looping around her neck and chest, suffocating her. It enveloped her entire being, bleeding into her eyes and into her nose and mouth, becoming the very breath that she inhaled.
It was a toxic substance that drowned her in pain and sadness, and yet she couldn’t bear to leave it. A part of her was satisfied with living in the darkness, with never seeing the light again. She was peaceful here, content with the concept of death and of dying. To a god, death was no big deal. Suffocation was not the worst way to go. Besides, when she reincarnated, she wouldn’t have any memory of it, anyways. All the pain would be gone.
An estranged memory that had passed so, so very long ago came back to her. The first time that she had felt physical pain, it had been in the midst of a fight with her first phantom. She’d still been a fairly new god, having only just taken up the task of granting wishes outside of wars.
Humans could never hurt her, so she had never been injured in human conflict, either. The only things that could only ever harm her were phantoms and Regalia- she knew that, and yet she charged into the fight without much preparation.
She killed the phantom, a tiger-shaped thing, and had gotten corrupted in the process, the blight appearing as angry blotches on her arm.
It’d stung to the point of tears- tears that made her burn hot with shame at the fact that she was a war god but had struggled so badly against what was basically fodder.
Her exemplar at that time had smiled, poured holy water over the blight, kissed the sensitive injury, and whispered in a sing-songy voice, Pain, pain, go away!
The memory was like a dim light in the huge expanse of swirling darkness. How she wished she could be given that type of reprieve, just once more in her life.
Pain, please, go away.
She thought that maybe if she slept there forever, she would have forgotten the hurt. She would have forgotten why she hurt, how she hurt, the extent of her hurt. Without memories, even such an emotion such as “hurt” could not be quantified. It would merely just cease to exist.
Without memories…
A fact that had stayed with her ever since her birth as the god Vaisravana surfaced- a clear idea in the midst of her blurred thinking.
When a god reincarnates, they lose their memories. They lose their memories.
She broke out of the dream all too easily, sitting up smoothly. For the first morning in forever, she possessed a clarity that she thought she had lost along with the Ma clan. For the first morning in forever, she woke up without screaming and without crying. She had a goal in mind- a new purpose, if you will.
Everything bad would disappear if she just died.
…
The only problem was him. He creaked open her door and asked in a tentative voice, “Bishamon-sama? Are you awake?”
Kazuma, her only remaining Shinki. The only thing she had that tethered her to the world. Usually she didn’t even speak a word to him, accepting the food that he offered just to appease him, yet leaving it completely untouched after he left.
Before, he was satisfied that she was at least awake and responding to his voice. Now, he was becoming a little more assertive.
“You must eat, master.”
This morning, he refused to leave, even after she accepted the meal. Her eyes flickered to his hands, where his fingers were crudely bandaged. Her conscience encouraged her to be appreciative that he had gone to such lengths for her. He had gotten hurt trying to make her a meal.
Yet the message was lost in translation, blotted out by the gloom in her heart before it could reach her brain. She was, as a result, thankless. Wordlessly, she turned away from him and laid back down.
She was so, so tired.
If she refused to eat, refused to drink, surely she would die.
No, the remaining threads of logic within her reminded her, you’re a god. Gods don’t die from starvation or dehydration.
She was a god. The only things that could hurt her… Were phantoms and Regalia.
Rolling around to face Kazuma, who still kneeled there expectantly, she went through her options in her head. Kazuma had gone to such lengths to save her once already. If he knew of her thoughts, he would be appalled. The only option was the phantoms.
A million thoughts ran through her head, all of them ending in failure. She was a god of war. Tactics were her specialty.
But trying to make tactics with a tumult-filled brain was unfortunately not .
She couldn’t think of anything good enough, a surefire way to die at the hands of phantoms. Well in general, she couldn’t conjure any thought worth consideration.
The darkness fogged her brain, sitting in her mind like a swamp that sat, taking up space. It was suggestive, but none of its ideas were particularly intelligent.
