Chapter Text

The very first time I remember you, your eyes are brown, and you don’t love me back.

The next time, they are blue, and you do.

After a while, I give up trying to guess if the color of your eyes means anything.

Because even when you don’t exist, I'm always in love with you.

I remember most fondly those lifetimes when we get to grow up together.

Where you share your secrets and sorrows and hiding places with me.

I love how you always go along with my bad ideas.

Before you grow up and realize they are bad ideas.

(and in our times together, I have many many bad ideas.)

When we meet as adults, you’re always much more discerning.

I don’t blame you.

Yet, always, you forgive me.

As if you understand what’s going on, and you’re making up for all the lifetimes in which one of us doesn’t exist,

and the ones where we just, barely, never meet.

I hate those. I prefer the ones in which you kill me.

But when all is said and done, I’d surrender to you in other ways.

Even though each time, I know I’ll see you again, I always wonder

is this the last time?

Is that really you?

And what if you’re already perfectly happy without me?

Ah, but I don’t blame you;

I’ll never burn as brilliantly as you.

It’s only fair that I should be the one to chase you across ten, twenty-five, a hundred lifetimes

until I find the one where you’ll return to me.

The Kawoshin version of Tongari's poem, 25 Lives.

“Don’t make me do this, Guren,” Shinya said, and he hated how his voice shook. Yet despite his trembling voice, his hands were firm. Byakkomaru was steadily pointed at Guren’s face, the end of the rifle hovering just inches from Guren’s face. “Do not make me shoot you.”

Guren smiled, but it was an unnerving, blank smile; in fact, his entire face was cold, blank. Like a doll, something inhuman. 

Yet no curse marks marred his face, and his sword remained sheathed. The events that had occurred moments before hit Shinya with the force of a physical blow— Guren had just murdered their comrades, their friends.

It couldn’t be true, Shinya thought, swallowing against his dry throat. His lips were cracked and dry, his face bloodstained, his overall appearance rumpled and dirty. Guren looked so clean compared to him. 

So cold. 

Who is the Hiragi here?  

Shinya’s eyes widened. “Mahiru,” He said, but Guren’s face didn’t change. “Mahiru. You’re not Guren. You’re Mahiru.” 

“Mahiru is dead,” Guren said, flatly. “She is no longer here. Calm down, Shinya.” 

Shinya laughed. It was a hysterical sound; nothing seemed real, anymore. Was this all a nightmare? A horrible dream, conjured by his mind? 

The corpses of his comrades were too real to be a dream, the overpowering smell of blood too sharp. This wasn’t a dream. This was reality, which was so much worse. 

“Hey, Mahiru,” Shinya said, voice cracking. “Why… why did you do this to Guren?” Guren remained silent, and Shinya had to swallow his hysteria down enough to speak. “Tell me!”  

“Mahiru is no longer here,” Guren repeated. “I am not her, Shinya.” 

“ ‘No longer here’,” Shinya repeated, the words bitter. “You mean, she was here. You were possessed by her, but not any longer.” 

Guren was silent, observing Shinya with dull eyes. Dull, slit-pupiled eyes. 

“I am not possessed,” Guren said, finally.

Guren’s teeth were pointed. The realization made everything go numb; Shinya did not feel, not any longer. The rising panic and overwhelming hysteria drained out of him, falling away, leaving a shell. The corpses and blood were a distant memory, the chaos around them faded, like an old photograph. His emotions were dulled and gone, a familiar lack of feeling, a comforting apathy, but not one he thought he would ever feel around Guren. 

He had always felt around Guren. It had been the only time it had been okay to feel emotion, around Guren. 

Had he lost even that? 

“I see,” Shinya said, and it sounded hollow, even to his own ears. “I understand now. You are no longer a human, nor a namanari.” 

“What am I, then?” Guren asked, but they both already knew the answer. Guren was just toying with him, anyways; or at least, the thing that had used to be Guren Ichinose was toying with him. Toying with a helpless human with an emotional attachment too strong to ever pull the trigger. 

“Die, demon,” Shinya whispers. “Go Byakkomaru. Bang.”

The demon actually managed to look surprised before the white, flaming, tiger-possessed bullet struck him, and Guren’s corpse fell to the ground, the demon dead. A ring of blood began to spread out underneath his head, like a twisted halo. 

Shinya dropped his rifle and wept.

His sight went dark, and he already knew his fate was sealed.  

Byakkomaru appeared before him in the form of Guren. Guren in his high school uniform, young and face unburdened by the troubles of the world. He looked remarkably young and carefree.  

Shinya knew that Guren had never actually looked like that. It was simply his demon taking advantage of his weakness, manipulating him.  

He didn’t care anymore.  

Guren offered his hand with a beaming smile that the real Guren never would have ever made.  

“Let’s go, Shinya.”  

Shinya doesn’t ask where. It doesn’t matter; he doesn’t care. He smiled back and accepted Guren’s hand, and everything went dark for the last time.

Chapter Text

The very first time I remember you, your eyes are brown, and you don’t love me back.

 

Shinya’s early childhood is confusing. He stumbled through most of it on unsteady feet, head filled with memories that he was certain were not his own. Then, he realized, they were his own— just not from this lifetime.

He is the only one that remembered, Shinya. Sometimes he was thankful for that fact, but others, especially during his very early childhood, he wished that someone understood.

Nobody did, nor did Shinya expect them to. He never told a soul about his memory.

He does things differently in this lifetime, just a little. He knew this time not to befriend any of the other children in the survival game of his youth; it didn’t make killing his young friends any easier, but he ended the game quickly this life. He knew where they would hide this time, their strategies, the times they would attack, how they would attack, how they would defend. His body is young and small, not the well-trained body of the adult he had been, but he remembered. His magical training and prowess was already a well-honed blade, his muscles were too underdeveloped to use most of the military training he had received in his previous life, but what he could still perform he did with deadly accuracy.

The survival game ended in a short, simple year. Shinya did not cry this time, when he slaughtered the children he grew up with.

He was too cold for that already. He had seen far too much death, his emotions already too far gone.

To his mild surprise, the Hiragi’s did not have him meet Mahiru right away, although he had won the game. They trained him, drilled him, into a perfect soldier, until he was in peak physical condition and the family was sure he was under their thumb.

He wasn’t, but he could hide it extremely well.

When he finally did meet Mahiru, the same young age as he had the first time in his previous life, Shinya offered a smile that was less innocent and bright as it had been the first life, and less genuine.

It didn’t matter. Mahiru shot him down before he could even speak, like he had expected she would, and he offered, just like he had before, to be her cover-up. Unlike his first life, he didn’t vow to make her love him.

He wasn’t sure if he could love Mahiru. It wasn’t that Shinya didn’t love her; he did, but not in the way he was probably supposed to. He loved her because she was the reason he was alive, and he loved her as a child, before her demon had corrupted her into Mahiru-no-Yo, but he did not love the thing she had become. He did not love Mahiru-no-Yo.

He met Guren in highschool, like he was expecting. He attacked Guren, watched him take the blow, and history continued on it’s course, just like he had expected it. There was only a single difference, one that puzzled Shinya to no end.

Guren’s eyes were more brown than purple.

Yet nothing else seemed to be different, and Shinya let it slide. Guren was Guren, and the important thing was that Shinya would do things differently this time. He would do things differently, and everything would turn out how it was supposed to be. Everything would turn out right, and they would get a happy ending, the one that they had never had a chance to experience in their first life.

Everything does not turn out how it was supposed to. They grow up together like they used to, and Mahiru dies, Guren becomes infected with a demon, despite Shinya’s best attempts to keep those particular events from happening.

Things got progressively worse as time passed by. It became clearer and clearer to Shinya that Guren is different in this lifetime, but Shinya still dares to hope, and just like he had in the first lifetime, he kissed Guren in Guren’s office during the twentieth year of his second lifetime.

