Chapter Text
Dazai Osamu is the worst person to be partnered up with.
That is what Nakahara Chuuya would’ve said a few months ago. Before the conflict around the Book settled down and peace slowly but surely crawled back into a destroyed and divided Yokohama. Before rival organizations started picking up the scraps left behind by battle and sought to annihilate each other, driving the Port Mafia in a corner in the process and leaving Mori Ougai no other choice but to send his executives to show them who was in charge of the city’s underworld.
Before the infamous trade of employees happened between the Port Mafia and the Armed Detective Agency, exchanging Akutagawa Ryuunosuke with Yosano Akiko against her will.
Now he knew that a worse fate than teaming up with a deceptive and manipulate asshole who didn’t care for his partner existed: a partner who cared.
“I’m so sorry,” Yosano whispers for the umpteenth time as she holds Chuuya’s head back while he retches into the toilet. Nothing comes out except for some saliva; his stomach is empty after almost having drunk himself into oblivion and spent the last half hour on his knees bent over the toilet, emptying his stomach into the pot.
Finally, Chuuya physically feels exactly like he does inside: empty, broken and utter shit. Like too many pieces shattered and haphazardly glued back together so that not all fragments fit as well as they used to. Like something that is simply not supposed to be.
Arahabaki whispers dark allurements at the back of his mind, but Chuuya ignores the murmurs, muffled by the haze of alcohol clouding his consciousness.
“It’s not your fault,” Chuuya growls between two fits of dry heaving, his throat raw and burning from all the acid having spewed from his organs for the last thirty minutes. It really isn’t, he knows, but the knowledge doesn’t stop the feeling of resentment coiling in his gut. Chuuya knows who he should actually be blaming for his torment, yet it is so much easier to condemn the person who is closer to him, the person who is not actually fucking untouchable because he is Chuuya’s direct boss and the king reigning over Yokohama’s seedy underbelly.
Besides, this is entirely his own fault and he should shoulder the consequences of his actions.
“If I had stopped you sooner…” Yosano starts but Chuuya interrupts her with a wave of his hand.
“Boss would have found out later anyway, since we set the record the time before. The punishment would’ve been worse than this.”
The words of comfort sound empty to even Chuuya’s ears, because they both know there is no worse situation than the one they’re already stuck in. Hell would be a welcome relief.
Yosano says nothing as she grabs his arm, helping Chuuya shakily to his feet. A wave of dizziness assaults him as he does so, and he grasps the wooden doorframe for support.
Sometimes, Chuuya wonders how the hell the once so strong and unwavering doctor turned into such an empty shell of her former self.
“You can go back to your apartment. I’m fine now.”
Yosano looks like she wants to protest, because Chuuya is definitely not fine, but she nods eventually.
“If there’s a problem, you’re just one door away from my apartment,” Chuuya reassures her.
Yosano doesn’t call him out on his bluff. “Try to get some sleep,” she bids her farewell as she disappears from the room. Chuuya waits until he hears the telltale sound of the lock of his front door clicking shut, and then falls promptly back to his knees, exhausted. With the upcoming headache, Arahabaki’s whispers getting stronger again and the strain on his body, Chuuya knows he won’t get a wink of sleep tonight. He’ll be staring at the ceiling of his bedroom with dim blue eyes again, just like all the sleepless nights before that. He’ll get up in the morning, feeling just as exhausted as he was the night before, the mirror greeting him with a pale, grim face lined with deep blue bags underneath the tired eyes of a man who has seen too much of this world and just wants it all to end. Recently, Chuuya has ceased looking at mirrors, because the sight that greets him reminds him too much of how things were before, and of his own failing to crawl out of this hellhole when things escalated.
Sometimes, Chuuya wonders how the hell he ended up in this shit in the first place.
But the thing is, he remembers the inciting event as clear as if it happened only yesterday. So Chuuya recalls his own shortcomings day after day, a grim reminder serving as the sole reason he hasn’t yet made an end to his life himself.
This is the punishment for his failure, after all.
~ ~ ~
4 MONTHS AGO
Chuuya grunts in pain as his body slams right through the concrete wall of the abandoned warehouse. He lowers his gravity to make the impact of the fall less severe, but he nonetheless hears several ribs cracking as he lands with great force, rolling a few meters over the concrete before he grinds to a halt.
He’s always praised himself for being able to think quick on his feet during battles, when the pressure of a life-and-death situation hanging over his head would force him to swiftly change plans and tactics as unforeseen elements presented themselves.
Not this time, though.