End it, it whispered. Gods can die at the hands of other gods, too.
That was true. But Kazuma would never let her beg for her death. If he had even the smallest suspicion that she planned to die, he would probably nip it in the bud.
He would never kill her, either, even if she ordered it of him.
Use Choki. He cannot refuse if you call his name.
That was a despicable idea. She buried her face in her blankets, trying to smother herself. She didn’t want to think anymore. Every second that she lived, she was confronted with the aching hole that her dead Regalia made up. The aching hole that shouldn’t have ever existed, because she was supposed to die with them.
Their deaths were your fault. You never showed them enough attention. The darkness hissed, You got in over your head, thinking that you could bear the burden of so many Regalia just because you’re a war god.
She didn’t want these thoughts. She didn’t want these memories.
A god could only be killed by phantoms and Regalia? Where was the proof? It’s not like a god had ever tried to commit suicide, either. How could they know if it was true or not without even trying?
A crazed desperation filled her, filling her vision with red. She lashed out, grabbing the bowl of porridge that Kazuma had prepared for her. The heat burned her fingers, but it wasn’t enough distraction. She slammed the bowl on the ground, cracking it in half.
“Bishamon-sama?” Kazuma exclaimed, grabbing the bowl out of her hands. He winced as he cut himself on its sharp edges, “What are you doing, master?”
He drew away from her, hiding the bowl behind his back. She heaved angry, frustrated breaths, the dryness in her throat making her rasp. She must’ve looked crazed. She was crazed- obsessed with the idea of being hurt. Because if she could hurt herself, maybe she could kill herself, too.
Kazuma wasn’t stinging her, but his panic was affecting her, too. Granted, it was her fault for trying something so drastic, but it was impossible to act upon logic. Instead, she gave up on the whole act of trying.
She slumped back in bed, ignoring that Kazuma was hurt and ignoring that her burned fingers were already back to normal.
Behind her, she heard rustling as Kazuma shuffled around on his knees, picking up her tray of breakfast and saying, as if nothing had happened, “Your breakfast has been ruined, master. I’ll be back with another meal immediately.”
How terribly devoted he was, and to a lost cause, at that.
She didn’t deserve him, and he deserved better. He deserved a version of herself not tormented by grief. He deserved a version of herself who wouldn’t hurt him trying to self-destruct.
The next meal that he brought in, she ate it all, as an apology. She had to admit that the food was well-made, rivaling the cooking that she’d had when the Ma clan was still alive. He’d worked hard.
Kazuma hid his hand the entire time, only showing it when he reached out to stack the bowls after she was done eating. As he started to withdraw, she acted without really thinking, grasping his wrist and staring with blank eyes.
Even more bandages had been crudely wrapped around his new injury. Injury that she caused.
You only cause pain. Hurry up and disappear, the darkness urged, trying to fill her mind.
She smiled sadly, acknowledging this truth. Acknowledging that Kazuma would be better off without her and her self-destructive tendencies.
Her first ever exemplar had treated her blight with a smile, holy water, a kiss, and a phrase.
Pain, pain, go away!
She couldn’t will a smile on her face, and holy water wasn’t required for Kazuma’s injuries. So instead, she skipped the first two steps and merely kissed his bandaged fingers gently, whispering in a voice that had not been used for far too long, “I’m sorry.”
He had stiffened and reddened at the intimacy of the contact, but beneath it all, he must’ve been confused as to why she was suddenly showing so much care.
It would never make up for the pain she’d brought him, but she was trying to apologize before saying farewell, so that perhaps she might not leave him with painful memories of his own.
How ironic and hypocritical.
…
The next day, she pretended to fall asleep after eating her breakfast, because Kazuma only left if she was asleep. It made sense. The only thing she’d been doing for weeks now was sleeping.
If she was asleep, he couldn’t imagine that she’d do anything life threatening.
As soon as she heard him leave and felt the lack of his presence, she got up. It took almost all her focus to even push herself to her knees. Now that she was actually putting her wish into action, she was feeling terribly lethargic.
