Chapter Text
This story really does begin where all good stories do. With the tragic misfortune of that-one-probably-idiot that insists on pushing against the very expectation of human survival, that instinctual step forward.
Oh joy, that to be pushed, or to fall in this case, is the only way some of us find a path to walk at all.
If true, then it’d probably be safer to just let someone else find that thing you lack, whether it be suffering, love, or laughs. Surrendering to desire before you even know it’s there. Selfish sure, but entirely understandable, right? Another’s future, less certain than our own, is undeniably capable of bringing comfort to those similar, without prospects, wandering lost in this maze of terrible certainty that nothing is certain.
After all, the future is one stubborn beast, with a pension to lead you to the most terrible discoveries. And he would know—remembering the days he became intimately familiar with his own.
The dungeon beneath the castle was a quiet, festering graveyard of forgotten souls. The air hung thick with decay; a mockery, a reflection of the bone-deep rot that clung to the very core of the nation. A place where echoes lingered too long and shadows twisted in the flickering torchlight.
The low hum of a distant underground river filled the long, winding corridors, a constant reminder of the unnatural flood that had long since swallowed up the cells beneath. A boy—no, a slave—moved without urgency, unbothered by the ominous atmosphere that would have better men trembling. He didn’t falter, having grown used to the dark and all it entailed, seemingly content somewhere the incessant day-to-day drivel of the world above had ceased to matter, where time did not flow—only lingered, suspended in silence, stretching endlessly toward nothing.
A place of death.
Dazai wished he could find it here.
When the master had come to him with a summons from the department of magical research, Dazai hadn’t known what to think, not even realizing such a ridiculous-sounding thing existed. Though, he supposes there’s all too much he isn’t privy to, given his affliction. Trust, he’s not complaining. At least he doesn’t have to listen to those meat monkeys going on and on about whatever useless crap they manage to squeeze out of those miniscule brains of theirs. That would be real torture. And Dazai’s not the kind to put himself through unnecessary pain.
The child had always been dealt a bad hand, it seems. Having the pleasure of being passed from one slaver to another nearly as long as he could remember, never finding a place that would take him more than a year. Such was the world they lived in. The strong, used by the powerful, and the weak, simply used up.
He lied before—he does torture himself. Lets himself think of how things might’ve been different. Had he only strayed away from childish temptation, stayed in his mother’s arms. His sweet mother who had let him curl into her lap on the sandy shores of their homeland, humming softly, gentle hands guiding his as she helped him with his letters; endlessly patient when showing her son how to form his mouth to elicit the proper sounds, words he’d never hear himself.
To this day, he couldn’t understand the joy she garnered from those lessons together. But so long as she’d continue smiling at him like that, he hadn’t cared. At least, he hoped that was the expression she’d made, having long forgotten the face of the woman that held him close, close enough to memorize that steady beat of a heart he’s not convinced he has. But still, the knowledge she’d left behind remained a comfort, caught in Dazai’s mind like a spring trap. Even if the world had never given him a use for it.
She must've had high hopes for him…
Her death may have been for the best in that case.
The little servant moved soundlessly through the corridors, bare feet padding softly against the uneven stone. A bucket of expired fish swung limply at his side, its putrid cargo sloshing slightly with each step, leaving a small trail of filth in its wake. He had walked this path time and time again, no longer needed to see it, no longer needed to think. It was a dream he could not wake from; the same steps, the same doors, the same quiet surrender to the endless monotony of servitude.
But tonight was different. The air felt heavier. For the first time, he was not alone. For the first time, someone—no, something—was waiting for him at the end.
Reaching the last door, he did not hesitate. A slave he may be, but much too proud to do something so elementary as to doubt himself. It was a gaping rotting thing of ancient wood, swollen with time and in need of immediate replacement. But hey—who’s got that kind of money these days, right? When he pushed, it groaned like a wounded beast, spilling the stench of salt-crusted walls and stagnant water into the hall beyond.
The room—cavern, more like—was vast but suffocating, its ceiling lost in darkness. Its walls, a smooth water-worn stone slick with moisture, shone in response to the dim glow of his lantern.
Unfortunately, having yet to enter this specific room during his frequent visits to these tunnels, he was wholly unprepared for the imminent and highly inconvenient drop yawning out from the doorway. Being the self-assured genius that he was, Dazai immediately stepped forward, only for his foot to hit nothing but air.
While yes, he would surely be revisiting this decision at a later date—and cursing out whatever idiot thought adding a veritable cliff to the entrance of a poorly lit doorway to hell would be a good idea—that would be for future Dazai.
Current Dazai was currently tumbling to his long awaited death.
Only to be disappointed in hitting a mound of something soft upon a rather graceless landing at the bottom.
Cracking open an eye with a groan, the now self-reflecting genius found himself lying in a heap of discarded fishing nets. The most comfortable thing in the world? No. But enough to prevent him from breaking his neck.
Damn.
Oh well~better luck next time, then.
Once the adrenaline subsided, giving back control of his limbs; Dazai goes to stand with a tired sigh, half heartedly brushing himself off before endeavouring to untangle his feet from the mess of rope.
Gathering up the bucket and whatever remained of its smelly contents, the brunette felt the inevitable wave of exhaustion wash over him. Man, he was far too sleep deprived to be dealing with this shit at such an early hour.
Why was he the one doing this, again?
The master didn’t seem to care enough to provide him a written explanation—well, not like any of them knew he could read, but still. He may be suicidal, but he’d at least like to know what he was walking into; reading lips isn’t exactly a science, y’know?
All he got from the missive was that he was meant to be feeding something to an animal of some kind. Whether that something was the fish or him, seemed inconsequential.
He’d managed to pick up some gossip around town—something about a miracle monster meant to be their salvation.
Ya. Sure.
The only miracle people are looking for these days is one that can line their pockets.
Scooping up his now-cracked lantern—and oh, how he was going to pay for that later—Dazai dragged his aching bones up the stone path towards a pool at the room’s center. It was massive, stretching out from wall to wall, greedily swallowing up any and all light that dared penetrate its depths.
The surface was still. Eerily so.
An ominous feeling filled the air, tangible, like something living working its way into his lungs.
A true abyss.
Waiting. Watching. Hungry.
He stepped forward, overlooking the short drop; the only thing separating him from whatever lurked.
It appeared empty enough, but something purely primal told him that to be anything but the truth.
Tipping the bucket, the first fish tumbled into the pool with a small plop. Ripples spread from the centre, creating an infinite spiderweb, distorting the perfect reflection of the light’s flickering wick along the water’s surface.
A beat.
And then— a breach.
Waves beat against rock, climbing the stone as something surged upward from the depths, slicing the water like a living blade, sending the slave stumbling back from the edge with a strangled yelp.
For the briefest moment, all Dazai could see was movement—the blur of taut muscle, the sinuous coil of a body made for a world that did not belong to man.
CHINK!
Slack left a length of iron chain anchored to the opposing wall as all movement came to an abrupt halt.
The creature stilled, allowing the water to recover from its torment.
Dazai stared.
A siren stared back.