Guren did not kiss him back. Guren pushed him away, and responded to Shinya’s advance with mild horror and repulsion.

Shinya left the office feeling hollow, and when he returned to his own quarters, for the first time in this lifetime, he wept.

Had he done something wrong, to make history diverge and turn out this way? He was a fool for trying to change the past, trying to play God.

Was this his punishment?

Byakkomaru could sense his weakness, his strength fracturing. The demon’s strength swelled, and he preyed on his host immediately.

Shinya’s vision went dark.

Inside his world of dark, Guren appeared. Guren, fresh-faced, unburdened, and smiling.

A smile looked almost foreign on Guren’s face; he smiled so little. Even if it was just Byakkomaru  taking advantage of his love, it made Shinya’s heart do flips in his chest and made him ache.

Guren would never smile for Shinya like that; at least, not in this life. The brown-eyed Guren did not love him. But just for awhile, Shinya would pretend.

“Shinya~” The demon purred, and Byakkomaru opened his arms— Guren’s arms— wide. The look in his eyes was anything but loving; it was predatory, but Shinya ignored that. “Oh, Shinya~!”

The demon’s voice is Guren’s, but it is painfully clear it is not Guren’s. Byakkomaru’s voice is flat, like a computer is speaking, not quite able to mimic Guren’s voice’s qualities. But Shinya overlooked it, pretended. If he pretended, he could mistake it for Guren’s.

“Guren,” Shinya breathed, and Byakkomaru smiled. His smile was cold.

“That’s right, Shinya. Come to me,” The demon purred in Guren’s voice, and Shinya broke.

He embraced the demon wearing Guren’s skin, and his second lifetime went dark forever.

The next time, they are blue, and you do.

Shinya’s third life is less confusing. He realized what happened sooner this time; it was one of his first thoughts, the crushing, I’ve been here before.

He is prepared, this time. Shinya does not allow himself to love the parents that will sell him to the Hiragi family. He is never a bright, happy child; he is quiet and seldom smiled. His parents worry there is something wrong with him, because no kindergartner should ever be so sad, so melancholy.

They worry that I will not be a fit candidate for a mate for Mahiru , he thought bitterly. They worry their 300 million yen is ‘damaged’. But they have no reason to fear; I don’t plan to stay here.

Shinya made sure to excel even more in this lifetime, just in case. He was the smartest kindergartner in all of Japan, and the Hiragi’s select him without hesitation.

He knew it would happen, down to the exact date, and he hesitated before he walked to his kindergarten, because he knew it would be the last time he would see his parents, see the mother he got his delicate bone structure from and the father he inherited his startlingly blue eyes and peculiar coloring from.

Shinya hates them. Yet he broke down and threw his arms around his mother’s neck for a final time, and he gripped his father’s shirt with shaking, tiny hands, and he choked back a plea for them to stay. He forced a smile and cheerily said goodbye, and he listened to his mother tell him she would see him later, listened to his father tell him to do well at school today and he could have dessert after dinner. They ruffled his hair, surprised at his sudden emotional outburst, and told him they loved him.

He faked a smile at their lies and held his breath until the tears that threatened to spill over went away.

Shinya let the survival game last a little longer this time. Two years, nearly three. He didn’t make friends, didn’t grow close to the others, but he let the game drag on. He didn’t want to alter this past too much; what if that was the reason Guren didn’t love him, he feared? Had he rushed things too fast, changed things too much?

So this timeline, he sat things out. History moved faster, because he knew everything that would happen already, knew just how to kill his opponents, how to make himself shine in the eyes of the Hiragi family. How to survive.

Shinya let Mahiru tell him she would never love him, and he smiled and offered to be her cover-up, but he still did not vow to make her love him.

Instead, he waited. Waited, trained, became stronger, tried to find books and spells that he had never encountered before. He tried to always be learning, strived to be better, stronger.

And finally, finally, the day came when he attended high school for the first time. He attacked the boy with inky hair and bore the Ichinose name with his spell charms like he always had, and his heart soared, waiting as Guren took the attack, waiting for Guren to meet his eyes again—

Shinya’s heart seemed to stop beating, a bitter taste in his mouth, and he wondered what he had done wrong in this timeline.

Guren’s violet eyes were blue. The blue of the skies, a clear blue, a beautiful blue, but not the violet eyes that Shinya knew.

Yet even still, he dared to hope. Guren’s eyes were not brown, the color he despised, and that gave him hope. So he befriended Guren, who was still in love with Mahiru, and he hoped. He changed nearly nothing, all out of hope, hope that this blue-eyed Guren that was not quite his Guren but was still Guren nonetheless, would still love him.

Shinya watched Guren fall hopelessly in love again.

He watched Mahiru’s condition degrade.

He wasn’t there when Mahiru took on Shinoa’s demon, but he knew it would happen, and he let it.

It nearly killed him, but he was too afraid to try and intervene when Mahiru infected Guren with a demon. He wasn’t there for that either, but he had deduced when it would happen, and he let it.

Mahiru died.

Mahiru-no-Yo was born.

Guren changed, never really coped with her death the way he should have.

The world as they knew it ended.

Little Shinoa grew up, and suddenly she wasn’t so little. She was a Hiragi; maybe she had never really been little. She had never really had the chance to be.

Guren became his real friend, trusted Shinya, became a member of the army.

They worked side-by-side for years.

Shinya rescued Guren from suicide missions the Hiragi family sent him on, comforted him when comrades were lost; life went on.

He was more observant, now, after two lives and deaths under his belt. Shinya realized that Guren changed, saw the signs as his other personality took over, slowly. It was never bad in the early days. Things were okay, things were fine.

He relived all of the events of his past lives, slowly, one by one.

And then, the day came. The day that Shinya had dropped by to visit Guren after a mission, when they were just twenty years old.

In his first life, Guren had loved him, had kissed him back.

In his second life, Guren hadn’t reciprocated his feelings, and that life had ended today.

What would this outcome be?

Shinya’s breathing came fast, hard, but he swallowed it down and took a long breath before he entered the office. Guren was sitting at his desk, pen in hand; he had been doing paperwork.

“Shinya. What are you doing here?”

Shinya grinned. “Aw, I missed you too, Guren!”

It was so familiar to him, by now. The easy banter. So why was his heart beating so fast?

“You’re avoiding my question,” Guren said flatly, turning back to his paperwork. “Kureto’s dumped me with a shit ton of paperwork, so if you’re just here to waste my time, wait until later. I’m busy now.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t say that I came to waste your time,” Shinya said cheerily, stepping inside the door-frame and shutting it firmly behind him. His gloved hands nearly slipped when he was locking the door.

“Then get on with it,” Guren replied, never looking up. Shinya was already nearly at his desk; he paused in front of it, then smiled cheekily and announced, like he always did, “If you insist, Guren.”

His fingers found Guren’s chin, the same way he had in his past lives, and turned the inky haired male toward him. Guren looked irate, for a moment, but Shinya’s lips closed over his before he could speak and Guren went rigid, frozen stiff as a board.

Ah. So it’s the second life all over again, Shinya thought bitterly.

He was about to pull back when Guren’s hands slid up his back, keeping Shinya firmly in place and wrinkling his uniform, but Shinya could have cared less. He exhaled into the kiss, relieved, as Guren’s surprise faded and he pressed into the kiss. Guren’s hands traveled up, tangled in Shinya’s hair, and Shinya’s hands slid lower.

He could have laughed, giddy with relief.

He loves me, Shinya wanted to cry, he loves me. This life will work out fine.

His third life did not work out fine. For a long time, Shinya thought it would, and later thought himself stupid for believing so.