Getting to her feet, she swayed shakily, realizing just how heavily the lack of eating had affected her. She had starved herself and not died, yet she still had to suffer consequences.
What was the point of being a god if she was so fragile? What was the point of gods if they were not infallible?
She struggled to the screen door leading outside into the forest, slipping on her sandals. Despite her exhaustion, it was not lost upon her that the manor was in pristine condition. Her sandals had been dusted off, polished, and placed neatly on the stone step.
Kazuma’s devotion was a beautiful and ugly thing. It was beautiful because it was unwavering, unquestioning- forever. It was ugly, because she didn’t deserve it. It was ugly because it was devoted towards a god like her.
A god who would amount to nothing.
She wished she could have thanked Kazuma, because that was the least he was owed. She should’ve thanked him for the food, for the care, for putting up with her selfishness. And she should’ve apologized, because all this time, he was working for nothing. His efforts to keep her alive and well would amount to nothing.
She should’ve taken the time to apologize and assure him that it wasn’t his fault. That she still wanted him after reincarnating.
Stumbling into the dark bamboo thicket behind the manor, she continued walking aimlessly for what seemed like hours. She could have sworn that many phantoms lived in this forest and hunted no matter the time of day. Her scent was appealing to them- they should’ve noticed her already.
The weakness in her legs got to her, and she allowed herself a moment to rest. Getting killed was supposed to have been easy. She was a god, so why did it seem like she wasn’t in control? Why did it seem like the universe was working against her?
When did she get the feeling that maybe nothing was worth it? Dying, living, reincarnating- none of it was worth anything. There was no meaning to it, there was no rhyme or reason. She questioned the point in dying, and she questioned the point in living.
She lived for the sake of humans, she died for the sake of humans. She reincarnated because these humans revered her.
Was the universe denying her the right to be selfish? The right to live for herself, to die for herself, and to reincarnate for herself?
These were meaningless questions- rhetorical in nature. She didn’t expect any answer. She didn’t want one, not really. She’d spent days bottling what she felt, because she didn’t think her thoughts would be approved of.
And she was so tired.
At this point, she was less affected by the fact that her Regalia died, and more because she felt an overwhelming inadequacy. Everything stemmed from the death of her clan, of course. Because she let them die, she was inadequate. Because she was inadequate, she didn’t want to exist anymore. At least not as this version, at least not with these memories. These cursed memories.
“Smells good…”
Finally.
She looked up, a relieved smile on her face as she stared up at the horde of phantoms before her. Some took the shape of crows, some as beasts- the point is, they surrounded her. The darkness that was settled and rooted deep within her was elated. This was her wish come true.
So then why?
Why did a part of her remember the times that she’d had with her former Regalia? Why did she remember the parts where they were alive when they were now dead? Why did she think so fondly of the life she shared with them?
She’d thought long and hard about this day, about this very moment. To have regrets was… stupid.
“Bishamon-sama!”
And why was she hearing Kazuma’s voice, calling out to her as if trying desperately to tether her back to this world?
“Master!”
It took her a minute to realize that she wasn’t merely imagining his voice as a form of impulse control. No, he was actually there, running towards her fearlessly. Finding a gap in the horde of phantoms, he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her out of the way right as they dove towards the spot that she had been standing, tearing at flesh that wasn’t there.
“Run!” Kazuma hollered, dragging her after him, imploring her not to look back. As he ran, he formed a plan, “We need to get to sunlight! These phantoms are accustomed to the dark, so they’re sensitive to the light!”
She could barely fathom what his point was. He was trying to… survive?
He ran with purpose, she ran on autopilot. At some point, she’d stopped thinking about why she was running, somewhat content with just following Kazuma. The gravity of their situation was lost on her- she was more focused on how, with his back to her, he seemed just a little stronger than she remembered. A little sturdier.
How was he so motivated to live? He was already dead, so how was he so ready to struggle to survive?