Chuuya’s mind is sluggish, courtesy of an ability user affiliated with a rival organization which has grown to be the strongest among those competing against the Port Mafia. Mori had ordered Chuuya and an assault team to their hideout to weaken their ranks, perhaps even intimidate them enough so they would comply in signing an alliance with the Mafia – heavily in favor of the latter party, of course. But with Chuuya barely having any time to prepare the invasion so soon after he’d just rolled out of another one, he hadn’t had the time to go over all the files and double-check every ability user among their ranks.
You’re so fucking stupid, letting your ass be kicked like a foolish beginner.
Fighting through the dizziness, Chuuya gets up with difficulty, clutching his burning ribs in the process. Yes, they are definitely broken. But he’s had to fight under worse circumstances in the past, so damn him if he’s letting a few broken ribs keep him from winning this stupid fight.
The ability user who managed to catch him off guard and blast him through the wall steps through the Chuuya-sized hole in the concrete and whistles while taking in the damage. He runs his hand through his black, spiky hair.
“I didn’t expect the Mafia’s dog to be so easy to defeat,” the man taunts. “Everyone I talked to about you told me to run and hide the moment I caught sight of you. Seems like they were wrong, you’re quite an easy target.”
Anger courses through Chuuya’s veins. An easy target?
He’d let that asshole get a taste of just how fucking easy he could go on him while utterly destroying him.
Chuuya raises his hand to take control of the concrete boulders’ gravity when a new wave of nausea assaults him. He curses, staggering back while holding his pounding head in his hands.
“Don’t let him get away, Arima.” A woman with long, black wavy hair emerges from the other side of the warehouse, her arm stretched out in the effort to keep control of Chuuya. “They’re already regrouping.”
So she’s the damn nuisance.
If Chuuya wants his chances of winning this battle to multiply significantly, he’ll need to take her out first so he can take on the man with even stakes. But her words make him pause. They’re already regrouping. Surely, she can’t mean…
And then it hits him. It’s obvious, really. If his mind wasn’t clouded by that damned woman’s ability he’d have seen right through it in a mere moment. They’re trying to keep him away from the assault team, so his subordinates will be lost without their leader and easy to take on and defeat. A simple tactic, but extremely effective. Chuuya has used it countless times in the past to overpower rival organizations. And now it’s being used against him.
Damn it, I need to get back my team.
But as long as he’s stuck between these two ability users, the prospects of that happening are low, so Chuuya opts for a more easy option. He activates his ear piece and connects to Hasegawa, the assault team’s vice leader and the one directly beneath Chuuya.
“Hasegawa, how’s the situation on your side?”
The ear piece’s speaker creaks when Hasegawa establishes the connection to reply. “Chuuya-san. We’re outnumbered here, and I’m not sure how many ability users are hiding among their ranks.” She pauses. “I’ll try to hold the situation, Chuuya-san, but I don’t know–”
The sounds of a machine gun echo through the ear piece. Chuuya hears screaming as one side opens fire. The noise swells as the other side joins in the gunfire, creating a cacophony of massacre and bloodshed. Then a rumbling resonates as if the earth itself is being split open, and the commotion quietens.
“Oi, Hasegawa! What the hell is happening over there?” Chuuya yells into the earpiece, loud enough for his two opponents to hear. No answer comes and the connection dies. Dread coils restlessly in Chuuya’s gut.
“My, my, you really came here totally unprepared, didn’t you?” the woman mocks. She bares her teeth into a devilish smirk. “If I’d known the Mafia underestimates its opponents this much, I’d have taken you on way earlier. Striking an alliance with our fellow organizations to crush you scum was merely the logical choice. Strength lies in numbers, after all.”
The dread makes place for rage and Chuuya curls his lips into an equal wicked grin in response. “You bastards, trying to take us out on an uneven playing field.”
“If you can’t win the game, one has to change the rules. Fair play doesn’t exist in the underworld.”
She’s right, Chuuya thinks as he forces himself through the dizziness and fully unleashes For the Tainted Sorrow upon his opponents. His head feels like it’s been split open, pounding like crazy and banging like a fucking jackhammer at the back of his skull, but Chuuya ignores the sensation. He recalls the agony he’s gone through in the past, and reminds himself he needs to pull through if he wants any chance at all to survive this encounter.
Through the ground underneath his feet, Chuuya extends his awareness to the rubble surrounding him and alters its gravity to make it float around him. Stones groan and creak as they speed towards the ability users.
The woman yelps as her ability loses control of its target, and not a second later she’s hurled to the ground as the stone slams right into her stomach. Bloody splatters and ruptured pieces of organs scatter in the air, painting the gray concrete a vibrant shade of crimson as they land. The strain on Chuuya’s head lifts as the woman’s gray eyes stare unseeingly at the bleak, cloudy sky. At the back of his mind, Arahabaki screams and wails in joy at the sight.
