Chapter Text
On whatever days, good or bad, they are all the same to Yuuji. The noises keep coming, some like a shriek, some like a cry, all are riotous and grating. His mind feels as if a white piece of paper scrunched up by hard press and frenzied scratches of charcoal, marred and defiled. He falsely assumes that he is used to this incessancy long ago, but that doesn’t make the noises less jarring.
Today though, on a whim, Yuuji will humour his duty. He rolls over, focusing on and tracking down a sliver of an imminent doom.
Oh, there it is. A sound.
A thin, clangorous sound.
It rings a bell, shines like a beacon, beckoning him to come.
And so Yuuji does.
Yuuji walks through a narrow tunnel, quietly, patiently, anticipating. Like a bad omen befalling innocent lives, always.
To be expected, the first thing to welcome him is the smell of blood. Freshly splashed on concrete, clotting on clothes, gurgling in mouths, spilled from the living and draining the dead.
Well, saying that is maybe a bit too soon, but it’s only a matter of time.
The second thing that is also a drag by now is the last-words moment. Is not like he is treating those solemn instances like a banal play or anything, Yuuji can’t keep count of how many wants and regrets that go unheard by the heavens and he is impotent to said fact. He identifies the ringing sound at the end of the tunnel, coming from a middle school girl confessing her ultimate wish between hiccups and sniffles with watery eyes. The climax before the inevitable ending.
They are so young these days, Yuuji thinks to himself with what used to be raging ignition now just a simmering flame of pity.
Suddenly, his senses are insulted with a distinct stench that it feels more like home than the depth of Hell now. A man approaches with incredible stealth to most but not to him. Yuuji notices, nevertheless, and watches. Funnily, it’s also about time for that man, but Yuuji deems he will make himself comfortable on the other side better than this world anyways.
The man stands in the shadow, pulling out a gun. Yuuji watches.
He holds his aim, finger on the trigger. Yuuji watches.
A loud bang tearing open flesh, ripping silence. Blood finally shed. The ringing sound comes to a halt.
Yuuji only watches.
There is solely one fate for him, for them – lives unceremoniously and brutally taken away and Yuuji watches it all happen.
At first, it was like torture to be a witness. How he had thrashed and agonized for the things he couldn’t save, the things he couldn’t change. Now, it’s like being a bystander, unfeeling and unrelated. Because all he can do is watch. Seated in the middle of the liminal theater, beholds the dramatic projection and leaves when the credit rolls.
However, this time he sojourns a bit longer, until the bloodshed ends with the killer fleeing the scene. Small mercy that the little one’s soul has rolled into his hand before her body is carried away. This one has a pretty shade, opaque and gleams of iridescence. A kind soul.
Yuuji closes his palm and inspects the aftermath.
The corridor to the tombs never looked so similar to an actual tomb than now. Cries and the sound of unbreathing becomes eerily stark, ricocheting and bouncing off empty halls, cacophonous and hushed simultaneously. Yuuji wonders which is louder, the squalls of dying or the bawls of his conscience.
He takes one last glance before departing for that assassin’s sound. There is a figure lying in the puddle of his own blood that is unmoving, so silent as if he is a goner.
However, to Yuuji, the sorcerer is fine, silence is a good sign.
He will live.
Unfortunately, they meet again.
Actually, Yuuji has seen that sorcerer boy on several occasions. No, he isn’t slacking off and stalking a fleshy little mortal mite; everytime Yuuji is lured to a stridulous cry, he sees Getou Suguru. The frequency keeps fortifying that admittedly, Yuuji begins to consider the sorcerer as a peculiar piquancy. Though, to someone like Yuuji, it’s more of a morbid fascination than anything.
A cat playing with its prey before masticating its head.
That’s why Yuuji only watches him from afar. And even from this far, the sadness as well as the madness ridden in such a young soul is painfully palpable. And of course, he looks so tired . His eyes might be as lifeless as the sounds Yuuji comes for. It can’t be helped, really; Yuuji appearing there is already ill-fated as it is.
This time, it’s worse than just ill-fated. It's an abomination, a massacre.
The noises are so grotesque and violent, like insects crawling into his ears and nestling in his brains. Their clashing teeth bite into and mincing and eating his sanity, urging him to bang his head into a wall and crack his skull open like an egg, oozing out wriggling maggots intermingling with rancid viscous muck. Whatever it takes to make it stop. And yet, the noises are still so loud that they are drilling holes into his head.
He has been through throes transcending any fathomable limit, but everytime, it hurts just the same.
