Archive of Our Own ^beta

A foreboding countdown’s ticking looms over his young years.

Out of all his brothers and sisters, Tengen is far from the oldest. Right in the middle as fifth born among his brothers but among his six sisters, only two being younger than him. Father wants an army- preferably one consisted solely of men- to revive their shinobi clan in an era that has long forsaken them; he can hardly count in his two hands the times he saw his mothers without baby bumps or painfully swollen bellies. Though he can easily do it in one for the times they were smiling genuinely.

With so many siblings before him, he’s been close witness to what happens when the soulmate marks manifest in their family.

Whenever one of them survives long enough to hit a certain age, the air becomes heavy with another kind of dread. Father starts reciting the same inquiry each day, eyes scrutinizing their every cell, prowling as if his own children are targets. His brothers come back to the house with a flush of humiliation and lowered gazes after the body inspection, his sisters with clenched jaws and red rimmed eyes.

In the world under the sun, soulmates are a blessing, a goal to achieve; civilians, including small kids, are common to show the names of their destined ones written beautifully on their skin, showcasing them to each other.

Their family does not belong in that world; surrounded in nothing but shadows and blood, the soulmark is their first step into becoming what they are aspired to be.

Their first challenge.

Their first enemy.

No one knows exactly when they make themselves known in your skin, beyond assumptions and superstitions. They are whimsical and playful. For them, they are nothing less than unpredictable, taunting. Something to wait for with batted breath; a trial of life and death.

The longer it takes, the better. If it doesn’t mark their skin at all, lives are saved, something not associated with their name and duty.

At night, those marks glow and in their world of darkness, it’s a pure ray of celestial light. Tengen used to liken it to a star, born out of nothing whimsically and guiding; but their patriarch saw it as a beacon of disaster. Something that paints misfortune upon their clan.

Flamboyant and divine. Unafraid to be seen. They say that after that initial firework, one’s mark becomes a compass that leads your hand to your destined one by core, magnetic instinct, something hypnotic.

It’s a glow so radiant that the first time Tengen saw it, he was mesmerized but the small beacon of light on his elder brother’s skin, like a star blooming inside him. He is sure he could hear the glow if he were focusing- hear the light!- he laughs merrily at the pleasant melody in his ears- its slow notes begging for the chance to become a song.

However, it will never get the chance and be warmed by it; the following day of lighting up with the hope, his marked sibling is out of the door to extinguish themselves, farewelled by cruel, merciless words that won’t beget failure.

‘Do what is right for the clan.’

‘Yes, Father.’ The automatic response, eyes low, heart frantic and shattering like glass.

Of course, nothing is more sacred than their family and persevering their endangered traditions. Not even fate itself; they refuse to die after decades of crawling and then reject the gifts they receive, calling them nothing more than a wasteful weigh on their backs.

Soulmates never amounted for more than a weakness to be exploited, an unpredictable, circumstantial factor to be eliminated.

It isn’t difficult to understand, childhood innocence is another nonexistent concept in their clan. From their first cry away from their mothers, their first word being something benign and lacking the affectionate, nurturing praise of a parent. The best they could do was a curt nod from Father.

Tengen’s reality consisted of his eldest brother coming home with a part of himself murdered and buried unceremoniously, one he will now never know beside their name engraved on his skin, signature of a mission accomplished, notes silenced before they can speak their truth. The mark doesn’t completely fade, but the ink spills to a miserable stain that only the owner will know the truth of.

No time to grieve. Crying is forbidden, another weakness but his hearing becomes haunted by the muffled pained sounds of his brother and the bond wilts before it gets to bloom.

He swears he can hear the rotting of the skin where the name of his brother’s bond once was. In its place on the killer’s skin is left a grave of dark symbols that will stain like ink on paper.

One by one, they move down the line. Only his third eldest brother is lucky enough when his soulmate is one of his future wives. But even the blessed in their family don’t remain so for long. The woman is a kunoichi and their lot in their clan are plain fodder, replaceable cheap weapons to be used until stretched thin.

So many severed bonds, so much bloodshed and ruin, under the name of ‘righteousness’ and ‘duty’.

Of ‘family’.

Amidst rot and muffled cries and pained bitten grunts, he finds brief glimmers of something more. Persevering incandescence. In comparison to his brothers, his sisters don’t break in resigned agony when their mark comes. He is here to see it blossom in his second eldest sister’s forearm and her smile is nothing less that radiant in accompaniment, fingers tender when they caress the symbols on the inside of her wrist like the petals of the most beautiful rose.

“Tengen,” she calls when she registers his presence, voice trying not to tremble but he hears better of the fear it absorbs, “Tengen, please…”

“I won’t! I promise I won’t…” he responds vehemently with his whole small, childish chest, because from a young age he became someone that appreciates the rare beauty of pure, unconditional love in their twisted, hopeless world.

Her relieved smile is more precious than any possible punishment lest their father learns of his involvement. The warmth bubbling inside Tengen fills those cracks of fear.

If this much is addictive, how will living on the bright world reduce him to? How will the light travel on his own wrists?

The women fight it longer, with tooth and nail and a sharp, underestimated mind, each one admirable and soulful and fierce warriors. Tengen had already been interested in paint and makeup, albeit in a flashier style he finds interesting and aesthetically pleasing; over the course of following years, they teach each other to hide it better, all the tricks crucial to pass Father’s inspections, using the skills that were meant for killing to possibly save someone.

It feels…good. And the thought drowns him in guilt.

He hates this family, but it’s the only thing he’s useful for and made for; deserving of nothing more and nothing else existing.

His eldest sister dies in a phantom line of duty, his second eldest dies while being punished, taking the entire blame onto herself. After father sends one of their empty eyed brothers to bring him the head of her soulmate. They are all forced to see the light fading in her eyes and her wrist, her gaze never leaving his, planting him in place when his feet want so desperately to run away.

She gifts him a small smile from her bloody mouth when his lips part to move and stopping him dead in his tracks.

Tengen is of Father’s favourites, perhaps his words can be alleviating, his young naïve mind, only nine years old screams pitifully.

And Tengen is forced to hear her last heartbeats before they cease to be, the usually strong bathump bathump bathump fainting away with dignity and wrenching grief, though unrelenting to the very end. The deafening silence that ensues drowns him.

Only the ticking of the countdown booms second by lessening second until his own turn to deliver his soulmate to an early grave arrives.

Rengoku Kyoujurou explodes like a brilliant firework on his left inner wrist one night at age twelve, above his thundering pulse in pretty straightforward and very legible symbols with a hint of amateur cursive, beautiful in their uncomplicated nature.

As the time run like water on a stream, disregarding everyone not caught in its moments, Tengen had hoped no one would be unlucky enough to be bonded with him. Days ago, he became betrothed to three kunoichi. Thusly starting his own part in perpetuating these miserable lives they all lead, and days after the announcement, the name of a complete stranger appears and the universe, the farcical gods, whoever is in charge betroths him with another.

What unflashy cruelty.

Tengen’s first reaction -for one foolish, hopeful, perfect moment- is to be blissful. No matter how illogical, he’s not that unloved for his skin to remain void and his heart expands so much it causes fractures in his pressed-up bones. It’s already bewilderingly lucky for his wives to be happy about marrying him, even demanding that is him specifically; it signifies he’s not so hopelessly drowned in the shadows to become invisible and doomed to not be tied with somebody else.

Then, the terror digs its sharp claws into his soul, gnawing at his wrist tight as if to tear the offending skin off and spill ink-stained blood.

Despite the uncontrollable shaking of his body, Tengen wills every fiber of his being to stay calm. Starts planning. Fortunately, he already wears covers for his wrists, effectively gaining some room before suspicion sets in. For rest of the time, he has the secrets his sisters entrusted to him.

In a way, he feels their hope coursing through him; he had been so sure it was whipped and flayed along with his siblings’ lives and ability to love, but it’s still there, like a persistent ember in an arctic night; reassuring warmth flowing from the letters and coursing through his whole body.  The notes of the drum, melodiously caressing his ears and laxing his shoulders.

That rebellious streak in him never went away apparently. From his clothes, his adorning of shiny jewels in spite of Father’s disapproving glances. It hurts as much as it relieves, his lingering spark looking up the clear morning skies. In perking his ears to hear he joyful chatter of the civilians, their idle conversations passing by from afar.

For a whole year, he has able to hide it, painting over and covering his wrist, acting as if his life hasn’t drastically changed. In that time which passes by as easy as water, a breath of relief for a drowning man, he greedily entertains wonder about what kind of person this Rengoku Kyoujurou is. The appearance, the personality, the flamboyance. He’d love a soulmate that’s at least equally as flashy as he aspires to be.

He questions their common sky to answer whether in their own skin would bear Tengen’s name, how would they look with them.

If a bond even existed in the first place, his pessimism provides unhelpfully. Tengen hadn’t considered that. Let alone be reciprocated. You would be curse for the soul, a punishment for a despicable past life, an inescapable haunting prison.

It doesn’t matter in reality. In the Uzui family, the name becomes a disgusting stain; regardless of anyone’s feelings simply by existing on his skin, they’ll be haunted by the ghost of an obsolete clan and its brutality.

Alone, Tengen lives out scenarios as if plays in a theater- he paints all sorts of universes in his mind. Comedic and romantic where they meet and everything works out by some contrived miracle. Where he ends up living under the sun, bathed by its caring rays and burns away all worries in the world with his darling wives, either together as he gluttonously desires, or liberated from his chains, free to know a life where they matter as humans.