But even with Chuuya’s renewed energy, the male ability user, Arima, is not that easy to defeat. He screams and howls like a wild animal when he witnesses the woman’s unmoving form, and lets his full power loose.
What happens next is a sight to behold.
Gravity clashes against pure strength as the two powers battle for dominance. The air pulses and vibrates with the collision, creating shockwaves that blow away any loose objects in a diameter of about ten meters around the two of them. At the core of the two skills uniting, the air is painted with a violet light as the onset of a singularity starts to materialize. Arahabaki roars with anticipation, readying itself to break free from Chuuya’s control and wreak havoc onto the world.
The sight of the light is enough for Chuuya to realize he won’t win this round on Tainted alone. Not when he’s evenly matched with his opponent blinded by rage, strengthening his skill above its normal level. And Chuuya needs to end this farce as quickly as possible if he wants to reach his subordinates in time. If they’re still alive…
Chuuya negates For the Tainted Sorrow (Arahabaki cries in disappointment at the turn of events), utilizing the momentum of the other skill user’s power coming his way to fly into the air and change his position. He lowers his body’s gravity to float towards his opponent at top speed, who is still dazed from the sudden change of plans. The man is clever enough to raise his arm, bolstered by his skill, when Chuuya swings one of his legs towards him in a sideways kick.
As Chuuya’s gravity-enhanced foot connects with Arima’s arm, the redhead uses the momentary distraction to plant his fist into the man’s stomach. The ability user grunts and keels over at the impact, somersaulting into the air. He rolls over when he lands back onto the ground with a loud thud, ending up with one leg firmly planted onto the ground in a kneeling position and his arms protectively wrapped around his wounded stomach.
“You… you bastard…,” Arima groans, spitting out a clump of blood.
Chuuya grins. “Who said something about an easy target? Looks like the party has only just begun.”
His opponent gets back on his feet and charges towards Chuuya. The next moments are a clutter of movements as the two of them engage in a deadly dance, Chuuya setting the rhythm and Arima following his lead. Chuuya raises his knee and arches his lower leg in a forward kick. His opponent catches his foot, pulling Chuuya forward. The redhead uses the momentum to twirl around and Arima follows, his feet involuntarily moving forward as he’s pulled along by Chuuya. Chuuya’s foot is released and he extends his fist to hit his opponent. Arima dodges, crossing his arms to cushion the impact of the punch, but Chuuya instantly changes tactics. He opens his enclosed fist, grabbing Arima’s arms who are oh-so-invitingly on the defense for Chuuya’s next move, and throws the man over his shoulder onto the ground.
The sound of bones being crushed follows Arima’s fall, and the man moans in pain. Chuuya doesn’t waste a second and plants his foot firmly on the other man’s body, increasing its gravity a tenfold to keep him pinned to the ground. The concrete cracks and fissures upon impact, mixing with the sounds of his opponent’s broken body and screams of agony.
“How about you don’t underestimate me too, next time?” Chuuya growls. “This is what you get for crossing the Port Mafia: retaliation returned a hundredfold for being foolish enough to try and pick a fight with the big dogs.”
Arima starts to laugh at Chuuya’s words, a high cackling sound only interrupted by the blood spewing from his mouth. “This fight isn’t over, Mafia dog. If I were you, I’d check up on your friends first.”
Chuuya curses and forces the man’s gravity even deeper into the concrete. Arima’s eyes roll over and he gasps. A second later and his breathing stills.
“This fight is over, you fucking asshole,” Chuuya snarls to no one but himself as he throws a last glance at Arima before taking off at top speed towards where his subordinates are located. He ducks inside the warehouse where he’d been blown through earlier and crosses the inside. The building is empty, save for a few empty crates left behind by the previous owner stacked against the far wall. Chuuya reaches the wide, open doors of the warehouse and is about to step through the exit when he abruptly stops in his tracks.
The sight that greets him upon his arrival is disastrous to say the least.
The remainder of Chuuya’s subordinates – perhaps one third of the original number – are all on their knees, hands tied behind their backs and faces turned towards the ground. Guns are aimed towards their heads. The rest of the assault team lies scattered across the square, blood flowing from the bullet holes piercing their skin. Some even look like they’ve been swallowed by the earth itself, the ground having split into two as only their upper body sticks in awkward angles from the surface. Torn limbs and fractured body parts decorate the scene.