It happened on an ordinary night. It seemed so bizarrely simple; a vampire got into the city walls. The alarm sounded at night, when Shinya was exhausted and had just managed to find his way into bed, the wail splitting the night air. Screams echoed with it, and the voice of the announcer blared, “A vampire has entered the city walls, all private citizens, please take shelter immediately. Repeat, a vampire has entered the city walls, all residence of Shinjuku’s Sixth Division, please take urgent refuge.”

Shinya’s body tensed, and he scrambled from bed before his mind had even processed the alarm.

This isn’t right, He thought, heart racing. This has already happened for this timeline. Guren has already given Yuu his sword, already killed the invading vampire, almost a full month ago.

What’s going on?

Shinya isn’t too far from the Sixth Division. Guren’s place was closer, and the only thought running through his mind was I should have stayed at Guren’s tonight.

He’s breathing just a bit roughly when he arrived at the scene. The city gate has been forced open, and Guren is facing the vampire alone. The corpse of city guards, armed with weak, low-level swords, lay around him. The clothes suggest a vampire of power— a progenitor? A low-ranked one, maybe. Certainly not very powerful, but still much more powerful than a human could handle alone.

“You killed one of my subordinates not long ago,” The vampire tutted, and threw Guren into a wall. Dust flew everywhere, shards of brick peppering the air, and the metallic, rust-like smell of blood filled the air.

“Guren!” Shinya screamed, then froze. The vampire’s attention was on him, now, and he summoned Byakkomaru to his hand, aiming rapidly, but there was no time and the vampire was already upon him. Shinya moved instinctively, dodging so that the cut sliced his shoulder rather than his head, and he gritted his teeth as his blood spilled.

The vampire’s hand closed around his neck, and Shinya was choking, unable to breathe. Feeling lightheaded already, he snatched an explosion tag from his belt and slapped it onto the vampire’s head, forcing out a broken, breathless incantation.

The explosion was large enough to sear Shinya, as well, throwing the burned vampire backwards. Shinya gasped for breath, reclaiming the discarded Byakkomaru as the vampire recovered and charged him again.

Guren sliced the vampire’s arm, severing it at the elbow, seeming to materialize in front of Shinya like magic.

“Are you alright?” Guren demanded, though his gaze never strayed from the vampire, who was reattaching it’s arm.

“Fine, Guren,” Shinya rasped. “It’ll take more than that to kill me.”

“Good,” Guren said, quietly, then louder, “Get up, then. This isn’t over yet.”

“I’ve got you’re back,” Shinya promised, and Guren might have smiled.

“I know you do,” He said, and he was gone. Shinya tracked him with Byakkomaru, aiming mechanically and ordering, “Byakkomaru, shoot. Bang.”

The vampire stumbled back as the bullet pierced it’s chest, and Guren decapitated it swiftly.

Then it got worse, and Shinya realized, belatedly, that there was more than one vampire. The vampire’s sword pierced his torso, the blade sliding through him like butter, and the vampire twisted it savagely before yanking it free. Shinya’s vision blurred, but he wasn’t dead, not yet. He saw the horrified look of Yuu’s face, the boy appearing with his sword in hand, so young. Too young, too weak, with a curse-less sword.

Easy prey for the vampires.

Run, Shinya wanted to scream, as the second vampire appeared behind Yuu, but no sound came out. The vampire had him by his already-bruised neck, it’s fangs frighteningly close. Guren froze, a look of horror spreading across his face, and Shinya gave him a sharp look that said, Save him.

Guren moved, shoving Yuu out of the way and bracing himself against the vampire’s blow. The fangs sunk into Shinya’s neck, and drained him dry.

But not before he saw Guren’s eyes glow red, slit-pupiled, his teeth grow pointed, and he realized that his death would be the last straw for Guren. The last bit of guilt Guren could handle, choosing to save Yuu over Shinya, even if it was what Shinya had wished.

The third lifetime ended.

Shinya opened his eyes to a world of dark, and Byakkomaru is already waiting for him, dressed in Guren’s skin.

The demon spread his arms, an invitation, and Shinya accepted him willingly. A feeling of cold spread over him, before darkness overtook him and Shinya closed his eyes for the last time in the third life.

Guren had green eyes in the fourth life, and Shinya gave up on trying to predict what would happen, and if the color of Guren’s eyes meant anything. Guren was Guren; in some lives, he loved Shinya, and in others, he didn’t. There was no way to tell what would happen before it would occur.

But Guren was Guren, and Shinya would cherish every life, no matter the color of Guren’s eyes.

After a while, I give up trying to guess if the color of your eyes means anything.

Chapter Text

Because even when you don’t exist, I'm always in love with you.

Shinya’s seventh lifetime’s childhood passed in a haze. Everything was the same, and he didn’t bother paying attention to most of it. He went about it mechanically, like a routine, and he supposed that in a way, it was one. It was just another routine, like getting up in the mornings and sleeping at night. Something natural.

It was anything but, of course. This wasn’t natural. It wasn’t magic, either; Shinya wasn’t quite sure what it was. Whatever it was, he wasn’t complaining, not really. Childhood was always hell, but high school would always be worth it, and then, if he was lucky, after high school would be fine for awhile, too.

If he was lucky. Shinya had been noticing that lately, his lifetimes were diverging more and more from the pattern he was used to; it worried him. The actions he took sometimes had unforeseen and unpredictable consequences. Every move he made different from the original, first life, made him fearful. What if his actions altered this lifetime beyond repair?

Shinya was living completely on edge, lately, because this life was undoubtedly different. Something felt off, something that be couldn’t really put his finger on, but hopefully, today, his fears would be soothed. Today he would meet Mahiru, and she would tell him that she would never love him, and he would agree to her cover-up so she could be with Guren.

His military uniform, so small, reminded him of just how young he was. It was so much smaller than the adult-sized version he was used to. His hands were tiny still, fragile-looking.

It was hard to believe that he’d already murdered so many in this lifetime. The other boys, the other candidates— his old friends, from so many lifetimes ago, until he learned and realized it was better to stay alone.

The door opened, and Shinya, like he always had, pasted a sunny smile onto his face. Mahiru entered, in her little dress, with her hair falling down in lavender waves and her amber eyes much too cheerful, much too happy.

It diverged, then, and he realized with a sinking heart that this lifetime would be a bad one.

Mahiru observed him for a moment, then smiled kindly and said, “What’s your name?”

Not ‘I will never love you.’

Shinya’s smile fell, and he struggled to regain it swiftly. “I… I’m Shinya.” Mechanically, he bowed; Mahiru may have been his fiancee, and he may have been a Hiiragi now, but he was just an adopted son. He would never forget the lesson he was taught in the first life, enforced with beatings and spilled blood and painful bruises.

“Show some respect, foster son!”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mahiru-sama.” He managed.

“Mahiru,” She said, coming closer to him with another cheerful smile. “Just Mahiru, is fine. We’re engaged, right? So just call me Mahiru!”

“As you wish… Mahiru,” Shinya managed. His mind was reeling; what was happening? What was going on?

“Are you okay, Shinya?” Mahiru asked. One of her hands, delicate and small, came up to caress his face. The touch was so gentle, it burned, and Shinya jerked away. Mahiru looked hurt. “What’s wrong?”

“N-Nothing, Mahiru,” Shinya said, and offered her a smile that seemed vacant, even to him. But his defense mechanisms were kicking in: self-preservation above all. “Sorry. I’ve been waiting my entire life to meet you; I guess it’s a little overwhelming.”

Mahiru giggled. “Aw, that’s sweet! I guess I would be overwhelmed, too. Well, let’s get out of this stuffy house,” She said, fingers finding his and twining through them.

Her hands were so cold; Guren’s had been warm.

“Fresh air will help!” Mahiru declared. She tugged him forward, and he followed obediantly.

Where is… Guren…?