Tragedy overrules however. Tengen often wakes up sweaty and panicked and each time he looks as his hands, expecting to see blood and blades.

His arm feels numb often, his fingers move reluctantly and heavily. Followed by a poisonous sting that burns the lines along his veins. It heals again, like nothing ever struck it, by the time he grabs the kunai to train- after giving a long, hard stare- fear and suspicion taking over everything else.

The repetition of training is dull and unforgiving, torturing. However better to be slapped aware of what is in front of you than be heartbroken over something unattainable.

Each day is agonizing, crawling hours and minutes, nothing but misery around him. But it’s alright. If Rengoku Kyoujurou will get to live under the warm sunny day, alive with a beating heart, Tengen will silently try and protect them from the shadows. He let down enough people and was never let the chance to atone.

He tries his best with his prospective wives as well. To be sincere, the best man his pathetic, dim self can be for them. They are the other bright spots in his life, as he becomes closer with them with the upcoming ceremony two years from now, and they are all wonderful and a breath of fresh air in the midst of this toxicity. Good compatibility is preferable to the clan, and good interactions that don’t cross the many lines keeps the prying eyes off all of them and the noose still loose around their necks.

However, his guard never lowers. He’s paranoid about everyone, especially inside the family. Shinobi are expert in the arts of prying information, kunoichi are trained to be experts. His wrist aches in horrid protest whenever they touch him, even tenderly, soul torn between nuzzling to their kind touches and flinching away to protect the name hidden underneath from foreign intimacy.

He doesn’t know what will happen to him if they discover, how their perception of Tengen will shift. He has a self-righteous duty as a husband to be loyal to them, but his soul is torn in quarters, not thirds.

He doesn’t want to face a diverging path where he has to choose between them. Any choice will tear him apart and drain him into the same husk his brothers have become. His head hurts, filled with paranoia, between avoiding to looks at his hand for days on end and throwing glances at it every second. He tries desperately until he can find a way to tell them, to finally make a choice of his own and break away from that constant force that plays him like a puppet.

Ultimately, it’s nothing but empty, naïve thinking. No choice belongs to him.

Shinobi are masters regarding secrets, but Tengen is still in training, lacking innate talent, with still ways to go.  Only thirteen years old, not suited into his growing body and new sense of limbs and balance. In no way a fucking match for their father. His hearing may be honed, but his tongue cracks and slips around the edges in an obvious way, his pulse jumps and runs madly.

It’d be only natural that he’ll stumble and be revealed. But this is solely the weakness of his foolish heart; it was naïve of him to harbour hope about the unity of this family. He was spoiled by the solidarity with his sisters, by the smiles of the girls that were promised to him.

That’s why their father called all their kunoichi weak, their hearts were warm and open and too sentimental. Tengen will disagree with him to his grave; their beating hearts persevered in their cruel world, they survived in staying human to their deaths. They are stronger than he could ever be and it’ll be a life accomplishment to reach even the pinky finger that linked with his when he promised silence about a doomed love.

Whereas the women are weak, the men are considered strong, adhering to the family, not blinking in hesitation to betray their own, all under the pretense of the ‘best interest of the clan’.

He keeps confusing them…those two words. Clan and Family.

They are not remotely the same, he became aware long ago.

Tengen sits still as a statue, gaze hardened and jaw aching from clenching, eyes remaining expressionless while his father praises his younger brother for doing the right thing. This one is picking up the teachings like a sponge, without a dot of free will, or questioning.

“Tengen!” Father booms, a hint of well-hidden disappointment laced all over his voice. He can hide all his wants by Tengen understands what’s boiling underneath. For better or for worse, he can hear the hues on his voice, remember that impeccability is a hypocrisy of the coward.

However, none of that matters to him, in action he remains powerless.

He lies through gritted teeth and the back of his eyes sting pitifully, fists clenched and drawing blood on the meat from his digging nails.

“It appeared a couple of days ago, Father.”

I’m sorry, Rengoku Kyoujurou. For being ashamed of you.

Don’t ever forgive me.

He hopes this bond is only his blessing and not his soulmate’s curse. Their worst enemy doesn’t deserve the Uzui characters engraved on their skin, inscribed on their grave. He doesn’t know his soulmate, but Tengen feels it in his bonded, sodden soul that they are amazing.

Not that this matters either. It is decided. It will be done.

Father nods, “Then you know what you must do next. For the good of the Family.”

“Yes Father.” Tengen hangs his head low in submission and the first drops of rain stain the dry ground at his feet. 

It’s a bright summer day the washed everything with serene glory, clear of any clouds and full of people bustling around, the air brimming with joy. Any other day, Tengen would feel soothed by the rare opportunity. But all good things have their price, and walking during the day is the most expensive luxury in their world.

Every step grates on his heart, each passerby laughter and voice transforms into a scream and his steps drips of whatever leftover humanity he has been clinging into.

Reconnaissance is first in order, spotting the target and acquiring any information about them. The name of Rengoku, he discovers, is as old as the Uzui Clan, buried in a similarly hidden history; just as bloody, but prominent in a way that is spoken with reverence each time it appears, sung with triumphant praises, gladness and reverence.

Tengen learns about the existence of demons; unnatural monsters of the night that feast on human flesh. He’s never crossed paths with one, being locked in the confines of the safeguarded Uzui territory for a lifetime- he assumes soon enough, he will see be able to see more of them, one predator encountering another.

At first impression, they appear not at all different from them, from what Tengen will become. Feasting in human misery, moving in the night and will never be able to walk into sunlight.

The Demon Slayers Corps is one moderately hidden organization, well enough to blend in with civilians and under the nose of the government without causing them too many problems, but can be found out with a knee-deep search.

Tengen wastes his first night of stay tapping his foot on the tatami mats as he waits in other side of the town Rengoku Kyoujurou lives with his family. His hands tremble and he conjures up scenarios over and over again as he picks on his nails, the strands of his tousled hair, his jewelry to ground himself. The day is dimming away and the time arrives and he hasn’t thrown a single glance at his arsenal of weapons.

He has learnt how to enact violence to another in a million and one different ways, be it torture or a silent kill. Fade into the background like ghosts. Father calls it their legacy; he even dares call it their fucking art, that insolent fucker. Tengen will forever refuse to acknowledge such hideous words.

Art is an expression, it’s something that evokes emotion. Their lives consist of nothing less than monstrosities and needless slaughter.

What Tengen is meant to carry onto the future, starting with his own soulmate. His first kill, intended to kill a part of himself as well. The weak, human part.

The first blood must be special, ought to be remembered whenever Tengen fools himself of normalcy. And if a time comes that he sees the dim letters on his wrist and feels nothing, then his father will have succeeded. He hopes that then, a brief moment of reason will return, enough push to the right direction and slit his own throat, so that the last blood he sheds must be his.

For his precious soulmate, he will make it painless. The vial of poison is here for that. Tasteless and odourless, mixed on the food and the victim will pass on painlessly in their sleep.

How selfish can he possibly be, thinking he’s doing a kindness to Rengoku Kyoujurou. All he does is self soothe.

By the time he finds himself on the Rengoku property, gloriously rained upon with gorgeous sunset, he feels sick, a bitter bile stuck in his dry throat. The estate is luxurious but vibrates lively, neat and well-loved. Clothes hang in clotheslines outside to dry; wind chimes hang and make soft cooing noises at the whispered wind.

His hearing allows him to pick up voices without being too close. For now, he tells himself he will observe the target, pick up their openings to slip in.

Tengen knows better than that. He stands like a cowardly cat at the branch of a tree, avoiding the world below.

There are three voices; one female- a mother most likely- and her two boys. One sounds much younger than the other, babbling nonsensical words filled with excitement. It sounds very round, high and very adorable, he can’t help but crack a small smile.

“Anuie!” it squeaks, trying to properly pronounce each sound and succeeding decently, “Can you give me your pork please?” the pout in the voice is adorable.

A sound of booming laughter, joined by a brief lower one. Tengen’s heartbeat skips three anxious beats.

“Kyoujurou,” the female voice calls full of amusement, “Your brother should learn to eat what’s on his plate first, hm? Don’t spoil him too much.”

“Yes Mother!” the voice of the boy that laughed earlier sings, just as loud and boisterous.

Tengen’s heart sinks to his stomach.

Kyoujurou.

This is his soulmate.

He sounds so… strong and brimming with life. It reminds him of how his sisters sounded when they touched their soulmarks. Like Hinatsuru, Suma and Makio on their meetings but without the heavy strings of despair and anxiety binding their freedom.

Such pure, harmonious laughter. If warm sunrays had a sound, Tengen believes they would have stolen Rengoku Kyoujurou’s laughter’s melody. If the first light of day could speak, it would be envious of Rengoku Kyoujurou’s voice.

And Tengen will snuff this light out. His wrist is simmering in reflection to the twin suns; one above the earth and the other walking upon it. One more brilliant than the other.

With a shattering heart, he greets the concept of a happy family that laughs together and so very clearly loves one another and becomes an invincible voyeur to them. Each breath, each laughter, each word Rengoku Kyoujurou speaks reaches Tengen’s ears until the moment his breath evens out and falls into slumber, as the house becomes restfully quiet.

It could be a perfect moment, to sneak in and use his kunai. Leave them both bleeding out but one standing and walking away.