“Left, here!” He yelled out directions to her, pivoting sharply and continuing to pull her along. She could see where he was trying to lead her. They were heading back to the manor, where the bamboo thinned out and allowed light in.
She dared to look back. They wouldn’t make it. The phantoms were right on their heels. This was just as well, though.
“Bishamon-sama!” Kazuma yelled, voice reaching her through her haze, “I don’t know what you were trying to do. I can only guess. But the Ma clan would not have wanted you to forget about them! Dying… Reincarnating isn’t the way to honor their memory!” His voice quavered as he shouted, his grip on her tightening imperceptibly.
“What…” his grip was becoming almost a little painful, “What would I have done? I… For your sake, I-”
He was crying.
At that moment, she couldn’t focus on anything other than that fact- he was crying.
He was crying, just as she’d cried the first time she felt pain. Because she’d thought she’d done poorly. Because she thought she was inadequate. Just like now. His tears were the same. His tears were because he felt inadequate.
God, she hated herself.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice coming out rough and rasped (especially not helped by the fact that they were still running for their lives). She’d been so focused on ending it all that she forgot how Kazuma might feel. She automatically thought that he’d hate her, which she was fine with. She deserved as much for being the failure of a master that she was. But to think that her actions would cause him to think negatively of himself? Unthinkable. He was perfect, in every way.
Yet if she died…
If she died, he’d blame himself. If she died, she’d forget him. If she died, he’d bear the burden alone.
God, what was wrong with her?
She’d been thinking of escaping this pain of hers, just to pile it on Kazuma? If she was reincarnated and remembered nothing, how could she have the audacity to face him again? If she escaped her own pain and left him to deal with his unresolved trauma on his own…
She'd be no better than trash.
He was the only one who could relate to her troubles. He was the only one who would've understood if she confided in him. He was readily available at all times for her, and yet she'd pushed him away.
She was supposed to protect him, not the other way around. She was the god, he was the human (though it could be argued that she was entirely powerless without him).
“I’m sorry,” she repeated, her own eyes filling with tears. “I want to live,” she cried out at the same time that her legs gave out. Her hand slipped out of his, and he only had a split second to turn around, shock registering on his face a beat later.
She wanted to live. What a strange realization. After weeks of darkness, suffocating darkness, festering in the reaches of her consciousness, to declare that she wanted to live on was…
Astounding.
Yet because of her own foolishness, she’d probably die. She waited for the decisive blow that would end her life. She waited for the reincarnation she had longed for, yet now loathed.
The darkness swarmed her, now acting as an anesthetic for her fears, numbing her emotions, resigning her to the pain of death.
His voice cut through the haze like a beam of light in the dark forest:
“In the sake cup
Can be seen a light serene,
So have no fear:
I would have you know no dust
Can ever cloud this shining.”
She vaguely recognized it. It was a harmless song meant to produce light, not commonly used by Regalia because it was considered a useless means of defense. She cracked one eye open, staring in Kazuma’s direction. His song had ushered forth a burst of sunlight from out of nowhere, so blinding and bright that she had to squint. The phantoms screeched in pain, turning tail to flee.
Kazuma was so out of breath that she half expected him to fall to his knees where he stood, adrenaline leaving him. Instead, he rushed to her side and hugged her to him, taking in shuddering breaths.
“Master,” he croaked, letting out a relieved laugh devoid of any humor, “I had no idea if that would work.” He buried his head in the crook of her neck. “Thank heaven it worked,” he sounded so terribly relieved.
There was no one to utter a counter-song, and no need, so the light continued to pour in on them. Light settled around the hair on his head, like a halo. How fitting for a god to be saved by an angel.
“I’m sorry, Kazuma,” she slumped against him, “I wanted to die.”
He gave her an exasperated look that told her that he’d figured that out by now. She couldn’t help her giggle, finding it humorous that he didn’t want his intelligence to be underestimated.