When they were still young, not long after their initial meeting, Shinya managed to gain access to the database of Family Registries. It was amazing what the Hiiragi name could do; something like this was nothing.

Heartbeat fluttering, he searched for the name ‘Ichinose’. But for all of the Ichinose family he could find, he never did find an Ichinose Guren. In fact, it was listed that the Ichinose family had ended with Guren’s father, who died in a tragic accident sixteen years ago.

Before Guren was born.

Guren was never born; he didn’t exist in this lifetime, and with shaking hands, Shinya shut down the computer he had been using, slipping back to his room and curling into a Shinya-shaped ball of anguish underneath the blanket. He informed the servants that he did not feel well, and that he would not be attending dinner; Shinya would probably get a beating for it later, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Shinya did not cry, alone in the dark. He was numb. What was he supposed to do now?

Mahiru snuck into his room later that night, after dinner was over. She smelled sweet, like strawberries, as she grasped the blanket and pulled it away from him gently; Shinya thought, bitterly, that before her demon and without her desire to gain power to be with Guren, she was really quite nice.

She didn’t say anything, at first. Her hands combed through his hair softly, and she hugged him; the touch was so foreign, Shinya almost flinched away. He didn’t, though; he remained frozen in place, confused. He still wasn’t used to this Mahiru, the Mahiru that loved him.

He thought that he might have loved her too, but not in the way that she loved him. When she was like this, so kind, she was like a best friend, or a sister.

But not a lover.

“Shinya, what’s wrong?” Mahiru asked him as they lay in the dark, her hands combing through his hair. “Don’t lie to me. Something is; please, tell me?”

Shinya’s lip quivered; damn his body, that of a child. It was harder to control his emotions, the younger his body was. Mahiru was so welcoming, so inviting; he ached to tell someone, anyone, what was happening.

So he did.

“I’m sorry, Mahiru,” He whispered. “I… I love somebody else.”

He could barely see her in the dark, but he could see just enough to make out her sad smile.

“I know, Shinya,” She said, and she sounded so very sad. “I know. I’ve always known. It’s okay. We can pretend; I won’t let them kill you.”

You don’t understand, Shinya wanted to say, as she tightened her embrace and held him close when his vision blurred. That’s not it.

But his tears overflowed, and his sobs prevented him from speaking.

Later, she asked him, “What are they like? The person that you love?”

“Brave,” Shinya whispered. “So very brave, and so strong. He takes all of the burden onto himself; he won’t ever show weakness. Smart. Beautiful. Oh, Mahiru, he’s so very beautiful. He loves his friends and his family and his comrades so much. He’d do anything for them.”

Mahiru smiled, and it was still a little bit sad, but not quite as much as it had been.

“No wonder you love him,” She said, and she laughed, softly. “He sounds wonderful. I would love him, too, if he’s as amazing as you describe.”

Shinya doesn’t know what to do, so he does nothing. He lived out the life, hollow. This Mahiru is kind, and Shinya decides that he does love her, like a sister.

Then the day came. Mahiru was slowly degrading, after puberty; her demon was slowly consuming her.

“Shinya,” She told him. “I can’t let this happen to Shinoa. I… I can’t let her become a demon. I’m going to save her.”

“I’ll help you,” Shinya vowed, because he had nothing to lose and he loved Shinoa, too. He’s studied so much, about demons, trying to save Guren in past lives; he is no stranger to what Mahiru will attempt. “In fact… I have an idea."

In this life, he took little Shinoa’s demon into himself, but unlike Mahiru, he did not fight the possession.

He gave in, so willingly, and his seventh life ended mercifully.

I remember most fondly those lifetimes when we get to grow up together.

His eight lifetime began, and already, Shinya knew that it was wrong. His parents were not his parents; he was not born into a no-name family that sold him for money.

He was born into the Hiiragi family. Not adopted. Born.

Shinya was not quite sure how to react to this development; he did not know how to cope with it. He still wanted to instinctively bow to Kureto and Seishiro, despite Seishiro being a year younger than he and, now that Shinya was a true Hiiragi, should have been respectful towards him. He was still confused, sometimes, when Seishiro called him, respectfully, “Shinya-niisan”, and when Mahiru called him such was even stranger still. His skill with magic and guns made him a viable candidate for being the next head of the Hiiragi family, and Shinya definitely did not know how to cope with that.

But he was used to changes, even if none this severe; he adjusted. He became good friends with Mahiru, made it so that she despised the Hiiragis still, but never ran away.

Never met Guren, and even if Shinya felt a little bit guilty about it, the joy he got out of the deception overpowered the guilt.

Instead, he snuck out at night, walked to the riverside of the forest where he knew Guren would be waiting. Guren himself had described this very spot to him, once, in one of Shinya’s early lifetimes.

Shinya found him easily, and watched Guren for a moment. It was strange to see him so young. His face was still rounded, his eyes strangely unguarded, but already he was lean and fit; beside him, a wooden sword was stabbed into the pebbles of the riverbank. He was bruised and cut, his shirt discarded as he rested.

“Ichinose Guren,” Shinya said, a bit louder than he had intended. Guren whirled around,

“Who?” Guren asked, narrowing his eyes.

Shinya ignored the question, gesturing to Guren’s bare chest. “Those look pretty nasty. You must train pretty hard, hm?”

“How do you know?” Guren asked, warily, reaching a hand out for his wooden sword.

Shinya smiled, and held his hands out to show he was unarmed. “Aha, I mean no harm. See?”

“Who are you?” Guren asked, frowning. “I don’t know your face. What family are you from?”

“None that matters,” Shinya said vaguely. Before his current lifetime, that was true; now, he supposed, it was a blatant lie. He stepped closer to where Guren was, inspecting the cuts and bruises. “Those are nasty! If you aren’t careful, they’ll get infected, Guren.”

Guren took a step back. “Don’t.”

Shinya retracted the hand he hadn’t even realized he’d outstretched. “Aww, Guren is shy.”

“No,” Guren said flatly. “I just don’t want to be touched by someone who’s name I don’t even know.”

“I’m Shinya.”

“Shinya like… the deep night Shinya?” Guren asked, eyeing Shinya.

“That’s the one,” Shinya said cheerily.

“If you come to such a place so late, you’re parents will scold you,” Guren warned. “It’s already past 1 am.”

“I have no parents.”

“That’s not possible.”

Shinya paused, then corrected, “...none that matter at the moment.”

“You shouldn’t be here this late,” Guren insisted. “This is Ichinose land. How did you get here?”

It really was late, wasn’t it? Shinya glanced upwards, at the moon, and found it’s progress across the sky to be alarming. Mahiru could only cover for him for so long; he needed to be back soon.

“I’ll come back tomorrow,” Shinya promised. “But I better leave now.”

“If you get caught, you’ll be punished,” Guren warned. “I don’t know how you got here, but you aren’t supposed to be, are you?”

“Good night, Guren~” Shinya called, beaming, ignoring Guren’s comment. He’s smart enough to know how to avoid the Ichinose guards.

And if he isn’t, the talismen in his pocket will take care of the rest. There’s already so much blood on his hands; what’s a little more?

Shinya returned night after night, like he promised, but never did he tell Guren his surname; that, he feared, would be too much. If Guren already knew of the bloody feud between the Hiiragi’s and the Ichinose Clan, it could have ended their budding friendship early and alter this lifetime beyond repair.

Then again, it might have been already; Shinya was a Hiiragi, after all. That threw a huge wedge in the timeline, altering so many events: Mahiru had no reason to abandon the Hiiragi name and betray her family, no reason to seek out power that would corrupt her; Guren had no reason to strive for the strength that would turn him into a namanari; Shinoa had no reason to lose her precious big sister. If Mahiru never possessed Guren, how would this lifetime turn out…?

Shinya didn’t know, and it terrified him, but also gave him hope. Maybe this time, maybe this life, would work out.