When Yuuji finds out the source of his splitting ache, he thinks apathy is a blessing for once. In the pit of nigritude, besieged by the murmurous verdancy and the silence of scattered bodies, it’s him, Getou Suguru, a damned soul who entitles himself the rights to challenge the gods and defy the mortals.
Other times, it was a shame that people surrounding him were bereft. Now, Getou Suguru summons Yuuji towards this sacrilege of his own volition.
The noises around him whirr into incandescence. Yuuji waits for ire to take over him, to bring justice once and for all, to cast divine punishment on such moral corruption.
Nothing of sort comes forth.
Nothing except pity.
Yuuji really does wish for ire to take over him instead.
Perhaps, Yuuji has lived so long that the tears finally dried up, anger finally dwindled, empathy finally time-worn. The cause of his woes doesn’t belong to the mundane world anymore, and the position that promises him power deprives him of humanity. The life cycle will keep repeating and Yuuji shouldn’t feel or do more than what an observer does. A quiet, impuissant observer.
How sardonic it is that Yuuji can’t even be angry with himself.
He could only pity the soul that has gone astray, the tragedy that has pushed him to this monstrous path. Yuuji doesn’t say whatever circumstances justify genocide, just that they are only humans.
It might be because Yuuji has zoned out or the kid has hyper vigilance that all the while his hands are busy dipping in red and viscera, Getou Suguru cranes up.
Yuuji doesn’t know how or why but he can tell exactly the moment when the sorcerer rivets his eyes on him, and shortly evident by the belligerent curses charge headlong towards him.
Ah, he doesn’t want to wrench dying sounds out of them.
With a gentle tap, the majestic beasts are reduced to limp masses, heavily crumping down to the ground and dismissed into thin air. The sorcerer tenses up, unbelieving his eyes, his stance on the defensive.
Getou Suguru shouldn’t possibly see him. This is bad.
“I mean no harm.”
Although Yuuji calls a temporary truce by raising both his hands like a criminal caught red-handed, his appearance to human eyes is not so convincing, and it’s fundamentally weird to have an ancient-looking masked man stumble upon your erenow murder. Clear fraudulence, plenary suspicious. Consequently, all Getou Suguru does is deepen the harsh glare, eyes blood-shot from fatigue but quickly whetted with prudence, shoulders rigid but hands ready to draw blood. Yuuji strangely quails before that scrutinizing scan from the teen.
The teenager decidedly enunciates with great displeasure after several seconds of voiceless assessment. “What are you?”
“Um, don’t you mean who?”
“You are not human, no monkey can stand a chance before my curses, let alone defeating them with ease.” Getou Suguru seems to be validating his next choices of words and thoughts, however hard onyx orbs pin on the stranger. “You’re not exactly a sorcerer or a curse either, your energy feels… weird.”
Yuuji can’t explain himself, can he?
“Probably your hallucination. Or your revived imaginary childhood friend.”
“Excuse you, I don’t addle myself on the run. And I had real friends back then.”
The kid is so cynical and cautious.
“Plus, you wouldn’t be anyone’s imaginary childhood friend at all.”
And, he is also mean.
“Maybe your conscience, then?”
“You sucks at your job.”
Damn repellent kid.
“Look, I really can’t explain, and even if I can, you wouldn’t believe me. So, um, can we just forget about this? I just happened to pass by, I won’t tell anybody what I know of tonight and you’ll never see me again.” Yuuji nervously adds, “Probably.” Yuuji ardently tries to make his negation more human-like.
From Getou’s mien though, he has failed pathetically.
Despite everything, it seems that the teenager is a bit less hostile, now is that chance for Yuuji to vamoose immediately before it’s too late. Getou Suguru has already seen him. The sooner the better.
“Eep! I won’t cause a fuss. I’ll leave right away.”
Yuuji seriously sorts to ghosting. Maybe the teenager will pass it off as a paranormal activity or phantasmagoria. Just as Yuuji’s about to turn the other way around, a hand wraps around his wrist. Getou Suguru is still warm, still alive.
Good, hope it could be for long.
Thin lips open to speak something, but nothing comes out.
Yuuji heard it anyway.
He gazes at his limb encrimsoned by blood of the dead, encircled by the hold of the living. Yuuji shouldn’t come into contact with humans, he shouldn’t meddle with the lives of those below.
Yuuji tears his arm away and vanishes into the night.
When he was newly manifested, unfamiliar with the hideous reality of wars and sins, Yuuji believed that everybody deserved a proper death. Now, old and disillusioned as he is, he finds himself impugning that very notion. What is a proper death? Death of soldier lauded effusively at his hometown as a hero but no one knew whose blood he had shed? Death of a bastard that was so ostracized by society that nobody would cast a glance when he tried to escape a rape? Yuuji, who had writhed and tormented for chiliads, gives up on vacillating between the ambivalence and duality of a coin. It doesn’t matter how many times he has thrashed and demented, the noises will gnaw at his mind, clapperclawing like rodents feeding on timber.