Instead of that, Tengen is planted firmly on his spot, counting each sleeping breath of Rengoku Kyoujurou as he does the stars, associating each one with a different constellation in the cloudless summer sky.

He silently begs to be granted answers by them- the all observing, the all guiding. But finds none, looking down at Tengen’s lonesomeness possibly condemning him further. It nothing less than he deserves.

The next morning, Tengen lays his eyes upon Rengoku Kyoujurou for the first time.

He never left from his place overnight; body having taken roots until the sun rises. He doesn’t sleep a wink. Still, already obsessively in tune with his soulmate, he picks up the minute shifts and hitches of his breaths as he comes into consciousness. Rengoku wakes up suddenly, as if his body obeys a command enforced onto it. He hears a cute, wide yawn and small feet pattering at the wooden floors, a door sliding open.

“Good morning Anuie!” the tiny kid chirps and the brothers indulge in conversation that might be usual in normal, affectionate families.

All three eat breakfast and there are a couple of questions about the head of the family. The mother reassures he’ll be home soon. So not absent or uninvolved. It must be the work of the demon slayer; Tengen has only his own very short shinobi experience to tell, much of it second hand and limited but it’s enough to know and understand.

It also limits the amount of time Tengen has to complete the mission. The head of the Rengoku family must be well trained and Tengen is certain he cannot compete against years of experience and honing of craft.

His heart leaps from his throat when the voices escape the wooden walls and approach. Outside. His chest aches, his wrist burns with yearning, poisonous need.

Unable to resist it -for the sake of the mission, he tries to convince himself, be aware of his target- he steals a guilty glance.

Tengen confirms that he’s absolutely fucked.

Because Rengoku Kyoujurou is brilliantly beautiful. Short blond hair with slowly climbing red tips that frame the heart shaped face of a boy with the bright white smile. He’s close enough and his eyes are so wide, like an owl’s and he can see the intricacies of pure gold surrounding bright red from afar. He must not be older than Tengen, but younger by a few years.

He must not even have had his soulmark expressed yet. It wouldn’t be impossible, soulmarks are very unpredictable for the flimsy rules humans have imposed on them that are more spoken superstitions than rules. One of his older brothers got it sooner than expected as well, and he not only lost his soulmate, but whatever resemblance of a childhood and innocence they could have in their messed-up world.

(His younger brother got it too, the very same that told on Tengen, but he was always Father’s most loyal soldier, went willingly and his heartbeat never changed between then and now.)

The sun pales in comparison to his smile. The harmony of his voice caresses his ears softly, boisterous, vivid, boyish and resolute. His soulmark stings and becomes a rope, pulling him with the need to run towards him and wrap him in his embrace, coil around him and never let him go.

Rengoku Kyoujurou is the complete opposite of Uzui Tengen and yet fate decided he was meant for him. A cruel joke? Misfortune?

It should be called that, due to his presence here; a merciless executioner about to tear a young, vibrant life. Yet the selfish part of him, it croons and feels gladness that he chained such a soulmate. It’s the same feeling he had with Hinatsuru, Suma and Makio when the marriage was announced. They all could do so much better than a monster like Tengen; they belong to a world away from Tengen’s, where nothing but love and warm surrounds them.

Yet they have the misfortune to be bonded with him.

He's such a fucking child, he admonishes himself while watching Rengoku Kyoujurou play with who is definitely his younger brother, not only from the voice, but most certainly looks as well, they are duplicates of each other. Their mother sits on the engawa doesn’t bear the same characteristics as them, the complete opposite with her pale skin that avoids the sun and her dark eyes. Yet the warmth on all the family’s voices carries the same synchronicity of serenity, signifying the depth of their bond.

Only moving to hide from all senses, Tengen’s eyes never abandon his soulmate as he practices with the wooden sword, breathing deeply with his full chest and crying out as he counts the strikes. The younger brother tries to keep up but without the same success or control, the wood must weigh more than him. His soulmate laughs good-naturedly and guides him through, voice kind and never reprimanding, hands correcting their position and grip.

Their clan would never be capable of such compassionate teachings and indulgent praise, they would never provide help each other. Uzui children learn to walk and talk on their own, are taught quickly that crying is forbidden and an indication of weak character.

Uzui men are put into competition with each other from the moment they are born, the only way their father considers them able to grow strong, to surpass their limits. All comradery and siblinghood were shouted and bled out of them early on as well.

Even when the next chief will be appointed, the intrigues will never stop; their father’s mind was possessed by paranoia the moment the title and authority became attached to his name. Always looks over his shoulder, that’s why he sent them to dangerous missions without regard for their beings.

And then one wonders why the shinobi have already died.

The Regnoku family, however seems to bloom powerfully and their duty is far more important and bloodier. Self-sacrifice is unnecessary, laughable at and foolish to Uzui. They would never comprehend such depravity.

To Tengen, their forgettable lives are all rushing to their pointless deaths, picking up a duty so heavy and smiling. Tengen has hated himself for not being able to become sick by it or his consequential acceptance of his life.

What sort of brainwashing techniques are they using? His soulmate looks far too eager to learn how to fight monsters, already digging his own grave.

And he won’t have the chance to be heroic. His fate was already sealed by having his name written on Uzui skin. That’s the reason Tengen is here, to kill both of their souls.

He will live on as a walking husk, a shield to protect his future wives from the wrath of failure. If he tells it himself over and over again, he might as well believe it.

What a despicable creature he’s being, adamant that he won’t ever put into the trap of choosing while already being knee deep in the quicksand and trying to reason either of his choices. Truly his father’s son, a man of the Uzui Clan. Unfeeling and justifying the unforgivable.

For now, he settles in the fleeting moment. Drinks in the sight of his soulmate like a man parched in the desert, the last images of him alive, a blessing to put a personality to the name, to actually get to know him even from far away that will balance as a curse as well, the mental punishment and the nightmares of that bright smile, that loving family before he destroys them.

Throughout the day, he learns that Rengoku Kyoujurou enjoys time with his family, perhaps to the degree of being sheltered in the loving environment around him. He is a hardworking boy, loves food to an adorably excessive degree and expresses it with every chance he gets. His heartbeat and voice are always pounding and rhythmic, proud of every emotion, inviting you to dance. Like the festival music Tengen only got to hear from out of sight.

Another night, another indecisive nightmare. Another self-conviction that his resolve has returned. Tengen’s mind is torn apart bit by bit.

No sleep, minimal food and water. Hunger and thirst are insignificant in comparison to the searing on his wrist, the sizzling of his skill and the smell of burnt that never show.

It’s already been multiple days, searching and traveling and he’s close to the accepted limit. Then Father and the others will suspect something’s wrong and might hurt Makio, Suma and Hinatsuru as punishment; they might do gods know what, his father’s mind is cracking before their eyes and once you learn how to spill blood once, you become accustomed to it.

He questions how his brothers have fared in his place; at this moment when they get close to their target, finally reaching the beloved of their destiny, before cutting off their connection with their own bare hands.

The wooden floors do not make a sound as he walks above them with a cruelly leveled step. Tengen being the most silent among his family is an additional advantage by his enhanced hearing, letting the proud thudding of his soulmates beating heart. His soulmark aches and itches, he wants to scratch out his own veins, his own heart breaking the closer he gets.

It’s for the best it’s for the best it’s for the best it’s for —

I’m so fucking sorry.

He’s looming above this soulmate, kunai drawn and its sharp edge pointed, closer and closer to his soulmate’s neck, almost grazing at his pulse. All the while Rengoku Kyoujurou slumbers, a demure smile on his face as if he’s having a nice dream. The insane part of him wants to wake him up and ask how that feels.

Don’t be weak, a voice bellows inside his head and sounds a lot like his father, perform your duty to the family. Don’t disappoint me.

‘Tengen please…’

From up close, Rengoku Kyoujurou’s features are even lovelier. Moonlight loves him as much as sunlight, tenderly showing off his cute button nose. Thick lashes that grace over his chubby cheeks that would lose their baby fat if he got to grow up, his very thick and charming eyebrows that emphasize how much of a good sleep he’s having from the way they smooth out.

His neck is exposed and vulnerable. Skin pristine and perfect.

The tip of the kunai comes close and stays there for what feels like hours.

It never draws blood. Tengen stares and stares and the first rays of sunlight dawn into the room.

The shadow is chased away.

Another night. And another. And another. Blood is never drawn and a breath is never snuffed out. He can’t feel his arm and when he does, it’s an onslaught of sensations. Nothing but numbing pain that leaves out a lovesickness and cracks his heart. In reality everything is in his head; the bond using any means necessary to stay alive, it’s music grieving and cooing and loving, soaring into crescendo when he stares at his soulmate from this close.

Tengen has memorizes the tiniest freckles in Rengoku Kyoujurou’s face.

This must be the last.

Time is stretching out. Perhaps I can…

Time is running out. Don’t disappoint me.

He’s been stalling long enough.

It should be so easy, to strangle this thin throat, shred it to a puddle of blood to sip into the floorboards.

Tengen tenses, fine hairs standing upright.

Suddenly, bright eyes open. His soulmate sits up and looks around the empty room.

“Hm?” he yawns, “Mother?”

The woman smiles at her son, “It’s me, Kyoujurou, I woke up to get some water.”

“Oh, I’ll get it for you then-”

“No need. I can get it myself. Go back to sleep.”