“Say, Guren, what’s your favorite color?” Shinya asked. Would his answer be different as a child than as an adult?

Guren scowled. He had been bending down to take a drink out the stream, hands covered in small nicks from training. “Every day, you ask me stupid questions—”

“Hey, Guren. Do you hate training?”

“Why would I hate training?” Guren asked, honesty in his voice and eyes. Shinya still wasn’t used to seeing him so young and innocent. “Everyone has high expectations of me.”

“That doesn’t mean that you like it,” Shinya muttered, sighing. He was stretched out in the grass, the moonlight illuminating him. His clothes were wet with dew, but he didn’t mind. “Guren, do you have a girl you like? Or do you have a boy you like?”

“You’re full of annoying questions tonight, aren’t you?” Guren rolled his eyes, splashing water onto his face. He heaved a sigh and sat down near the riverbank. “Hey, Shinya. About this.”

Guren never finished his thought. Instead, he sighed heavily, once more, then shrugged.

“Whatever. Isn’t it about time you left? You’ll get in trouble if you stay later; the guards that patrol the Ichinose land start making more rounds soon.”

Shinya left.

Where you share your secrets and sorrows and hiding places with me

“Ne, Guren, why do you like to come here?”

“That’s a stupid question. Because I train here.”

Shinya laughed. “That’s not what I meant. You’re an Ichinose; you could easily train in a nicer facility, yet you come out here alone in the dead of night to train. Why?”

“I know.” Guren sighed. “I dunno. What am I supposed to say?”

“Just answer honestly,” Shinya instructed, and Guren looked unsure. Finally, he said,

“It’s quiet here. There’s no one to bother me.”

“Aww, are you saying I’m not a bother, Guren?”

“You’re a huge bother,” Guren informed, and Shinya pouted. Guren rolled his eyes and continued swinging his sword, slicing through air half-heartedly.

“...But I’m used to the bothersome you. I’d be strange without you here.”

“What kind of boy do you want to grow up to be?”

Guren paused, his practice sword still mid-swing. “Eh?”

“You know, what kind of man do you want to be when you get older?”

Guren averted his eyes, continuing with his sword swings.

“I want to be strong,” Guren said, eventually. Shinya was silent for a moment, listening to Guren’s sword whiz through the air.

“Why do you want to be strong?” Shinya asked, brushing silver-white hair out of his face.

“Because I’m the next head of the Ichinose family,” Guren answered.

“No, that’s why you need to be strong. I’m asking why you, Guren, want to be strong.”

Guren’s practice sword drooped, so that the tip rested on the ground. “It’s the same thing, isn’t it?”

“It’s not,” Shinya said firmly.

“Then, I guess…” Guren paused, dragging a hair through inky black hair. “…I can do anything if I’m strong. I can have anything if I’m strong enough to take it for myself.”

“Anything, hmm…” Shinya hummed.

If only it were that easy, Guren.

“Go home if you’re so tired,” Guren huffed. “You can’t even keep your eyes open.”

“Can too,” Shinya muttered, but he didn’t have the energy to do much more, lounging against the trunk of a tree. Life as a born Hiiragi wasn’t all sunshine and puppies; the training was brutal, and he had a bruise from a particularly nasty sword blow— thanks, Kureto— on his ribs. In truth, he could have blocked it, if he had been paying attention, but his mind had been elsewhere. “How’d you know I was tired, anyways?”

They were going to bring in children soon, to find Mahiru a husband. Possibly, to find Shinya a wife, as well. Shinya was nearly fourteen, and he was surprised that they had waited this long. He was equally surprised that he had managed to make his late-night rendezvous with Guren last so long, but then again, they had begun to meet much later than Mahiru and Guren always had; they had been twelve when they met, and unlike Mahiru had been, Shinya was not on the run.

The thought of a wife made him sick and distracted. If he had been focused, he could have dodged Kureto’s half-hearted sword swing. He had lived too many times; swordplay was as easy as breathing, even if he still preferred a gun anyday. Swords were too close to the real action. Swords were Guren’s forte; how could Shinya watch Guren’s back from above with a melee weapon?

“You aren’t asking stupid questions today,” Guren stabbed his sword into the ground, and pebbles flew. “And your face looks terrible. You could be wearing makeup right now, from the shadows under your eyes.”

“So kind, Guren,” Shinya crooned sarcastically.

“Just go home already,” Guren commanded, hands on his hips. “There’s no point in staying if you’re too tired to even talk. You should’ve stayed home and slept, if you needed it so much. Why’d you even come tonight?”

“I didn’t want to stay home,” Shinya said, vaguely. “Besides, I wouldn’t get to see Guren if I stayed home.”

“That’s no reason to come like this, stupid. You’ll get sick.”

“I’m f—” Shinya broke off in a yawn. “—ine. A little sleepy, so what?”

“You’re an idiot,” Guren announced.

“So you’ve said. Multiple times.”

Guren rolled his eyes, then lay down in the grass and waved at the ground beside him.  “C’mon. If you insist on being so stupid and staying, take a nap or something. I’ll wake you up when it’s time for you to leave.”

“Eh?” Shinya asked, genuinely taken aback. “W-What was that?”

There might’ve been a dust of red on Guren’s face, something that might’ve been a blush or maybe the cold.

“You heard me.”

Shinya crept towards him hesitantly, but he lay down beside Guren nonetheless, the bruise throbbing painfully. The cold ground was soothing to his bruise, and he wasn’t too chilled; Guren would keep him warm.

Shinya closed his eyes, and for the first time in a long time, he did not dream.

When he awoke, it was to small hands tugging at his arm. Shinya stretched and yawned, curling further into Guren’s side against the cold. Guren’s breath was warm against Shinya’s cheek, the soft, even breaths that meant Guren was sleeping peacefully.

“Shinya-niisan,” Shinoa said, urgently. “Please, Shinya-niisan, wake up.”

Shinya did, feeling the familiar feeling that something was wrong , which meant that everything was probably about to go to hell in a handbasket.

“S-Shinoa? What are you doing here? Does Mahiru know you—”

“Mahiru-neesan is the one that sent me to come and get you,” Shinoa said urgently, tugging at his arm more urgently. There was a look in her eyes that Shinya had never quite seen before.

It was fear.

“What do you mean, Mahiru sent you?” Shinya asked, feeling his blood run cold.

“The time,” Shinoa said. “The time, Shinya-niisan. You never came back. Father sent search parties out— they’ll be here soon, we don’t have much time, they were already searching the Ichinose grounds when I left—”

Footsteps, heading their direction. Fast, heavy, many sets of feet. Soldiers of the Hiiragi family.

Guren, Shinoa, they’ll be hurt because of my mistake.

Shinya’s hands curled into fists.

I can’t let that happen. I’ll protect them.

Guren’s face was peaceful when he was sleeping. Shinya wished that he could stay that way forever; untouched by the future, innocent.

But that would never happen. Time stopped for nobody.

“Guren,” Shinya whispered, brushing inky black hair off of Guren’s forehead with a hand that did not shake, did not tremble. “Guren. I’m sorry— it’s time to wake up. You have to wake up now.”

“Shinya…?” Guren asked sleepily, blinking awake. “What’s going on?” When he caught sight of Shinoa, his eyes widened, and he bolted upright. “Who—?”

“Hello, gikei,” Shinoa said, with cheer that sounded strain. Even if she was a Hiiragi, she was barely five; the situation was bound to take it’s toll on her.

“Not now, Shinoa,” Shinya muttered, ignoring the flush on his cheeks that was certainly because of the cold and not because of the fact that Shinoa had found them curled together underneath Guren’s jacket, sleeping soundly in a tangle of lanky limbs. “We’ve got to go, Guren— maybe if we can outrun them…”

“Outrun who?” Guren asked, with narrowed eyes. His hands were reaching for his sword— a real sword, his wooden practice blade traded for a true steel blade on his thirteenth birthday— and Shinya made no move to stop him. “What’s going on, Shinya?”