Yuuji simply chooses to abjure his creed.
The decision doesn’t allay the horrendous bellows haunting him but at least it spares him the guilt, self-loathing and sempiternal cafard.
However, a private and inmost part of him reviles him for the indifference he used to despise so much but is using it as a defense mechanism. That philanthropic side of him poisons him each and every existing day, stilly lodging right beside him and hissing embitterment. On days he retches his bowels and throat out like a human would do, it will stare at him with schadenfreude. On days he attempts to eloign from the excruciation, it will double the noises that plague him.
This very moment is one of those baneful times.
The deeds Getou Suguru is commiting, the noises that screech like scratching tin foil, all are nerve-racking, insufferable. Yuuji isn’t in the position to tell anyone that their business is flagitious or not, he is no saint with holy lenience or condescending sanctimony, but this human is truly testing his limit, ceaselessly bombarding him with poignant blaring noises. And perhaps, his curiosity gets the better of him.
So, like a man embarking on a quest, a moth to a flame, Yuuji visits the earthly realm once more.
As fate of a jinx would govern, Yuuji’s vision is opened to a sanguinary vista, carmine and splanchnic lumps strewed over the cold tiles, colors barely washed out by the gleaming lunar slithering through the panes. Some scarcely intact, others dehiscent and claret, most disfigured and limbs scattered apiece, all are dead.
Yuuji is surprisingly poised on the boundary between equanimity and wrath.
Deep inside the chamber sits placidly a man. The fact that light doesn’t reach him and the coppery stink from the ambience gives off an enigmatic and ominous atmosphere, incriminating him as the offender to this carnage.
No acknowledgement is exchanged between them. Yuuji is more than fine with it.
It’s better that Getou Suguru can’t see him. Wait, can he? If Yuuji stands arrantly still, maybe the human won’t notice.
As if answering the questions swirling inside one pink head, Getou Suguru stands up and trudges slowly towards Yuuji. His movements quiet, his steps smear red on the floor. Yuuji doesn’t falter, he deems Getou simply seeks a breath of fresh air outside and will walk through him like nothing is there.
Oh, how wrong was he, cause Getou Suguru is standing right in front of him now.
Damned.
One stares, the other has an inner turmoil, both stuck in an uncomfortable impasse until the taller breaks the ice.
“The moon is beautiful tonight, isn’t it?”
Yuuji doesn’t reply nor does Getou wait for him. “It would be more so if we could admire it somewhere else.” The young man steps through the entrance that Yuuji first came by and leads the way. A putrid whiff of carrion flares when they brush shoulders. If Yuuji were someone else, a serial killer would not seem so small and harmless. But he is no ordinary someone else, hence, Yuuji wordlessly follows.
The night is as cold as it is young. Breezes not strong enough to tumble his veil but mayhaps gelid to human standard. The firmament is clear enough to marvel at the moonscape encrusting silver glimmer on rustling foliages down below; the hustle and bustle of the metropolis are insignificant in the corner of their outlook, their light dwindling before sacred illumination up above.
The sounds are oddly distant, like a channel that is always open but no one really listens.
Getou Suguru leans on the railing whereas Yuuji stands next to him at a respectful distance. Yuuji has imagined how the conversation would go, how he would start with the weather or the human would proceed with his interrogation from last time, but no, Getou only takes out a pack of cigarettes and leisurely smokes.
Well isn’t this just casual and awkward at the same time, Yuuji mentally wails as he surreptitiously studies the other’s expression.
If one were to judge Getou Suguru at a first glance, he could be labeled as attractive to the human eye, cryptic in cinerescent apparels and chiaroscuro lighting. Though, at a second glance, Getou Suguru is a very frazzled man. Indeed that he is no longer a teenager from their last encounter, his physical features becomes defined in primetime, his frame and height add a few inches, the chignon can’t fit the length of his hair, eyes harden, breadth thickens and edges hardens, but execrable exhaustion overrides all maturity. Lethargy makes itself be known, exsanguinating him of colours, etching crow’s feet and bruising dark circles under his eyes. Purple veins and osseous bones are prominent shades beneath pallid skin.
But there he is, breathing in the third cig tonight, no worries about how deep the ember would burn.
“You are kind of obsessive to death, you know.”
Getou smiles a little at that.
“Your voice is as lovely as how I remember.”
Yuuji instinctively purses his lips.
“Aw, don’t be miffed so easily. And please, do explain.”