His gaze turned serious, “I know…” he hesitated, “I know that I’m a mere nail. I cannot even draw a borderline, and yet I am the only remaining Regalia that you have. I know that my powers are inadequate, and that your pain is plentiful. I understand… why you’d want to die,” the words caused him pain, tears trailing down his cheeks.
She said nothing, so he continued, “But selfishly, disregarding what you want or don’t want, I desperately want you to live. If you reincarnated and asked me who I was… if I had to live with the knowledge of the massacre myself…”
He looked like he would be sick.
Continuing in a fervor, his voice rose as he began lecturing her, “I wish you wouldn’t forsake your life. I wish you wouldn’t think so lightly about something like death and rebirth. You’re guaranteed a reincarnation, yes, but you will be gone. You think that it’s all one and the same. That living and reincarnating are equivalent, and that there’s no difference between this life and the next. But memories are what define us, in the first place. Without your memories, you'd be a whole different god. Your death is not something to be overlooked. Death is the end. And like humans, you only ever get one chance at being the person that you are.”
“ Cherish yourself ,” he pleaded, gripping her hands in his and pressing his lips against them gently. “Please. You only have this lifetime.”
She nodded slowly, her cold heart warming after hearing his words. She could never apologize enough, but still, “I’m sorry for being such a coward. You’re right, I wanted to reincarnate to lose these memories. But when I was actually about to die,” a sob wracked her, “I found that I couldn’t let go of them enough to be content with death. They were my beautiful, beautiful children. I let them die, but at the very least, I must keep their memory alive.”
And besides, kneeling before her was a physical, living reminder of her family.
Kazuma was all she needed. An embodiment of her will to live, of her will to protect. He was her new purpose, her goal, if you will.
With that thought, the darkness fled from her, leaving her body, her mind, her heart- leaving them aching, throbbing, shaking.
“Kazuma,” she sobbed, the tears that she’d bottled up releasing like a dug-up spring, “You’re the only one I need,” she cried, hands grasping at him as if she was a child throwing a tantrum. “Take me home.”
He lifted her into his arms, bridal-style, “Yes, Bishamon-sama.”
…
Healing is an ugly, ugly process.
Acknowledging that you need healing is ugly. Acknowledging that you need to swallow your pride and stubbornness is ugly. Acknowledging that you aren’t in the right state of mind is ugly.
There were days upon days of ugly sobbing, of releasing her pent up sadness. Kazuma sat through it all, his mere presence a huge comfort to her. The sparing, affection-filled looks that he gave her filled her with warmth, promising change.
She would heal, she swore it. If not for herself, then for him.
Gods were created out of the wishes of humans- thus, they were inherently made to serve the needs of humans. Humans worshipped them, gods returned the favor. If Kazuma wished for her to live, she would do so, because right now, he was her most devout follower.
She was so, so close. Years passed, and Kazuma had finally learned to use a borderline. She began naming Regalia, she began granting wishes- she was on the brink of being okay again.
Then she heard his name, dropped from another rumor that circled its way around town and back to her. Yatogami.
The evil god of calamity who had destroyed her family, destroyed her life, destroyed her . He was alive and well, wreaking havoc and taking pleasure in it.
Rage filled her, taking over her contentment. She had quite nearly forgotten about the Yatogami and would have been happy to never cross paths with him again. However, she was Bishamon, the war god. Pursuer of justice and whatnot.
Complacency was beneath her.
“It was his fault,” she ground her teeth together, anger coursing through her veins. Kazuma’s attempts to calm her down did no good, “He killed my family, and he’ll continue to kill if we don’t stop him.”
Kazuma’s face fell, and her anger was amplified, “Kazuma, don’t tell me that you are siding with that bastard?”
“No, Veena,” he dropped his head, “I’m on your side.”
If she weren’t drunk on anger, if she were sober, she might’ve noticed the guilt that clouded his eyes. She might’ve noticed that he disapproved. She might’ve continued on the right path.
But alas, when a war god dedicates their lifetime to taking vengeance, it is not so easy to change their mind.
They learned that the hard way.