Shinya wanted to cry, but this was not the time for his teenage hormones to decide to start working overtime. He was stupid to think this life would work out fine, stupid to hope or pray for a happy ending.

“The Hiiragi family,” Shinya said simply. He watched Guren’s eyes widen, and with a look of utter surprise, Guren said, “Mikado no Oni? Why would they…?”

“That’s the one,” Shinya confirmed, crushing the heavy feeling in his heart. “They’re after us because—”

“Shinya-sama!” A soldier— Shinya didn’t recognize him, but the uniform was enough— was staring at him, from the other side of the stream. “Quickly, I’ve found Shinya-sama! The Ichinose brat has him!”

“You’re a Hiiragi,” Guren said, disbelieving. The look of hurt betrayal made Shinya ache.

“I am.” Shinya admitted, then tugged Guren upward by his hands, grasping the back of Shinoa’s shirt and dragging her behind him. She was still small enough that she barely came to his upper thighs, small enough to be shielded from the soldiers with his body. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this. If I had stayed awake, none of this would have happened.”

“I was supposed to be the one to stay awake,” Guren said, after a long moment of silence. “It’s my fault. It wouldn’t matter if it was your fault anyways; it’s too late to change the past. Regrets can be saved for later. If I surrender, they’ll—”

“No,” Shinya said, firmly. “Never. I won’t let them hurt you, I promise. I’ll kill them first.” He grimaced. “Besides… this name of mine isn’t worthless just yet.”

“What do you mean—”

“Stand down,” Shinya called out to the soldiers, who had surrounded them in a half-circle.

“Shinya-sama, we cannot do that,” The first soldier, the one that had found them first, said. “The Ichinose scum has to be punished. We must crush the sparks of rebellion before they begin— if you let the brat run free, he’ll never learn his place!”

“Is it really okay for you to talk so freely to me?” Shinya asked coldly. “To a Hiiragi?”

The soldier’s face paled. “I mean no disrespect, Shinya-sama.”

“It sure didn’t seem so before,” Shinya said, but the soldiers did not back down, despite his orders. Shinoa’s hands tightened on the leg of his trousers. “This is an order, soldier: stand down. Will you defy a Hiiragi?"

“We have orders from your father to punish your companion, or your captors, should that be the case,” The soldier said nervously. “I’m sorry, Shinya-sama. We cannot.”

Father…? Nothing I say will sway them, then.

The soldier drew his sword, pointing it at Guren, who stood at Shinya’s side with a fierce look in his eyes. His own sword was drawn. “Please stand down, Shinya-sama, and remove young Shinoa-sama. We do not wish to fight you, only the Ichinose.”

“I won’t allow it,” Shinya said coldly. “You’ll cut me down first.”

“So be it then,” The soldier sighed. “We have our orders! Capture the Ichinose boy and secure Shinya-sama!”

“I can still surrender,” Guren whispered. “I can end this.”

“If you do, I’ll beat you myself,” Shinya said cheerily, his facade rising back to the surface. “I’ll let them take you over my dead body.”

“Shinya-niisan…” Shinoa murmured, and Shinya set a hand on the top of her head as he drew his talismen from his pocket.

“Don’t worry, Shinoa. I’ll make sure you get home safe. Mahiru will be mad if I don’t, right? I won’t let them hurt you. Go hide— I don’t want you to get caught in the crossfire.”

He counted his talismen as the soldiers began to cross the river, selecting one and handing the slip of magic paper to Shinoa.

“Take this. It’s a barrier talisman— it’ll keep you safe if one of the soldiers manage to get you. Now go, okay?”

“Be careful, Shinya-niisan,” Shinoa managed a sly smile, despite her fear, and added, “You too, gikei.”

She disappeared before Shinya could chastise her, so he whipped out an explosive talisman and said, “I’ve got your back, Guren.”

“I know you do,” Guren answered, then moved to meet the soldier with the sword aimed for his head. Shinya threw his  talismen, and a soldier was met with a facefull of fire.

It went well, until Shinya ran out of talismen. And he realized that, even though Guren was much, much stronger than these soldiers, there were too many for Guren to fight on his own. He would be overpowered by sheer numbers—

No. Shinya wouldn’t let that happen.

He darted into the bushes where he had seen Shinoa flee, and found her sitting in the shadow of a bush, against the base of a tree trunk.

“Shinya-niisan?” Shinoa asked. Her voice trembled, but her hands were firm on her talisman. She was outwardly the picture of calm, the perfect Hiiragi, even so young. “Did you win? Where’s Ichinose-san?”

“Come here, Shinoa,” Shinya said instead, holding his arms open. “Come here.”

Shinoa may have been a Hiiragi, but she was only five, and after a moment of hesitation, she was in his arms, and Shinya held her close. Shinoa trembled.

“I’m sorry, Shinoa,” Shinya whispered, then pressed the talisman he had hastily scrawled in his own blood to her back and began to chant.

Shinoa froze as the demon left her, body stiffening and eyes rolling back in her head. Shinya sat her against the tree, well-hidden from sight, and held the talisman close. It was glowing a bloody red.

“Obey me, demon,” Shinya commanded, as a cold hand gripped his heart. “I am your new master.”

“S-Shinya?” Guren asked, when Shinya found him again, fending off the Hiiragi soldiers on his own. “Where did you get that sword? Wh—”

Shinya did not answer; he swung his blade forward and cut through the Hiiragi soldier’s blade and body. Blood sprayed, warm and metallic, and the soldier stumbled backwards before falling, no longer a person but a corpse.

The demon’s energy crackled around him like black lightning, and Shinya was merciless; he slaughtered the men that opposed him.

Nobody would lay a hand on Guren or Shinoa. He would make sure of it.

He smiled when the last soldier fell, the adrenaline in his veins making his heart race. The exhilaration of defeating foes was unrivaled.

Then it fell away, and the cursed sword fell away from Shinya’s grasp as he collapsed. Guren caught him before he hit the ground. Shinya’s chest ached, and when he coughed, blood splattered on his lips.

He was dying; Shinya knew the feeling well.

“Shinya you idiot,” Guren told him, wiping the blood away with dirty and crimson-stained hands. “You idiot. Why? Why didn’t you tell me that you were a Hiiragi?”

Shinya laughed, but it only made him cough more blood. “Ah, Guren. I never wanted to be a Hiiragi. So when I was with you, I forgot, and I wasn’t one.”

“You should have told me,” Guren said, propping him up and trying to wipe the blood away. “I could have—”

“Done nothing. You could have done nothing, Guren. Nothing is your fault here. It’s mine.” Shinya wheezed. “Listen, Guren, I don’t have much time.”

“Don’t say that,” Guren protested, but it was weakly. He knew the truth.

Shinya smiled, and pulled Guren’s hand away from his bloodstained mouth, holding it tightly. “Guren. I won because I found a demon. I let the demon possess me. I never made a contract with it; I let it possess me. The demon will take me over completely soon, so—”  Shinya gasped, then forced it down. “Kill me.”

“What are you talking about?” Guren scoffed, but his face had paled. “You’re crazy. You’ve lost so much blood you’ve gone stupid. The Ichinose Clan may not be as big as the Hiiragi family, but we’ve got great doctors— they’ll save you, I promise, so hold on and I’ll—”

“I’ll be a demon long before help gets here,” Shinya didn’t bother to break it to him gently; he didn’t have the time. His teeth already felt pointed, cutting into his lips when he smiled. “Kill me, Guren. Say that I, the demon, attacked you, and you tried to restrain me but ultimately ended up being forced to kill me. Shinoa will back you up. She’ll say that I kidnapped her, and you valiantly saved her. Mahiru will protect you. Mahiru— Mahiru is my sister, she’ll help you, I promise—”

“I don’t care about stupid things like that,” Guren informed, and Shinya wondered if Guren was crying. Guren did not cry easy. “Don’t die, Shinya. Stupid Shinya, you can’t die, you can’t leave me alone.”