“The things that you are doing to people and yourself…,” Yuuji ponders, “I don’t understand. They are meaningless.”
“Probably, to you.” Before Yuuji can say anything, Getou adds. “No offense taken or towards you, of course.” The tobacco stick is close to scorching his fingers, sooty and flickering before the wind. The man extinguishes it and lights another cigarette. If Yuuji notices the stealthy tremble of the human’s hands, he offers nothing.
“The things that I do, I do it for my kind’s sake.”
“Do smoking and starving yourself count?”
“Appreciative as I am, don’t waste your care on a stranger, darling.”
Getou takes a long drag before puffs out an ashy billow his way.
Yuuji is not affected by the pollutant, unfailingly unresponsive.
“I wanted to save them, the sorcerers so cutthroat to do good for humanity but are downtrodden by ungrateful swines.”
“Wanted?” Yuuji repeats.
“At least, that was what I told myself initially. That kind of seemingly altruistic ideal, I wonder which fuels it more, the genuine compassion I have for my kind or the hatred towards non-shamans.” His voice is rough by the scalding smoke. “Could be both, could be none.”
Yuuji will not impose. Getou invites him anyway. “Humans are weak, weak beings, you know? We gotta abide with our faiths, that’s the only way we can move on.”
Yuuji finds himself frowning. Is not that he cannot fathom what this man is spouting, Yuuji simply can’t bring himself to sympathize with him.
“So you kill to feel that you are right? Is the outcome even worth it? ”
The man simply replies to his demand for a confirmation.
“Humans do many things that we believe are right.” Remembering something is missing, Getou temporarily derails the conversation, suppressing a coughing fit threatening to rise from his abused lungs.
“We haven’t had a proper introduction, have we? The name is Getou Suguru. What’s yours?”
“You can call me Yuuji” is the shorter’s phlegmatic answer.
“Made of the kanjis “permanence” and “benevolence”? Pretty name.”
Getou’s compliments fly right over the addressee’s head.
“As I was saying, Yuuji,” the man revels in the liberty bestowed on him, “Think of yourself as a sorcerer, hypothetically. Would it be right to contend everyday to the extent of vomiting and going unhinged, only to suffer alone while watching your fellow man die painfully, unbeknownst to the ignorant crowds? Would it be right to possess so much power, yet, could not save your most loved ones and instead, have to protect those lowly insolent bottom feeders? And, would it be right to just let life cull the weak and protect what matters most to you, as it should be? When being asked these questions, I find myself at a crossroad.”
“All leads to Hell, however. It will not end well, so you get to choose how you would die. Whatever that I do, help people as a shaman, kill people as a curse user, I mostly do it for my own cause.”
Yuuji decides that he doesn’t like the look on Getou’s face sometimes; it fails to disguise the diabolic and tristful hints behind his calculated panache.
“I have cogitated enough. It would be worth it.”
The gust howls to fill the silence between them. The forlorn indignation in him somehow simmering again and it comes back with vengeance.
“Does it have to be this way? Something has to be wrong or right, black and white?” Yuuji shouldn’t do this, but he can’t stop himself. “Nothing is flawless. If something is wrong, fix it. Elimination isn’t the only option. You are doing nothing but destroying what you want to protect. You don’t understand what humans are truly capable of.”
Getou is calm when he speaks.
“Neither do you understand our helplessness.”
“You—”
“Don’t act like us now, it’s unsettling.”
Yuuji finds himself unable to finish his sentence to retort. The man’s words cut deep, overwhelming the other. What is this strange sense of frustration? How long has he forgotten to feel this way? What has Getou Suguru done to him? His throat unnaturally dry and strained, his body itchy and shaking, overwhelmed by a wave of uncontainable fury. He doesn’t believe his perception. He can’t accept this.
Yuuji tries again but nothing could be spoken. Nothing is there to be spoken. The chasm between them is wide and clear, their differences cannot be settled. Getou takes Yuuji’s speechlessness as a cue for him to continue.
“Like I said, humans are weak, Yuuji. We can’t save them all. So we get to choose who will live and who will die.”
“That’s not on you to decide,” Yuuji whispers.
“I'll do it anyway.”
Yuuji can yet cannot comprehend it at the same time. Souls like Getou Suguru are not rare, he has seen tons of them, sooty beads rolling into his hand all the same, and it’s not Yuuji's responsibility or concern to interfere with how humans live their life. Puny creatures with puny ideals will be stuck in their puny self-created misfortunes. He knows that, he learns it awfully well, better than anyone else, and yet, and yet—
Yuuji sighs, accepting defeat. Mayhaps, there is no right or wrong to their beliefs. Getou Suguru can’t fathom the sounds tormenting Yuuji for eons, Yuuji can’t comprehend the misery the human has been through. In the end, they do what they deem would bring them peace of mind, even if it’s sucking Getou Suguru’s vitality out of him, even if it’s benumbing Yuuji.