All the while, Tengen’s eyes are locked on the sole woman present on the house, whose gaze is pinning down in his general direction, ominous and dripping blood by the cold, silent night.

Tengen is a shinobi, he can hide from a simple housewife, no matter how perceptive she appears. In that moment, however, she will not need enhanced hearing for Tengen’s pounding heart, nor his gritted teeth. He tries not to tremble in hand and mind, agonized over the implications of the situation.

Do not leave any witnesses, eliminate everyone on sight, Father’s words crack like whip upon his back. His wrist hurts to the bone, he feels the fierce need to dig his kunai and cut his whole forearm down.

His soulmate’s mother doesn’t move, doesn’t blink until she passes right by him, unknowing.

Tengen flees.

Coward, failure, useless, a whisper sounding exactly like him taunts.

By the time his soulmate’s breath evens to a deep rise and fall like that of the early summer breeze, Tengen is already on the roof, eyes stinging, wrist burning, skin crawling, core rotting.

He still hears Rengoku Kyoujurou’s voice, groggy with sleep and none the wiser of how his life was about to be taken. Goosebumps and shivers still run through him at the question whether his soulmate’s mother saw him, her eyes boring through the shadows he submerged himself.

Besides the fact that he slipped as a shinobi, the acknowledgement of his actions by another solidifies his being here, doing this. Not even his fiancés know the details of his departure, he still hadn’t had the spine to tell them that none of their names are inscribed to his skin, for better and for worse. 

The moon is almost non-existent in the sky and Tengen is further dragged to the darkness of his own existence and fate.

He can’t kill the person he was destined to, as selfish as that can be. Not when he saw how bright he is, how kind, how unrelentingly good. Rengoku Kyoujurou is training to fight for the sake of humans to defend from demons, to protect humanity, even the shitty parts that include him, someone that’s just as low as demons, that almost killed him.

Whatever he does, Tengen will be selfish. Father didn’t say it out loud, but he didn’t have to, that should he fail, the consequences won’t only affect him. He might be slipping out of his mind but he is a shinobi for decades and Tengen couldn’t hide the affection for his future wives even when he tried his hardest.

It’s Rengoku Kyoujurou against Hinatsuru, Suma and Makio. And Tengen is greedy that he wants them all, a heart full with void and the need to love and beat like a human being’s.

His traitorous mind can’t help but conjure up a fantasy world, where he lives under the clear sunny sky with all of them, four beautiful spouses in a house filled with melodious laughter and harmonious life, where the need to grab a blade is no more.

The further he leaves, the bond protests and it drags him back, begs him to take Rengoku Kyoujurou for himself and stay but he can’t. He’s already tethering on the edge, his indecision will get them all killed.

You need to prove yourself, Tengen.

You need to sacrifice the burdens to become a shinobi.

The first blood must be special, ought to be remembered.

The smell of rusty copper, the bitter taste of it, the cracking in his ears, the dark blur in his vision, the numbness searing on his fingertips. The all overwhelm him and ground his feet to the reality he resides in, the cruelty he belongs into.

Hot crimson drops spill on his marked wrist but never wash the name away, even if they drown it. The blade of the kunai is warm from his tight grip, blade sharp and unfelt.

It doesn’t ache. It pulses, it beats warmly, but it doesn’t ache.

A small, tight-lipped smile graces his lips, holding back the hysteric laughter and agonized screams.

Signing your own death sentence isn’t as frightening as he thought it’d be. His sisters perhaps knew that- those indescribable notes in their songs might have been the madness of love overtaking them.

Rengoku Kyoujurou is still his, and he hopes for both their sake, that Tengen doesn’t belong to him in return. He bites his tongue to the point it will certainly be cut in half as the line drags from the first kanji to the last, his body instinctively protesting at the defilement and harm. His blood seeps into the ceramic roof of the Rengoku household unnoticed.

In the end, Tengen succumbs to his greed and chooses everything, balancing in a fraying tightrope that will inevitably cause chaos and death. He will deserve it for his choices, but Rengoku Kyoujurou and his future wives will be put to death because of him.

All caused by Tengen’s indecisiveness and cowardice.

His pulsing wrist burns the further away he runs away from his mark, unpleasant heat pulling at his veins. As treatment, he slashes it further, careful of the nerves and bones but uncaring of the flesh and skin around them. It’s a good medicine.

He runs and runs and runs and runs, his body burning and hurting all over, breath clinging to the walls of his lungs and claw into the sensitive tissue, but still a fraction compared to his heartache. He doesn’t stop to eat or drink water, punishing himself and his body for their audacity to think they deserve a soulmate. His mind can’t help but picture the future consequences of his actions, the death he will spread tenfold.

It’s a torrenting night when he returns to the place he calls home by principle, the cold whipping at his sky but he does nothing to fight it, hair clinging to his face.

Father’s scrutinizing eyes rake upon him for a long moment; it’s featherlight.

He raises his gaze from the ground to face him. Tengen’s destroyed expression must be pleasing and adequate as the man nods, lips pulled up for a millisecond in what must be pride.

Tengen parts his mouth to speak, voice as broken and numb as he had heard his older brothers’ voices upon their prodigal return.

“It is done, Father.” He lies confidently, voice empty- high from the self-made medicine. A noose hangs upon his neck and the guillotine on his beloveds’ alike hang on a single loose thread. He shows that mark upon the soulmark for confirmation, the flesh, violent lines of his kunai mutilating this flamboyant name of the flashy and brilliant boy meant for him.

His father’s grip hurts and will leave bruises for days. As far as he can tell, it’s the very first time his own parent has touched him in something outside training. His palm amasses a bit of his son’s blood.

“You did well, my son.” His father’s voice confirms that pride from beloved, slimy and dirty, coated with blood. But he undoubtedly believes Tengen, his ears reassure him a hundredfold.

To be acknowledged as that monster’s child and heir. Once upon a time, they all craved that praise but it’s ultimately all hollow and poisonous.

As he learnt, he remains impassive and suspicious. Because nothing could stop their father from investigating his soulmate and finding out he’s still alive. He burnt all their files on the demon slayers and the Rengoku family, anything remotely associated with them that can be tracked back.

During his trip he was looking out whether he was being followed; knowing it would be one or more of his brothers, since there aren’t any other survivors. Because of that, Tengen knows their strengths and weaknesses, the passive rhythms of their heartbeats, their shallow breathing and weigh of footing.

Tengen has been a good son for the most part, the only disapproval from their father was his choice of jewelry. Gaudy, he called them. Tengen finds not a single problem with it; it’s something that makes him feel more like himself, different from his brothers since all of them are carrying their father’s strong genes, especially in the eyes- dead and void for such colour.

If it’s for Rengoku Kyoujurou’s safety, for him to be in the same world as Tengen so that he can gaze upon the same skies and celestials, he could give up any sign of individuality on the spot, blend in in their dull world and lose what makes him himself.

Like his brothers before him, Tengen shuts himself in his room and asks for no one to disturb him. Especially his future wives. If he sees them now, he will break irreparably and they will become aware about the true misery of a man they will bind their lives with. He loves them too much and he is greedy, not wanting to lose the bits of affection they charitably gift him, their bright stars guiding him through the darkest of nights.

All his tears were left behind with his soulmate, poisoning their beautiful garden and staining their polished wooden house. They aren’t allowed to cross the threshold of what he calls home; shinobi must not display any disgraceful emotions such as despair, they should not feel at all. He trains as usual, which pleases their father and avoids his future wives, using messengers like a coward and not even facing them.

In his lonely days, training helps get his mind off things, his wrist bands hide the mutilated mark of his shameful pride and destruction of something so beautiful. Despite the abuse, his hands never shake; the weapons find their intended, lifeless targets.

But during the cold, dreadful nights, his mind reels in dangerous directions. Outlandish and unforgivable fantasies never cease to plague him; they unfold in his dreams, unfurling his innermost desires bluntly in a state he can’t escape from.

What would happen if he had listened to his heart and met Rengoku Kyoujuro face to face? If he made their paths cross and he heard him introduce himself, reaffirming his carving on Tengen’s skin? Let him carve it with his own blade anew?

How would his name sound if Rengoku said it in that lilting voice of his, as if it weren’t a curse to avoid? He imagines it would make him feel giddy, then guilty and ashamed

Nights upon nights, he imagines the two of them talking, Tengen observing the other’s dutiful practices, sitting next to the stern looking woman and the little excitable and chubby toddler, as if he belongs. Saying something that makes Rengoku smile blindingly… oh god making him laugh. Even from afar, the sound of that laughter was a breath of life he didn’t know was missing. Once he dreamt of holding his hand with his own marked; calloused and kind from practice- and the next morning he can’t hold a blade with it.

On those nights, he wakes up face drenched in sweat -or so he likes to believe as his eyes many times haven’t closed and the darkness of slumber is mistaken for intense focus on a dark spot on the wall or the ceiling. Either way, he spends the next hours blankly staring at his soulmark, nails raking the skin again and again, feeling the scarred lines across it and wanting to open the wound up anew, cut deeper until his hand falls and wrings out his veins. To some extent, he achieves it. The sheets sporting droplets of red. The letters slowing becoming lost on the mountains and grooves of ill-healed scars. The name, ironically, can still be legible.

He wants so desperately to forget Rengoku Kyoujurou and the few days of knowing the face behind the name -how pathetic, he didn’t even properly meet the boy!- and leave his life without hoping for more than he deserves.