Hasegawa is at the front of the kneeling Port Mafia team, the only one whose head is not turned to the ground. Even with the gun firmly planted on top of her head, her vibrant green eyes remain firm and determined. Her gaze meets Chuuya’s, and she purses her lips, silently pleading for him to leave them and get away from the scene. They’re clearly outnumbered, and there’s no chance of winning without Chuuya suffering life-threatening injuries, not with the ability users hiding among the enemy’s ranks unaccounted for.
“Port Mafia Executive Nakahara Chuuya,” the man aiming the gun at Hasegawa shouts. “If you want your precious subordinates to see the light of day again, you know what to do.”
Yes, you know what to do, Arahabaki supplies. Just open the gate a little so I can wipe them out for you. I won’t even have to harm those other humans you cherish so much.
Shut the fuck up, you beast, Chuuya hollers in his mind. It is enough to silence and drown out the treacherous words of the God of Calamity.
Chuuya curses under his breath. Seems like his opponents have done their homework well, because there is one fatal weakness the powerful Mafia Executive can and will succumb to: Chuuya can’t simply leave his subordinates to die when there’s even the teeniest chance of saving them.
Hasegawa has a family, his brain supports as blue eyes sweep over his lieutenant’s form. He scans the rest of the team. Chuuya knows them all by name, has laughed with them at after-work gathering and clasped them on their backs while declaring them he’ll ensure their safety as long as they are under his command.
The decision had been firmly implanted into his mind the moment he set foot into this square, and once again the choice was never really a damn choice at all. He knows what to do.
So Chuuya does the stupidest thing a Mafia Executive can do in the face of danger, an action he will later curse to hell and back again as the consequences of that moment spit back into his face. Later, he’ll be replaying the memory over and over again in his head, trying to find a weakness in the opponent’s ranks, an opening for him to act on, anything at all. But he knows he’d have made the same decision if given the choice again, so he curses his own weakness for caring so much about the lives of the people put into his care instead.
Nakahara Chuuya sinks to his knees, gloved hands held up into the air, and surrenders.
~ ~ ~
“I hope you realize just how much you messed up,” Mori Ougai’s accusing voice penetrates the oppressive silence of his office on the upper floor of the Mafia’s headquarters.
Chuuya doesn’t reply, because he knows gracing the Boss with an answer now will do him more harm than good. Not that there’s anything he can offer in his defense, anyway.
Mori starts pacing frantically in front of his desk, passing by Chuuya’s kneeling form time and again in agitation. “I sent you to those punks to force them into submission, and what you come offering me instead is a forced alliance on their terms.” He slams a bundle of documents onto his desk
“What good is your trump card if you can’t even make use of it.” Chuuya flinches at the harsh words. “If only Dazai-kun were still by my side. He would have quelled the dissent among those squabbling dogs in an instant, instead of offering them his head on a silver platter.”
Although Chuuya knows the Boss is prone to refer to his traitorous ex-partner when he’s angry, the words still hurt. It seems like Mori dismissing Chuuya’s hard work over the years with a mere flick of his wrist, ignoring the effort he put into making sure he deserved the Executive’s seat, the hours he spent pouring over books trying to master the intricacies of the art of war, math, accounting and physics. And it serves as a grim reminder of how Chuuya will never be at the same level as that bandage-wasting asshole, no matter how hard he tries.
“It won’t happen again, sir.” The words sound empty to Chuuya’s ears, but he doesn’t know what else to say. Of course it won’t happen again, because if it does, Chuuya’s body will be rotting in a seedy alley, shattered jaw biting the curb and three bullets through his chest.
Mori comes to a standstill and sighs. “Luckily for you, I have the optimal solution to ensure your potential can be used to its full again, Chuuya-kun. The Armed Detective Agency still has to repay its favor to us, after all.” The Boss’ purple eyes dance with mirth and a madman’s smile adorns his face.
A shiver runs up Chuuya’s back. Surely, the Boss can’t mean he’ll swap one of their members for Dazai, right? Chuuya would rather die than partner up again with that scheming waste of space, period.
“Send a message to Fukuzawa-dono that I want to meet up with his Agency to discuss the details of the member transfer, preferably before the week is over.” Mori advances until he’s right in front of Chuuya, and lays a hand on his Executive’s shoulder.
“And tell them that I want to exchange for no one but Yosano Akiko, or the deal is off the table and the Mafia and Agency will become public enemies.”
Chuuya stares at his superior in disbelief. Wasn’t he gushing about wanting to have his precious Dazai back just moments ago? So why the doctor? But as long as it isn’t Dazai, it can’t be that bad… right?
Things with Mori Ougai, however, are never that easy. And Chuuya would soon be witness to the birth of Yokohama’s most destructive duo partnered up so far:
The Angel of Death and the Beast of the Black Flames.