Strangely, Yuuji can relate with that side of the young man, being so omnipotent yet powerless at the same time.
So deep in his rumination that Yuuji fails to realize Getou Suguru advances until his veil is lifted up.
“Are you crying?”
The shorter shakes his head, hands about to cover his face but is seized by the other firm grip. Yuuji doesn’t dismiss the man further.
“Ugh, go away.”
Ignoring the deterrence, Getou Suguru hunches down and invades Yuuji’s personal space. Their foreheads pressed flush and white veil resting on raven hair cascading down broad shoulders. Both Getou’s hands reach to cup the wight’s face, fingers lightly caressing pink cheeks and wiping the lustrous droplets away. Haematic red covering the man’s hands is already dried, allowing him to touch Yuuji without tainting him.
“Did I tell you your name is very befitting?”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“No, but you could use a little distraction.”
Tears welling up and rolling down uncontrollably and Getou contumaciously rubbing his thumbs against plump derma. At this close, Yuuji can feel onyx eyes pinning on him intently like a hawk and he can’t stand the embarrassment if their eyes meet. Instead, he lets the man’s poor excuse to squeeze his cheeks out of spite slide, embedding his gaze nethermost.
It’s risible, really, how a god feels more of what a human should have.
A few minutes pass by, Yuuji feels his face start to sore from the constant bullying and can barely bury the quiet hiccups down his throat, swating the offender’s hands away. Getou Suguru is unaffected by the shorter’s half-hearted attempt.
“Look at me, Yuuji.”
“What for? Want me to hail you and your insufferable face now?”
“Why yes, thank you. I know I have the charm.”
“Then there you go. Leave me alone.”
“It doesn’t seem to have any effect on the desired beholder, though.”
Yuuji’s huff sounds more like a laugh.
“It’s a bit hard to look at when there’s others’ blood on your face.”
“Well, you’ll have to excuse me.”
The man’s inflection remains even as he withdraws his hands to smear the blot off, finally retreating. Albeit clandestinely, Yuuji does look at Getou through his veil, realizing that for the first time, he doesn’t have that perpetual virulent intention written all over his face.
They dally by enjoying the moonrise for one cigarette more, loud minds seeking answers in silence, one reflecting on its cordial loathing, one reliving its forgotten sentience. Getou stubs his cigarette with his sole while letting out a heavy sigh, nicotine intoxicated.
“Hate to be that person but I will have to clean up the corpses. My kids are probably looking for me.”
Not waiting for Yuuji’s response, the man pulls back where shadow reigns and moonlight wanes, waving a hand before leaving for good, his voice hoarse.
“Take care of yourself, Yuuji. With that much kindness for the unworthy, you’ll get your heart broken.”
Yuuji can tell that Getou belatedly regrets saying so. He doesn’t point it out, nor will the man say anything more. They both soundlessly slink into the night.
Amidst the clamorous turbulence, Yuuji is awakened by a familiar sound.
An inauspicious augury.
It’s too soon. His time has come too soon.
When Yuuji arrives, Getou Suguru already has his legs in the grave. One arm missing, blood soaking his clothes, viscera busted, bones fractured, it basically takes an immensely strong will for him to be still wheezing now.
Ah, it’s this scene again, the dying one. Regardless of how many times he sees this very moment, Yuuji can’t get used to it. The nauseating and uneasy feelings are drowning him, killing him. But Yuuji is only an impassive bystander, so he watches from a distance.
Mustering up his last breath, Getou asks the white sorcerer for a small favour. The white-haired man doesn’t put too much thought into it, acquiescing by stepping back and looking away. If he sees his best friend mumbling, he will simply assume it’s deathbed delirium.
Getou stirs as if to beckon the wight standing near, but hurts himself while doing so.
“It's nice to see you again, Yuuji.”
The addressee watches him, pities him. Whatever that they do while they live, they all end up the same. Shrilling then completely silent. Death is equal.
“You know, you never said anything about yourself although I could figure it out from the beginning.” Getou miserably laughs to conceal his wince from abdominal pain. “You are a god.”
The addressee unfailingly watches him.
“But you are not just any random god. You are Death.”
Getou phrased it like an accusation. Yuuji doesn’t deny or reply to it, squeezing on the grip.
“Though, I always thought you were too pretty to be one.”
The god smiles ruefully, then swings his scythe.
Yuuji’s world is quiet even only for a second.