It would be better if he had nightmares of his dead body, of a mourning family. It wouldn’t differ from what he pictures every day as his nightmares aren’t far from eminent reality.

It’s for the best, it’s for you, he speaks to the first days of dawn. Better me than you.

Consciousness brings him to the surface, accompanied by panic after another of those beautiful nightmares of a life he doesn’t deserve, woken up with beading cold sweat upon his brow. His heart is pounding and because of that he takes longer to sense another’s presence and hear the well-concealed noises around him. Hands instinctively reach for his blades, paranoia settling in particularly deep as the vision of Rengoku Kyoujurou’s pearly, glad smile lingers behind his eyelids.

A moment later true reality becomes clear again, he can see the silhouettes in the hidden shadows. Three breaths he has grown to know by heart, sitting in his room but not crowding above him as he slept. Maybe that’s why his body didn’t alert him of intruding threats in time- perhaps for the best.

“Tengen-sama,” His shoulders relax at Hinatsuru’s mellow whisper, his heartbeat easing out and then jumping back up at the realization.

“What,” he pants, some horrified viciousness to his words, “What the hell are you doing here?”

The girls flinch at his tone and he feels like an even worst piece of shit. Suma sniffles and Makio’s eyes shine with welled up tears, while Hinatsuru’s gaze falls to the floor, posture stiff and curling inwards, hands fiddling on her lap.

“W-we haven’t seen Tengen-sama in so long after you returned, we thought something horrible must’ve happened!” Suma cries out.

“They wouldn’t let us come see you, so we sneaked in.”

“As you see, I’m fine.” He says in an emotionless tone, unprepared for this meeting. He needs more time, in order to make up a convincing lie to fool the best trained kunoichi. Return to them as the Uzui Tengen they know and do his best to be a good fiancée and then a good husband. “Nothing happened. You can go now.”

For some reason, they seem to like him, be happy with him. He must not let them down.

In the sore spot he’s currently in, all he has to give is harshness and distance. They caught him in a perilous moment and he is watching the last chance of happiness slip through his fingers by his own volution.

The thought of shoving them away was very prominent in his mind before, judging it would be the best for them. But kunoichi that do not make adequate wives, do not please their husbands nor produce heirs are easily discarded and replaced. Tengen must protect them, even it means binding them to him. He promises his chains to be as painless as possible.

“Then why do you make such a sad expression!?” Suma cries again, her voice rising in volume. In a blink of an eye, she’s right in front of him, cupping his cheeks in her roughened delicate hands that should never touch a weapon. She forces him to meet her gaze, blue as the bright unattainable sky, now stormy with despair.

“I-” he chokes on his words, before gritting his teeth and grabbing her wrists with powerful force. Shoves her away from him uncaringly, making her yelp and fall back. He shouldn’t give in to her kindness, he’s not prepared to be the shield they need in their cruel world. Not yet.

He breathes in, steeling his features and tone, ordering, “I gave the order to not let you in. Now leave as you came before I give the alert and punish you.”

All three of their heartbeats audibly crash and fall, as do their expressions at the meaning of his words and it’s more painful than a thousand deaths. They must feel so disillusioned with him, so hurt that those are the true colours of their future husband, the man they will depend on for the rest of their lives for their safety. Good. It’s for the best.

Yet he shouldn’t have been surprised to see them gather their composure fast despite their glimmering eyes and frowning faces, the girls are of the best kunoichi in their generations, trained as harshly as him, perhaps even more.

They are also very persistent; he should have been aware of that as well. After exchanging looks between themselves, they gaze back at him in defiance.

“We won’t!” Makio growls out, red in the face and body shaking, “Not before you tell us why!”

“Tengen-sama, this isn’t like you!” Suma adds ever so stubbornly.

“How can you know?” his patience runs out and he hisses at them, damning himself into the lowest pits of hell, “Don’t you know who I am? You should expect this.”

“Exactly because we know who you are, Tengen-sama, there must be a reason for putting this distance.”

His wrist itches as it does every night, gnawing painfully as the vision of his soulmate’s laughter, his bloody corpse, his strangled neck and dull eyes ties his tongue. Everything will be your fault. It’s now that he realizes that his marked skin is not covered by the familiar feel of fabric, exposed for the whole world to see; devoid of the old paints belonging to his deceased sisters caking and covering the pretty symbols. The wound is still very raw from being reopened, dried specs of blood coating it and the sheets below. The scent of blood wafts around the room.

He turns his palm to himself and it’s a mistake only a novice would make. He gave his weakness away because he lost his cool-headedness, revealed his secrets because he’s so distraught. Failures of a beginner.

And his wives have grown up to know him well along with the Uzui ways of training. Capable kunoichi like them would never miss this.

He barely has time to be alerted from the look they exchange before lunging at him all three of them holding his left arm. They are petite as little diamonds and weightless as feather and their strength is not comparable to his, but they are trying to overpower him to get a glimpse.

And Tengen simply feels so tired that his power abandons him, muscles hurting from the continuous days of training relentlessly, paralyzed from deceivingly dreamy nights. He always prided himself of being strong when in the end, when it matters, he is nothing but a pathetic stain of a man that wanted a life of peace and frivolity for all.

His wives are currently discovering his deepest secret, round eyes glancing from the mark to his defeated, numb expression. A long pause in an already deadly silent night and complete stillness and cold; however, the rabbit like thumping of their hearts screams another story altogether.

It’s his turn to flinch violently and thrash when fingers caress his wounded mark, along the carved line of erasure to the kanji that are one with his skin, one by one.

“Tengen-sama…” Hinatsuru trails off, “Is that what the last mission…” she gasps, a hand in her mouth to conceal her horror, eyes start to well up.

He can still follow his planned line of action and continue lying and acting; however something inside has long fractured and the truth escapes its loosened cage, “I couldn’t do it,” he whispers and the dam breaks, chuckling before it turns into something demented and monstrous, “I couldn’t fucking do it… I couldn’t kill him… I must go back and… no…I can’t…I can’t…” he repeats over and over again, the words falling down a stream of subconsciousness.

Then he’s surrounded by comforting softness. His head is buried in Hinatsuru’s chest, right above her heartbeat, Suma trying her best to embrace his torso while Makio hugs his marked arm, fingers caressing Rengoku Kyoujurou’s name with care and carefulness. Hot tears fall on his forehead and cheek, his wrist and his bare clavicle from the yukata.

“It’s alright, Tengen-sama.” Makio says, fingers lacing with his, “You did nothing wrong.”

“It must have been painful, to keep the truth hidden.” Suma sobs and hugs him tightly.

“But you are not alone, not anymore.” A caring hand cards through his loose hair, massaging his scalp soothingly, chasing away the splitting headaches of the past few days. “Let us stand by your side.”

“Not that we’ll take no for an answer.” Hinatsuru smiles shyly and pets his hair tenderly, wipes away both their tears.

Tengen’s laughter turns to deafening silence, jaw clenched but the flood is too great to be contained and the first sob breaks through like a deep hiccup, one and the rest follow unleashed.

He wraps his arms around his three future wives and sobs like he never did in his life, all the damning emotion he’s been drained to suppress breaking out of its prison, deep and rattling to his thorax.

And as the tears fall, at the care he receives from around him, they reassure him to utter more truths, as if a man drunk and without any inhibitions for the consequences of his actions and words.

“He’s incredible,” he admits, a bright smile, fiery hair and eyes popping up in his mind, “He’s so fucking perfect and I love him… I love him so much it hurts” he tells his future wives about the boy that destiny judged for him; beautiful and kind and radiant, everything Tengen craves to be and clasp in his dirty, greedy hands. His very presence hurts his heart, that reality

“Shh, it’s alright, Tengen-sama,” Suma sobs with him, rubbing her face on his shoulder like a cat.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed for.” His hair is toyed by gentle hands, strands curling around elegant fingers.

Makio nods from the corner of his blurred vision and squeezes on his hand tighter in affirmation, cleaning the raw wound with outmost care.

They never ask about the scars on his wrist but he hears the hitching of their breathing, the wayward whimper escaping and syllables of broken words that never found their missing pieces.

At first contact, he flinches from their touch in their arms. But he wills himself to stay still. They trace the ridges of his scars and then on the lines of his soulmate’s name, massaging it to alleviate the pain. They whisper sweet nothings at him, dulling his overly hyper senses.

Now that all the false bravado has bled out of him, his breathing comes easier, and it deepens by the moment. The girls speak more and while he understands their words, his mind is too sluggish and charged with all sorts of intensity for a response.

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” he mumbles and he earns lively giggles from around, the caresses never ceasing. He’s moved to lay down again and the futon is not cold anymore, with the company of three more warm bodies beside him, snuggling up against him.

There is no care for whether they will be caught, of the grim immediate future ahead of them. Tengen bathes in the starlight of tonight and the phantom sunrays that will dawn the next day and the day after, the only connection between him and his beloved soulmate. He hopes Rengoku Kyoujurou smiles as he watches the starry sky, so that Tengen can feel that smile shine upon him too.

For the remaining night, dreams become devoid of guilt. The gentle touch soothes the pain on his hand more than drawing blood ever did.

With his secrets revealed to his most precious and trusted people, Tengen finally feels he can exhale.