“Sorry, Guren,” Shinya gasped. “I can’t stay this time, not this life. But promise me, please. Kill me. Kill me and let me know you’ll be safe without me.”

“I can’t—”

“Guren.” Shinya rasped. His throat was bloody.

Guren swallowed back his emotions and whispered, “I promise.”

“Ahh,” Shinya smiled. “That’s good. I love you, Guren.”

Guren held him close as the curse marks spread over his skin, then slit his throat and wept.

Chapter Text

I love how you always go along with my bad ideas.

In this life— and Shinya had lost count of what lifetime it was, though he believed it might have been the ninth— Shinya remembered feeling that this would be another one of the lives that made a clean break with his previous history, one that he had never seen before.

On December 31 of the year 2005, the Apocalypse Virus hit; Shinya was nine, and as he watched his jailers cough up blood and scream, he saw his opportunity. He knew what was happening well and good, so Shinya dragged the body of his jailer closer and grabbed the keys from his corpse. The other boys were long dead; Shinya had already killed the last of them months ago.

He ran. His plan was to get inside the Hiiragi mansion, to find Mahiru and Shinoa and Seishiro and Kureto and escape to find Guren, to hide away and make a plan—

The vampires caught him before then, though. It was a low-ranked vampire, by his uniform, but Shinya was still young and weaponless, without even his talismen. He was captured, and he was watched by one vampire while another combed through the mansion.

The vampire came back with the Hiiragi children: Kureto, who was still only ten and looked worse for the wear, with what appeared to be a broken arm; Mahiru, who was nine, still young and innocent— Shinya knew her well enough now to realize she hadn’t met Guren yet, in this lifetime. Her amber eyes were as clear as glass, free of any drive for power just yet, and he wondered why. What had stopped her this time?— and looking frightened; Shinoa, still an infant, was swaddled and cradled in Mahiru’s arms; Seishiro, eight years old, with a mess of brown hair, was crying silent, frightened tears.

“That’s five of them,” The vampire who had been watching Shinya announced. “That’s enough. Everybody else here is already dead.”

So Shinya was dragged off to the vampire city of Sanguinem, with the Hiiragi siblings in tow, to become livestock for the vampires.

“I’m Shinya,” He introduced, as they trudged along to the caravan. “I was supposed to be your fiance. It’s nice to finally meet you, Mahiru-sama.”

“Mahiru,” She whispered, looking very young and very scared. “...please, just Mahiru.”

Shinya and the Hiiragi siblings were assigned to a home in the grand, underground city of Sanguinem. The city had a mess of pipes everywhere, and Shinya wondered what they were for before his attention was diverted elsewhere.

The vampires were opening the door. Shinya spearheaded the group of Hiiragi’s, Mahiru and Shinoa just behind him, a small, delicate hand on the back of his shirt. Seishiro stood beside her, and Kureto at the very back, nursing his wounded arm with a look of pain.

Inside, a grouchy-looking boy with inky black hair was sitting on the floor, holding a variety of small children around him. An angry-looking young toddler, with vibrant emerald eyes and hair as black as night; a blonde-haired, blue-eyed toddler, clinging to the black-haired one, looking like the cherubs Shinya had seen in pictures; a pinkish red-haired toddler that sulked unhappily; a brown-haired boy with leaf-toned eyes that sobbed quietly. None of them could have been any older than a year and a half.

Guren, Yuichiro, the vampire— Mikaela, Kimizuki, Saotome. They were all here?

“Stupid vampires, I don’t know how to take care of babies,” Guren scoffed. His eyes were dark. “That one shit in his pants. What am I supposed to do with him, huh?”

“Starting today, this is your home, little livestock,” the vampire spoke over Guren. “The virus that spread aboveground has killed everybody; you’re lucky enough to live under our protection, and in exchange, we ask only for your blood. Every morning, you’ll be given rations; a few of you will be sent to fetch them from outside the castle. Since there are toddlers, you’ll also be given supplies for them, with your rations.”

“We’ll be here?” Mahiru whispered. “Alone?”

“Correct.” The other vampire said, blinking at her with his red eyes. “One more thing. Our Queen is kind enough to open her library to you, so all of her books are yours to read,. Behave, and you’ll find yourself content here; do not, and you’ll find life to be miserable. You seem like smart humans; do you understand, little livestock?”

Kureto glared daggers at them, but the vampires shrugged and left, and they were alone.

There was silence for a long time. Finally, Saotome’s thin wail split the air. Guren’s eyes widened, and he froze, unsure exactly what to do. Shinya had cared for Shinoa when she was a young child, though not an infant; this was new ground for him, but he strode forward and scooped the young boy into his arms. Small, chubby hands fisted into his shirt, and Shinya pet Saotome’s brown hair as his wails quieted into distraught hiccups.

“He’s scared,” Shinya said, quietly, explaining Guren’s unsaid question: how? “He wants to be held, coddled, soothed.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” Guren protested.

Shinya beamed at him. “That’s okay, I don’t either. But we’ll all learn together, eh?”

“How can you be so cheerful?” Guren asked, eyeing Kureto, who still glared daggers at anything that moved from the corner of the home, Seishiro, who had a hand fisted in Mahiru’s dress tear tracks fresh on his face, and Mahiru, who still held Shinoa, a few paces behind Shinya. “Who are you?”

“I’m Hiiragi Kureto,” Kureto muttered. Shinya had never seen Kureto like this before, so angry, so upset— so vulnerable. He supposed that even Kureto was a helpless child once, and only now was Shinya able to truly witness Kureto powerless. “I’m ten.”

“Hiiragi Mahiru,” Mahiru said, after a pause. “...I’m almost nine. This is Hiiragi Shinoa. She’s not quite a year old yet.”

“H-Hiiragi Seishiro,” Seishiro announced, trying to keep his voice from trembling and failing. “Eight.”

“I suppose I’m a Hiiragi too, technically,” Shinya hummed, still petting Saotome’s hair gently. “I don’t really count, though. I’m just a foster son. I’m Shinya, age nine.”

Guren scowled as Yuichiro tugged at his hair, cooing something in his toddler-babble. “I’m Guren. Ichinose Guren. I’m nine.”

“Who are these, though?”  Mahiru inquired quietly. “Siblings…?”

“I don’t know them,” Guren corrected. “None of them are related to me. When… when everyone started coughing up blood and dying, the vampires came and took me here. They brought the brats later, and told me to take care of them.”

Shinya was conflicted. He knew their names, but then, how was he supposed to say that? An idea came to him— he reached a hand into the back of Saotome’s shirt— the toddler was sleeping now— and looked at the tag. In careful Sharpie, someone had written his name. “This is Saotome Yoichi. Guren, look at the tags on their shirts, hmm?”

“Okay…?” Guren sounded confused, but he did as he was asked, then blinked. “Oh, I see. The blonde one is Shindo Mikaela— funny name, but the kid doesn’t exactly look Japanese. Russian? I dunno— and the annoying one is Amane Yuichiro. Hey, you there, kid, what was your name? Seishiro? Whoever you are, check the redhead’s shirt.”

Seishiro looked appalled; never before had he been spoken to in such a disrespectful manner, and Shinya wanted to snicker. He didn’t, but he wanted to. Still, Seishiro shuffled towards Kimizuki, and reached for him with a hesitant hand.

“He’s a toddler, Seishiro,” Mahiru said, humor in her tone. “He won’t bite. Probably.”

Seishiro gave her a panicked look, but swallowed roughly and checked the tags. “K-Kimizuki. Kimizuki Shihou.”

