Work Text:
Death is a force of nature, an immutable law of the universe, and as such he does not need to appear physically to collect souls and escort them back to the Sea. But, since the fall was averted and the great seal was put in place, Death occasionally feels the need to go in person.
He has many forms and many names, some frightening, and some formless, but there is one he finds himself taking that he had thought he’d never assume again. This particular soul knew him as Ryoji Mochizuki, so it’s the form Death chooses to take. This isn’t just any soul he’s come to collect –– it is the soul of a creature who prevented the fall, who fought with all his might to save humanity from its end.
Koromaru has more than earned the right to look Death in the eye as he’s taken.
With the world frozen around him, Ryoji walks forward through the long hallways of the Kirijo mansion, indulging himself by taking in every detail of the living world that he’s unable to participate in. He sees Mitsuru Kirijo and Yukari Takeba, caught in the middle of whispering reassurances to one another, just outside the door he’s headed for.
A smile crosses Death’s face as he remembers a time when things were simpler, when he thoughtlessly flirted with both of them and faced the consequences. A small part of him, perhaps some of the humanity he stole from Minato that still lingers, wishes to speak with them, to laugh with them, to cry with them, just for a day, an hour, a moment. But he knows he cannot. He’s only come to the Kirijo mansion for one reason. Turning away from the pair of young women, Ryoji pushes open the door.
Ken Amada’s face is shattered by trails of tears, his visage one of distilled grief. It is a look Death has seen twice before –– once when he collected the boy’s mother, and again, when he came for the soul of Shinjiro Aragaki. To have to see that look again is almost too much to bear, but the part of Ryoji that is Thanatos, the god of Death, is unable to feel, is always mercifully single-minded in his work. Ryoji reaches for that part of himself and stuffs the pang of hurt down, down, down.
Ken has grown since the last time Ryoji saw him. He is no longer a child, and Ryoji can tell just by looking at him that he is sixteen. He’s gotten taller and a bit thinner, his face maturing and hardening with years of experiences, good, bad, and harrowing. Ryoji wonders if his own form looks seven years older as well. He doesn’t know and doesn’t seek out a mirror to find out. Death took the form of Ryoji Mochizuki without much thought, paying no mind to his appearance and only using the fragments of emotion and the echo of the soul he’d once been sealed beside to guide him in drawing that form forth into existence.
Shaking himself slightly, Death focuses once again on his work. He has a duty to fulfill, a role to play in the natural order. He does not pop down to Earth for his own amusement, no matter how much Ryoji cries out to exist among the living again, just for a few decades or so. He’s here to collect Koromaru, and he is only wearing Ryoji’s face so that the dog does not have to be afraid as he leaves the world behind. A familiar face that is unwelcome is better than that of a monster, Ryoji is certain.
Koromaru could have lived a bit longer, perhaps, were it not for the many long nights he spent fighting shadows in Tartarus, but Death is certain that the creature has no regrets. Much like Minato, his body gives out from exhaustion more than any certain disease or ailment. Even as Ken holds Koromaru’s body close to his, crying into his neck, the creature looks content. When Ryoji finally reaches the pair, he pushes his long scarf behind him and kneels down to Koromaru’s level.
Koromaru raises his head, his heavy eyes suddenly alert as he watches Ryoji get closer. His tail begins to wag back and forth, as if he’s greeting an old friend. He is a strange creature, Ryoji muses, to feel any sort of joy in the face of death. He reaches out a hand towards Koromaru’s fluffy white head and scratches his ears, earning him a small noise of appreciation from the creature.
“Hi there, Koro-chan,” Ryoji says. “It’s good to see you again.”
Before Ryoji remembered that he was Death, he always looked forward to seeing Koromaru when he visited the dorm the members of SEES resided in. Whether he was there to play video games with Junpei or fulfill his indelible urge to be at Minato’s side, he always took the time to greet the friendly Shiba Inu who sat on the front steps of the building, petting his fur or greeting him politely like an old friend. Ryoji wishes quietly that they were meeting again under such mundane circumstances.
“...I’m sorry,” Ryoji says, though he isn’t quite sure why. Death is only natural. No one could defeat it or escape it forever. Death was only doing his job, and Koromaru’s time had come. He’d lived a long, fulfilling life, where he was loved by many. Death had no need to apologize, and yet, Ryoji knew the feeling that had slipped loose from inside him was genuine.
Koromaru cocks his head to the side, as if he were sharing the sentiment. He has always been an intelligent animal, and could surely tell that his time had come. Then, he leans his head into Ryoji’s cold pale hand, as if asking for a few more pets. Ryoji lets out a surprised laugh despite himself. He lets his fingers scratch Koromaru’s worn-down white fur, concentrating on the sensations in his fingertips. He has missed the form of Ryoji Mochizuki. He misses existing among humans as if he was one of them, misses the taste of life he’d been given once, many years ago. But that taste was never meant to last, and being Ryoji Mochizuki hurts more than almost anything. It is his only form that can feel the way a human can. It is an identity he once carved out for himself, an identity he was never meant to have.
“You will be missed,” Ryoji says. “I…have to admit that I’m envious.”
Koromaru lets out a small whimper, and Ryoji freezes mid-pet, more than a little shocked as he translates the sound into meaning.
You are missed.