He can smile without any inhibitions at their wedding ceremony, a normally solemn and dull traditional reception that they achieve in making flashier with their celebrations and subtle touches of flamboyance. His wives look gorgeous in their wedding attires; he makes sure they each can show off their own unique style and their distinct personalities as they desire, unlike the weddings of his predecessors. Then he can show them off as his to cherish and protect. Today, no one can say otherwise to the whims of one of the clan’s young masters.

Admittedly, he had been nervous about it; a part of him which wants to remain loyal to his soulmate screams to abandon everything, find Rengoku Kyoujurou and marry him instead. As much as he loves his soulmate, misses him every day, he loves his wives too. An innate love and roots you against a love that blossoms overtime; to Tengen, both are precious and irreplaceable- he is too lucky to have four brilliant loves soaring his heart.

For Rengoku Kyoujurou, a seat remains empty in their wedding, a forlorn note in the song of one of the happiest days of his life. Questions of how his soulmate must be fairing plague his mind days and nights. He believes Rengoku Kyoujurou to be a boy of smiling despite all odds, stronger than anyone that will never lose his spirit and positivity and his instincts because of that are rarely wrong.

He's nearing to the age that Tengen got his mark, the general age many receive it. Tengen halts all running thoughts immediately. It’s a path he doesn’t want to venture on.

Tengen hopes for his life to be nothing but merry days, joined by the family he seems to adore and as much as he wanted to see him on his wedding and share his rarely found happiness with him, complete. In reality, it’s for the best he is not joining them.

His wedding becomes a pivotal point in his life, backed up and having three wonderful women to protect, Tengen slowly discovers and expresses himself with lessening shame. He stops paying attention to the bitter hissing notes of his father’s and brothers’ disapproving voice, the disgust and jealousy at his new shiny headband, the earrings, the painted nails. For him to have all that, he needs to remain the strongest, listen to every beck and call from the man that coldly ordered him to kill his soulmate and raises him in a bloody, unforgiven clan.

His plan is to be the next head of the Uzui clan, born many years ago out of the sound of his broken siblings, and change everything from the inside. Strip their father from all the power over them so that they can have a chance to have a good life, a free life torn away from the shadows and perhaps find peace and healing under the sun.

If he saves himself, his wives and his family, he can perhaps meet Rengoku Kyoujurou with a modicum of dignity, a small amendment to the mistakes he continuously makes. Perhaps he can have this for himself.

But it’s soon that Tengen’ truly learns how naïve he was for thinking himself a man at all.

His father’s deteriorating mental state has been an advantage so far; Tengen and everyone had learnt to side step around it. For him, it would present a great opportunity to dethrone and take his place if he appeased him.

He considered killing him plenty times, but apart from Father’s increasing paranoia and loss of reality, Tengen didn’t want to soil his hands with his family’s blood. As cruel as it might be, he wouldn’t be able to face his wives and soulmate with the name of ‘kin killer’ craved inside him.

In an ironic, miserable continuation of fate, this too, is not his decision to make.

Tengen already mourns three brothers, all but one younger from their father’s orders and insane training. But his hands are tied and the blood he let spill might not be drawn by him, but it damn sure feels like it. What he can do it look directly at their dead eyes, remember why he’s doing this, promises to avenge them.

“You can’t save everyone Tengen-sama,” Hinatsuru had firmly but kindly reminded him and he fucking knows it.

“He would be able to.” he responds hollowly, clenching his eyes shut. Because his soulmate is growing to be a great warrior in a war that matters instead of clinging to a dying legacy with tooth and nail. From the strength he displayed in his energetic body, the tales of the Rengoku clan, Kyoujurou will be a demon slayer to be remembered and adored as a hero of all.

His wives say nothing; they don’t have to; their soothing touches are enough to put another stitch to his wounded heart.

Another test takes place. In the middle of the night, he’s taken away.  A thick, fabric bag on his head and an opponent in front that he’s ordered to kill.

After his supposed first killing, Tengen has actually murdered a lot of people, his actual first kill being a nobody. He can’t save anyone and for better and for worse, that sinks in; he makes a choice for himself- his loved ones before all drab fodder.

But the targets his kunai find are skilled and their heartbeats sound familiar mingling with the rain and it’s not until he sees the bodies of his own brothers, lifeless and their blood speckled on his clothes and skin, dripping from his hands that he feels irrevocably irredeemable.

His only remaining brother doesn’t share his despair one bit. Same as their father in eyes and even, calm heartbeat, both have become unfeeling. Terror grips him and squeezes the breath out of him.

Everything was for nothing. Some people never change, remain the same disgusting filth they had been.

Looking down at his hand, his wrist band has been torn, the makeup faded from the disguising paint.

He remembers something from long ago that somehow, he had forgotten to remind himself, swept away from the beauty that was being with his wives in his hell.

This is not a family; this is a fucking clan. And a clan made up of the three victorious murderers won’t ever change.

That same night, rain streaming down his face, his runs to the compound.

He slams the doors open, single-minded insanity running through him.

Tengen finds them, kunai ready and heartbeats rabbit like. Their eyes widen when they take his appearance.

“Tengen-sama—”

“We are leaving.” He speaks, voice too emotionless to recognize as his own. He’s frozen beaten by the weather and the resistance of his brothers. He doesn’t know what he feels so he calls it nothingness.

His father must have succeeded- he has become like them. His worst nightmare.

They run and they run and they run but the shadows will never leave them alone for the months they will roam mindlessly.

It’d be funny, Tengen was craving freedom and now that it’s in front of him, he always looks over his shoulder to how much the shadows have caught up to them. Settling in one place for more than a month is never an option until he’s sure he can face his father and brother.

Along with the wind, the screams and weakening heartbeats of his deceased siblings follows him around; their whispers during the night do not let him sleep. And the few, vital times he does, he wakes up in paralysis or shouting, cold sweat pooling in his skin.

For a one-night stay before they depart, Tengen’s ear ring with familiar wind and silences everything with serenity.

He had seen this place before, and though brief, it replays in his rare, most beautiful dreams. During spring, the sight is remarkable.

And Gods, Tengen is tempted to see his soulmate again, be warmed by his sunshine to survive the freezing nights. But he holds himself back through greeted teeth, because he’s not a man that deserves him, he will probably never be.

For the umpteenth time, he sighs while looking out the window. Three pairs of eyes are drawn to him, matching frowns on their faces. He is fully aware he’s not being flashy at all and he must stop because he worries his precious wives.

They insist he can go see him, they ask him to take them with, but it doesn’t feel right. Tengen doesn’t have his shit together and if he ever musters up the courage to talk to Rengoku Kyoujurou, the timing is wrong.

Tengen needs to atone, to scrub his hands raw to be able to look at his pretty soulmate’s sunrise eyes, the full and flamboyant ruby and gold kissing in his luscious looking strands.

Repentance must cleanse the grime and blood off him and gnaw him to the bone until all that grief and hatred leave his head. To be a man of worth. Using his shinobi skills as they are feels horrifically wrong.

Nothing is safe, not from their pursuers and not from the demons they come across. Rading about them doesn’t prepare you for the real enemy, the power and the speed and the hunger. The girls are terrified, they shake and the demon can surely smell their fear. It actually manages to draw some blood from Suma’s leg. Tengen’s mind acts. His leftover weapons do nothing but grant a couple precious seconds.

In the end, he sweeps them away and run away, continues to run as he always did. He finds his heart still and frozen outside the worry for his wives.

They are not as threatening as humans can be.

Thankfully, during the day, a strange murder of crows is flying around the small town they’re in, which he overhears speaking ignites a spark inside him. A crazy gamble but his life hasn’t been without those.

Perhaps not that crazy, to a man desperate. He either succeeds or dies trying his damnest; one less preferable than the other, but both are better options than his father ever presented.

And thus, with a new resolve settling in,  he catches one of those speaking crows and takes the first step on the path only read in books, towards the freeing incandescence, wives in his embrace, hopping he’ll see his soulmate again.

The path of a demon slayer is steep, but nothing compared to the shinobi.

A new start is what he was craving the most, the chance to twist his past teachings to something that might actually be useful and good instead.

People die from the first selection process and Tengen hates himself for both feeling nothing about it, striding ahead and his own inability of saving them. More blood drenches his palms.

As much as he hates relying to his past training, using it for a different purpose feels like breaking out of the chains that have bound him for his whole life.

The swords he adamantly chooses for himself is as large and visible as kunai and short blades could never be, difficult to hide and their weight on his back significant. They are perfect; cleavers of unique shape, easily recognizable and flashy in their movements. The complete opposite of the kunai and short blades he used to carry and still does under his clothing.

With the help of his wives, the knowledge of explosives and poisons become more useful weapons. Demons get poisoned by wisteria, but humans aren’t and the explosives need his permission and graze of blade to detonate.

And soon after he gains skill in Wind Breathing, a new score starts writing itself and he can’t help but start manifesting it from the first core note of the string and the first beat of the festive drum. Flashy and Flamboyant, loud, colourful and unapologetic, it evolves into a symphony of all things Tengen has kept hidden in the past and now reclaims for himself.

Sound Breathing. Eight forms. Eight songs. Eight stainless creations that scream of the flamboyant personality of Uzui Tengen and defy all else.

When he performs them under their audience, he feels the strain of his own effort sweating out, the wind blowing on his face and cooling refreshingly, his eyes assaulted by a beautiful myriad of vivid colours.

His wives too, look the happiest since their wedding. All the uncertainty of the past starts to clear out.