When Minato had died, the members of SEES had a private funeral for him, all of them thanking him for his sacrifice and adorning his coffin with flowers. He was a friend to many, and the strength of his heart had given everyone he held dear a long life to enjoy. Minato was missed by countless people, but still never enough in Ryoji’s opinion. So many mortals lived their lives not knowing each day was given to them by Minato’s sacrifice.
Ryoji Mochizuki had left no body behind. As Death, he was immortal. Even losing his form, being reassimilated into Nyx, and the formation of the Great Seal could not destroy him entirely. He existed in every corner of reality, bringing death and decay to all living things. He was not gone, he was everywhere. And even if he were gone, he was sure humanity would rejoice. It was illogical to mourn for him. Yet his picture was placed next to Minato’s, and flowers were placed in remembrance of him.
And the Great Seal…Minato…
Death had not visited the place where Minato’s soul stood, forming a barrier between Nyx and Erebus, for a long time. He had not visited for the same reason he hadn’t taken the form of Ryoji Mochizuki for many years. Pain was still new and unfamiliar to Death, and it was far easier to stay in forms that couldn’t feel them and away from places that might bring those emotions to the surface. At first, he had resolved to stay by Minato’s side for eternity, so that the object of his affections would never have to be alone. But while existing at his side, Ryoji had felt a flicker of Minato’s conscious soul reaching out for him, yearning to be close to Death. And Death had run away in fear.
“I see,” Ryoji says softly. “How strange.”
With great effort, Koromaru’s soul slowly gets to his feet, his paws padding silently away from Ken, who is still frozen, clutching Koromaru’s empty body. Then, he barks once, clear and decisive. Ryoji lets out another chuckle.
“You’re right,” Ryoji says. “It’s time to go. There’s someone who has been waiting to see you for a long time. He waited for you just as you waited for him at the shrine.”
At the mention of his old master, Koromaru barks again, his tail whipping back and forth so fast Ryoji thinks that it might fall off. It’s an indulgence, perhaps a selfish act, but Ryoji lingers a little longer, petting Koromaru’s fur and letting out a sigh.
“There’s someone waiting for me too,” Ryoji says, allowing himself to muse out loud. He wonders if it's a quirk of his current form, or if he’s been lonely for so long that the sentiments are simply pouring out of him, unable to be contained beneath the cold indifference of Thanatos. “But I’m not as loyal as you, Koro-chan. I…Death seldom appears where it is wanted. Even those who wish for it often don’t truly wish for their end, only for release from their pain. To be truly wanted is unfamiliar to me. It…hurts.”
Koromaru whimpers once again, and after a moment, Ryoji feels a warm tongue tickling his hand. Smiling is as easy as breathing in this form, Death finds. It’s peculiar. Ryoji is the only form of Death that can feel pain and sorrow, but it is also the only form of his that can feel joy in its purest sense. Death savors the feeling, just for a moment. He focuses on the carpet beneath his shoes, the way his clothes brush against skin, the smell of a nearby vase of daisies and the clean air wafting through an open window on the other side of the room.
Who is waiting? Koromaru asks.
Ryoji shakes his head slightly. He did not come to Koromaru to talk with him. He came as Death to rip him away from the people who loved him. It is a cruel thing to do, trying to find solace in a creature that is, in simple terms, his victim. And yet…and yet.
Ryoji gets to his feet and tears open the way to the Sea of Souls in the fabric of reality with only a thought. Koromaru stares into the abyss, his tail perked up and ears alert. He is ready to face the unknown, ready to reach for the one who has been waiting for him even if it hurts. Koromaru is brave enough to face the Priest, who loves him so dearly. Koromaru is far braver than Death, and it strikes Ryoji Mochizuki in that moment that he wants to do better, that he wants to be as brave as the creature in front of him.
“What awaits you is through there,” Ryoji says, following a script burned into his very being. “Follow me.” Koromaru takes a moment to brush up against Ryoji’s leg affectionately, sending a rush of some emotion Death doesn’t have a word for through his chest. Guilt, perhaps. But even that doesn’t feel right. Could it be fear, then? Death fears nothing, by its nature.
Death fears nothing, he thinks to himself, except love. His love for all of humanity is what keeps him away from the form of Ryoji Mochizuki. His love for living practically tore him apart when he was the harbinger of the fall. His love for Minato was hidden behind thick, impenetrable shells of guilt. Death’s love was a forbidden one. It was the only thing that could make him quake with fear –– the only thing, of course, except for something even more unthinkable. Being loved in turn.
For a creature like Koromaru, love was simple and freely given. Those simple acts of reassurance he had given Death, a brush against his leg, a friendly lick to his hand, a sharp bark of a greeting…those things cost him nothing. For the first time in several years, Death wonders if he can learn to love too. It wasn’t an entirely new thought. He’d had it several times in the form of Pharos, when he’d stare at Minato under the green light of the dark hour and resolve to take on a form that Minato could love as an equal. But it’s different this time. If Death were to speak in terms of human emotions, he’d say he takes pride in his work, bringing a peaceful end to all things. He no longer wishes to not be what he is. He simply resolves to be more than Death.
Death supposes he can be Ryoji Mochizuki, just for a little longer.
“What do you think, Koro-chan?” Ryoji says as he leads Koromaru into the great beyond. “Shall we pay Minato a visit?”