With a strong resolve, he thinks he’s able to face his siblings with a high chin.

He hadn’t been in the family grave since his sisters’ deaths, the first time he has come to see his fallen brothers. The winter is in its final departing notes, with hints of frost lingering and nipping at his skin.

He may not have had the best relationship with his brothers, distant and the colder as they grew up to compete each other, but none of that was their fault, he starts to understand it now.

“I promise…” he speaks for the dead and the living, “To live the flashiest life humanly possible.” A vow to all, including Uzui Tengen, a task for amendment. Carrying the past mistakes and learning for the sake of the present and hoping for the future.

Perhaps then, at that hopeful future, he will be able to face Rengoku Kyoujurou, kneel before his feet with his marked wrists bare and healed from the scar and apologize properly, show him that their bond has helped make him a better man. That looking at his name, Rengoku Kyoujurou has been a defining, guiding light, a sliver of hope to escape the dark forest of shadows.

Of course, the road isn’t smooth and shows plenty missteps and obstacles. People still slip from his blood coated hands because of his mistakes. He needed to be faster, to be stronger, to be smarter, to make the right calls sooner.

For better or for worse, similar to the shinobi life, loss is a constant reality for a demon slayer and a degree of numbness is needed to cope with the losses and move forward to the end of this senseless war.

Oyakata-sama is a man his age but holds wisdom of old generations in his decaying face, his smile never faltering and evil never grazing his serene features. His sickness never bittering his kind and generous voice. He’s been more of a mentor that his birth father has ever been, an older brother like few, who guides with a firm but gentle hand, acknowledges the hurt in his life.

He becomes blind sometime after glancing at his mark, a smile with a slight hint of tease in his features. His wife gives him healing ointment made in the family exclusively, to smoothen out the harshest ridges of his scar.

“A soulmate is a blessing, isn’t Tengen?” he asks, no judgement colouring his voice. Despite Tengen’s protests, he insists to apply the ointment.

He chokes up, gentle fingers caressing Rengoku Kyoujurou’s name, treating it better than Tengen has ever in his pathetic life. It was necessary, he chants over and over; it must be done, it be cut off.

He feels disrespectfully envious of Oyakata-sama for their family’s curse to not have soulmates. So many of his family and others would be saved if they were the cursed clan paying for their sins instead.

“I know.”

A gentle hum, like wind chimes on calm spring, he seems aware of those thoughts already by the tiny quip down of his lips.

“I’m certain your soulmate would feel joyous to have you. Do not make hasty conclusions for him.” he looks at Tengen, the last hint of colour in his dulling eyes, “You are a good, brave man, Tengen, anyone would be fortunate to have your name blessed on their skin.”

He has to avert his gaze, embarrassed for relishing in the tender touches, admitting those words are what he’s been craving to hear since the mark kissed his skin.

His wives always remain by his side and they use their magnificent skills to help him and show off to their ancestors how fucking foolish they were for degrading them, blooming glorious pride in his chest. For the millionth time, he wonders what he would do without them, their heartbeats have become a song he will never grow tired of. 

For years, they live like this and it’s a perfect medium of the risky lives they have known forever and the warmth of the sun. Tengen thinks that if he dies in this life, it will not be the worst thing.

One inconspicuous day over a year into his life as a demon slayer, Oyakata-sama calls for him in the main compound in short notice.

He’s nervous because all the Pillars are there when he arrives; including the Flame Hashira.

That is definitely the man who his soulmate has gotten the looks from; no one would mistake that hair and eye colour.

But whereas his soulmate’s song was pure and joyous, his father’s is twisted with bitterness akin to grief, harsh with anger. He wonders, he worries, but this is not the time for that.

The shock that overwhelms him when the title of Hashira is granted to him; the very first and very only Sound Pillar, joining the upper ranks of the demon slayers. Oyakata-sama’s voice carries that lilting quality that always spoke to him with, filled with care and pride and he shouldn’t be moved by a sick, deteriorating man the same age as Tengen, whipped by his own family’s sins, talking to him like a parent should.

But his eyes sting none the less.

“I...” He clears his dry throat, straightens his posture to carry the pride and duty on his shoulders, “Thank you very much, Oyakata-sama. I will not let you down.”

That day, he goes to his wives with a splitting smile and grabs them all in his embrace, spinning him around until they all become dizzy, still laughing in glee. He takes them out to eat a feast, they dance and they drink, and they have mind blowing sex.

It’s all perfect. Almost. His soulmate’s presence becomes visible in the worst and best moments in his life, when Tengen need the most comfort and the ones when he wants to share with his dearest. Him becoming a Hashira would definitely put a radiant smile on Rengoku Kyoujurou’s face, and he longs for the congratulating praise, perhaps a touch or a kiss or more.

I’m here, he thinks, looking up at the same moon and starry sky, then down at his naked wrist. It stopped hurting a long time ago, the scar now fully healed, the letters still prominent above the marred tissue, as beautiful as ever. I’m waiting for you. Be safe and take care of yourself and when we meet again, I hope I resemble a man worthy of you.

He can’t wait for the days that come, harsh and blessed, for a life he can choose and the opportunities of atonement he was gifted so magnanimously.

In all the newfound flamboyant chaos of being a Pillar, having his own luxurious manor to live with his wives, Tengen omits that hunch until the next and his very first Pillar meeting as a member.

The gut-wrenching song of Rengoku Shinjurou rings again, just as loud and ominous, just like the bitter scent of alcohol that surrounds him. Tengen’s lip curls into the beginnings of a snarl, posture stiff in apprehension.

He wants to approach the Flame Pillar, but an invisible force holds him back. Perhaps the still lingering discipline beaten into him to not fall out of line and be insolent that still refuses to be rooted out. Rengoku Shinjurou gives a less harsh song than his father’s, but the low simmering quality makes him pause.

He feels the looks burning into him, the eyes shared by his soulmate, only dimmer but hotter in barely restrained rage. It stops him from asking, because his heart beats at the implication. This is not because he’s the newest Pillar, this feels and sound personal. As if he heard of him before they meet now.

The options are two: either his bond with his son is mutual, or the eyes that he imagined hunting him that night were real and his actions are known.

He never finds the opportunity to ask, even when he gathers the courage, pathetically late. Rengoku Shinjurou stops fulfilling his duties as a Pillar. It contradicts the way his son talked about him, all admiration and resolve, speaking of a man loyal and dignified and not a drunkard that disturbed the morale of the corps.

Oyakata-sama is as kind as always, patient and wise beyond his years, for better or for worse, his illness deteriorating and slowly taking over his serene song with a grotesque, foreign quality. Tengen on the other hand, feels indignant for his soulmate’s sake.

(Over time, from all around the corps, he overhears about Ruka Rengoku’s passing many years ago being the beginning of the Flame Pillar’s downfall. Tengen feels anger still brewing fierce, but he can’t possibly find it into himself to hold onto hatred. The passing of a soulmate, the passing of a spouse would ruin him too. He has lived with that same fear and paranoia for a decade. Almost created that misery by his own bloody hand.)

Before he knows it, on the stead of his father, his soulmate appears before him.

“My name’s Rengoku Kyoujurou, I come on behalf of my Father, the Flame Pillar Rengoku Shinjurou!” the boisterous voice says, unchanging in its core but matured into the masterpiece it had potential to be; the song Tengen has been longing for years.

You are finally here, more beautiful than ever, he grins. And he looks more flamboyant than he could ever imagine. His wild hair a recognizable, luminous beacon, longer than when he was a child. His build carved from stone and fire from years of training, curves and muscles silhouetted by the uniform. And his eyes, oh his eyes, a sight so brilliant it could light up any darkness.

Those very same eyes saved him when he was at his lowest, pulled him from under the torrenting shadows up to the surface so that he can finally exhale anew.

His song has changed in bits, the strings and drumming the same at the root; purely unique and the rest honed with the passage of time and skill. While Rengoku thrums with the same energy as before, it now feels appropriately channeled and aimed, this aura oozing confidence and resolve.

Tengen was correct, that his soulmate grew up to be a wonderful, brilliant man. Not to mention beautiful beyond words; his throat dries and his tongue freezes, his mind reels with praise about his soulmate inside his head.

He accepts Sanemi’s hits and refuses to hit him like a good man, and vows to fill the place his father abandoned with pride. Tengen’s heart twinges the tiniest bit at reminiscence of his own past naivete; but if it’s Rengoku, he can do what Tengen couldn’t. He grew up in the sun after all, despite the signs of his father.

That night, Tengen gets wasted in alcohol and fair company, celebrating with his wives, becoming the giddiest drunk in existence, his laughter echoing for miles on end.

“You should have seen him, my darlings!” He says, “He was so flamboyant and flashy! More than me even!” he sighs dreamily, a dopy grin splitting his face apart. The alcohol is loosening him up, along with the excellent company, and once again, he finds himself fawning over his soulmate.

Makio squeals, Suma pouts in pretend jealousy, while Hinatsuru giggles along with him, pouring more sake for them, all of their cheeks flushed prettily. They seem to never get tired of it and he falls loves them greatly for that.

He truly is a lucky man, destiny and his shitty family both gifted him treasures to love and adore for the rest of his life.

“Tengen-sama, you should tell him!” Makio urges on. “Invite him over.”

For a sobering moment, he looks at his exposed wrist, no point in keeping it hidden at home, where it’s safe and out of reach. It’s marred with his scars, reminder of what he almost did.

“I know must come clean to him,” he answers, saying the words to manifest his vow. “Then… if he accepts me…” then, he’ll truly be the happiest man alive, “I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to him.”

This guilt has been eating him alive from the inside for years, the sole drop of blood he drew then, a sea of carnage that drowns him each day. Rengoku Kyoujurou sounds like a kind man, too kind for his own good perhaps, from the sonorous melody of his heartbeat, unyielding and larger than life. Grown up surrounded by happiness along with any angst, allowed to be naïve and believe in people. He’ll be the perfect Pillar, lacking any cynicism, protecting the innocent like a benevolent, caring guardian deity.

Tengen, with all his flaws and his bloody appearance, he will be one of his most devout worshippers, should he be allowed to.

He downs more sake, becoming tipsy and loosening the handles on the most rampant, damaging parts of his mind.

While sober, he never wants to entertain the possibility of his name inscribed in the perfect, roughened skin. It’s painfully hopeful and Tengen is afraid once he catches that light, it will char him to the bone. In his current drunken state, all caution is disregarded as dull and unbecoming- it will definitely go into his head and inflate his ego to hubris, as high as it might be. He can swear that he felt that magnetism for the sole moment their eyes met, seeing that bright crimson and precious gold taking in his appearance, acknowledging his existence as Uzui Tengen.

The days of Tengen yearningly stalking him from afar, looking for the change to kill him and loving him are over.

He believes to be a better man now; certainly not the best, perhaps not even good, he will never be that. But better, head held high and shoulders carrying the weight of his past with the right amount of humility, without letting the shadows creep back into his mind.

Three wonderful women have stayed with him far beyond of what their marriage dictated. They chose him, for a reason. They love him, for being himself, faults and insecurities included. That on its own, boost his strength.

Their words sound harmonious, gentle winds that nudge him forwards.

“You should talk to him.” their smiles bring out his courage. The truth of their present that doesn’t have room for fear.

They live under the sun now too.

In a pleasantly warm summer day, Rengoku Kyoujurou joins the Pillar rank, taking his father’s position in little time, a feat proving his hard work and conviction. He wears the flame haori proudly on his shoulders that carry a family legacy of selfless sacrifice, speaking in clear words and smiling widely. Tengen attends, stands under the light of day to witness his soulmate achieving his goal, becoming a warrior of justice. What he trained to be for so long.

What Tengen almost took away from him along with his life.

This day will be one of the greatest memories of his life. His own promotion was riddled with anxiety and doubt of being handed this much of a weight, but it also now grants him permission to be here for Rengoku, seemingly at even footing. Their paths cross after so many years, now with both of them in each other’s awake surroundings.

He becomes a Hashira through hard work, a kind heart and strong mind and body. In only two years, a feat of brilliance, he stands where Tengen had been four years ago, in a wonderful fall season filled with red fallen leaves that accent Rengoku’s hair and eyes, the warmth of his body felt through the bond and making him crave.

As if that love couldn’t bloom any further, new branches hold blossoms and the roots dig deep in Tengen’s soul, unable to be torn out without leaving a hollow carven in his chest. He’ll have a new reason to celebrate tonight. More fawning about his soulmate will ensue to the poor, tired ears of his wives.

When the meeting is dispelled, Tengen bows to leave quickly, before his emotions overwhelm him and does something reckless. In the end, he’s still selfish and runs away.

But before he departs, Rengoku is in front of him, smiling all prettily and confidently.

“Uzui Tengen!” He greets in that melodious voice, matured over the years and surpassing whatever his dreams could ever conjure up, “Accompany me to the Flame Mansion for a sparring session! I would like to get to know my fellow Hashira one by one!” he hears nothing but joy in those words, it’s mesmerizing.

He doesn’t have time for an answer as the other nods to himself and basically bullies Tengen into it. Well, not exactly, he wraps a small hand around his marked wrist and the contact sends fierce fire burning through him. Not elegant at all on his part, especially around others.

But hell, he can make up for it.  Instead swooping Rengoku into his arms and taking him there luxuriously and comfortably, relishing in the blush burning his cheeks.

They start sparring, Rengoku ready to show off his worth to a senior Hashira, and Tengen has no time to think anything else, mind occupying in not looking weak and marveling his soulmate’s solid movements.

It ends with both of them panting, hours in and almost as the moon starts expanding its nightly, dark domain. The oranges, pinks and golds of the sunset encompass Rengoku like gentle lovers, giving him an almost divine, dreamy quality that fucks with Tengen’s brain.

“As expected for the Sound Hashira!” he compliments with a laugh, “I also glad and very lucky to find my soulmate in the corps! What a coincidence!”

He says those words without fear, with all the warmth one can muster, but it freezes Tengen’s very veins. Before he can process it, Rengoku is rolling up the right sleeve of his shirt and comes close, too close to smell the incense and spice and salty sweat on his skin, showing the symbols engraved on it.

In that beautiful sun-kissed skin, it’s the stuff his nightmares and dreams were made of. His own name written in calligraphic letters, illuminated by a large prominent blue-blooded vein.

Tengen stares. Mesmerized, trying to conjure up a reaction. He wants to kiss the pretty skin, he wants to curse himself for being such a stain to it, apologize to Rengoku about everything.

“I’m sorry for using sparring as an excuse but it was a half-truth! I planned to do it on later time but I got to excited to be on the same ranking as my soulmate haha!” he laughs, eyes fleeting over Tengen’s arms, eyes clearing asking the question but too polite and understanding to utter the words. Perhaps nervous.

Nervous whether Tengen is also bonded to him, as if it’s the best thing that would happen to him.

The moment has arrived. Time to come clean.

“It wasn’t a coincidence.” Thick brows furrow in question at his words.

With a fumbling movement he reveals his left wrist in all its hideous appearance, the ridged scar slashing the name atop of his veins. It’s still readable, but not as pretty as when it first appeared.

Rengoku gasps, Tengen smiles sadly.

“Ugly, isn’t it? The story behind it is even worse.” He takes a deep breath, “I’ve known who you were for years. Where you live. About your family. For as long as your name has been accompanying me.”

He looks at the wide eyes, ready to utter the words he’s been keeping inside for so long, “In my family, soulmates were a weakness. A test on our loyalty. Our target to become strong.”

“Rengoku, I had a blade in your throat years ago and with one move, my hands would be stained with your blood. I am not the soulmate you wished for.”

He reaches out, almost touching the other, but he drops them on his sides, hanging his head. Bowing deeply.

“Perhaps I am better now, but it doesn’t erase what I’ve done. If you want me to cut my whole hand, I will—”

“No.” the resolute answer cuts his self-pitying short. Tengen raises his head in astonishment when a smaller hand takes his own, guide them to envelop his face, nuzzling his soft cheek against the scarred tissue.

“I forgive you!” he smiles tenderly, looking like his worse dream.

“Did you hear what—”

“I did,” his soulmate cuts him off, “But those hands are kind, I can feel them.”

“They are bloody beyond whatever you can imagine.” His brothers, his sisters, everyone he let die by his incompetence.

“But they saved too.”

“I almost killed you.” The reflection of kunai against moonlit skin, the vial of poison in his pocket.

“But I’m still here!” he smiles, disarming all the words in his mouth, every protest wilting in front of his power. He opens his mouth to deter Rengoku that this affection of his is misguided, that he’ll be sorry and curse for the destiny that tied them together.

But all falls flat, burned by Rengoku Kyoujurou’s radiance, greater than it was over a decade ago.

He speaks the words he wanted to hear the most but never dared to hope for, “Uzui, thank you for being my soulmate. I hope I can be as good of a man as you are.”

That smashes the dam, lets the tears pour out.

“You already are, Rengoku. I wouldn’t be here it that wasn’t the case.” His voice has a wet quality and he clears his throat, “Fuck! That’s not flashy of me at all! I hoped I’d make an impression!”

Rengoku shakes his head and smiles, a flush warming his cheeks up to his ears, “You did, I have been watching you since you entered the corps!”

To be in the attention of his soulmate for years now has his heart rattling in his chest, to break out and into Rengoku’s hands.

“Please care of me, soulmate!” Rengoku laughs and all is right in the world.

Tengen feels brave, can’t help himself from taking in his arms once again in a tight embrace, burying his face on his shoulder, getting drunk on the unsteady thumping on his soulmate’s heart.

“Yeah, I swear it.” he looks up, and his lips brush on a crimson cheek. Smirking in return at the owlish blink he gets in return. “So be prepared, love. For the flashiest courting you’ll ever experience! It’s the least you deserve!”

Rengoku flushes lovely scarlet, shyness cracking over his confident demeanor. A sight only for him to see.

Without breaking eye-contact and without Tengen putting Rengoku down, despite his flabbergasted protests, he takes them home, the Sound Estate.

His wives are about to get the surprise of a lifetime.

They are now taking their first steps together, after closing in the distance of many years. Together, they will make for lost time; there are truths still left unrevealed, encounters that are about to happen, visits to loved ones resting place.

Sisters, brothers, I hope you are watching over me. he prays to the high heavens I told you I will be leaving the flashiest life possible. We will come drink with you soon.

It’s only after a long while, as he drinks with his loves, seeing them dance around each other to get to know one another better, that Tengen realizes his wrist has stopped aching. Instead a rush of warmth runs through, as if blood and delightfully sounding light has returned to his veins and sings without fear.