Kimizuki swatted at Seishiro’s hand with a frown, making a disgruntled noise; Shinya laughed, and Guren looked at him, surprised. Shinya met his eyes, blue on violet, and they stared like that for what seemed like a long time.

Then Guren sighed, shaking his head. “You’re weird.”

Shinya just laughed.

Oh, Guren, if only you knew.

Kureto moved out of the small house they had been assigned to the next day; he found connections with the young, blonde haired, green eyed girl that was Sangu Aoi. Seishiro followed him, after what seemed like a long time. Shinya’s past life made him want to reassure Seishiro that he would always be welcomed, to speak casually with Kureto and make him stay, but he knew that wouldn’t work anymore.

Because now, he wasn’t one of them.

So Shinya stayed silent as he watched Kureto and Seishiro leave, biting his lip to keep silent until he bit so hard and his mouth filled with the taste of blood.

Mahiru scoffed at them, shook her head. “They’re fools, for leaving us. But that’s okay. We’ll make it just fine without them.”

“...yeah,” Shinya agreed, because he knew it was true, but it didn’t do a thing to soothe the ache in his chest.

Guren gave him an odd look, but Yuichiro let out a shrill cry, waking from his sleep, and they scrambled to soothe him.

Mahiru started to change within the next week. Shinya saw it happen, and it made bile rise in his throat.

Her demon shouldn’t have been taking over so quickly, but he supposed the Apocalypse happening so soon might’ve set things in motion quicker. It doesn’t make it any easier to see Mahiru— he thought of her too much as his sister now, his dear little sister, the one who always had his back, always protected him, gave him an alibi every night so he could meet Guren— degrade into Mahiru-no-Yo.

But still, she was stronger than he could have ever anticipated, and she loved Shinoa deeply; she came to him in the middle of the night, when they were alone. They had converted the loft into a sleeping area and had managed to scrounge up blankets, and Guren was sleeping soundly with the small children; Yuichiro and Mikaela were curled up soundly in the center of the room, and Kimizuki and Yoichi were huddled under one blanket not far away. Shinoa was laying, swaddled in her blanket, in the crook of Guren’s arm.

“Shinya,” She told him. “I won’t live much longer. You know, don’t you?”

“I know,” He admitted, and she smiled sadly.

“I don’t want this to happen to Shinoa,” Mahiru said firmly. “I’m going to save her. I… I’ve been reading books in Krul-sama’s library. About demons. There’s a way to remove a demon from someone, if you make a contract with the demon, or you can take the demon into yourself. I’ll do it; I’ll take Shinoa’s demon.”

“Mahiru—” Shinya protested hoarsely, but Mahiru cut him off.

“I’m too far gone to be saved, but Shinoa… Shinoa can live happily. Shinoa can be free of this Hiiragi curse.” Mahiru paused, and in the dark, he thought he saw a tear streak down her face. “Promise me you’ll look after her. Promise me, Shinya.”

“I promise,” Shinya said sincerely, and after a moment of hesitation, he threw his arms around her. She froze, then relaxed and wrapped her arms around him. They didn’t say a word more, but Shinya held her when her body trembled, and he couldn’t help but think of the lifetime when Guren didn’t exist, and Mahiru had comforted him.

They were even, now.

Mahiru disappeared the next night; they had been in Sanguinem for less than two weeks, and already, Shinya had lost everybody except for Guren.

Well, not everybody; he had toddlers and an infant to look after, now.

They were called to give blood on the third week in their stay at Sanguinem; Shinya did not shake, but he flinched when the needle punctured his neck. A hand reached out for him; Guren, who did not look in Shinya’s direction at all. His hand trembled just a little, and Shinya reached out to grasp it. His arm was just barely long enough, but he intertwined their fingers, and the trembling ceased.

Yuichiro— Yuu, as Shinya dubbed him affectionately, remembering Guren calling him by the nickname in a past life— was clingy and feared to be alone; Shinya wondered if it was memories from a previous life, of the deaths of his friends and family that made it so. Mikaela— Mika— refused to be separated, even for a moment, from Yuu. If they were attempted to be separated, they would scream and thrash until they were reunited. Yoichi was easily frightened, and cried often, but Shinya caught a sharper look in his gaze sometimes that reminded him of the sniper he once trained. Kimizuki was quiet and solemn, startlingly intelligent but also cripplingly lonely. He was always with Yoichi or at Guren or Shinya’s ankles. Shinoa, so tiny, already had a strong, sassy personality, but also feared to be alone and clung to the clothes of anybody near enough in the dark.

They had lived together for around five weeks now, and— with a lot of tears, soiled clothes, and Guren threatening to smack somebody— all of the children were toilet-trained, and the home where they stayed was less barren; they had managed to scrape together more blankets and bottles for Shinoa, although now she was growing out of them already. They wore more-or-less clean clothes given to them by the vampires, hooded white shirts and white pants with black streaks, a black collar the vampires used when drawing blood and black wrist bands.

It made Shinya feel like a dog, the collars. Guren hated them even more.

It was late, now, the children long asleep, and Shinya was exhausted; today was blood-drawing day, so it had been a day of tiredness and tear-wiping, fear-soothing. Blood drawing days always left Shinya drop-dead tired, every limb feeling like lead.

Guren was sitting next to him, on the ground floor, below the loft where the others slept soundly. His eyes had dark circles, and finally Shinya said, “Guren. You can talk to me. I know you’ve been having nightmares.”

Guren shrugged. “So what if I have been? Doesn’t matter. They’re just dreams.”

“Dreams always have meanings,” Shinya informed. “If you tell me, maybe you’ll feel better.”

Guren sighed, a shuddering sigh that shook his body. “My dad, okay? I… I was with him when the Virus spread. I saw him die. He just— I can’t get his face out of my mind.”

“I’m sorry, Guren.”

‘S not your fault. Don’t say sorry because of it.”

“I’m sorry you had to see it, that, anyways,” Shinya said, then reached over and tugged at Guren’s shirt. “Come here. Lay down; I’ll watch over you why you sleep,” he promised. “I’ll keep the dreams away.”

I won’t fall asleep this time.

When the younger brood of children were probably all around two and a half, except for Shinoa, they talked in almost-fluent sentences and affectionately called Shinya, “Shinya-nii” and Guren “Guren-nii”.

Shinya remembered the day they had begun to speak again— the first was Yuu. It happened one night, when he woke up from another of his night terrors, and Guren was the one to get up and comfort him while Shinya encouraged Mika to go back to sleep. When Yuu was crying into Guren’s shirt, he called him “Tousan”, and everybody seemed to freeze until Guren managed to choke out, “I’m not old enough to be called Tousan, Yuu.”

Shinya would have laughed, but instead of being comical, the scene just seemed depressing and left him with a heavy feeling in his chest and a lump in his throat. The comment set Mika’s lip quivering, and he hugged his knees and buried his face, muffling his own cry.

Guren looked to Shinya helplessly, and after a moment of pause, Shinya drew Mika closer and attempted to soothe the crying blonde.

“We aren’t old enough to be called those things yet,” Shinya said. “But how about -nii, hmm? Would that be okay, Mika, Yuu?”

From that day onward, they were the older brothers— but sometimes, someone would slip up and call them “Tousan” or “Papa”, and nobody would call them out on it.

They stayed in Sanguinem for a long time. Shinoa was no longer a toddler, but a little girl of almost five, eyes bright and personality sassier than ever. Yuu grew to be bold and brash, but had a soft heart when it came to family. Mika was frighteningly determined and clever, but still devoted completely to Yuu. Kimizuki spent most of his days with books that were far too complex for his age, but he managed nonetheless— and getting into scuffles with Yuu. Yoichi grew into a peacekeeper of sorts, kind and soothing in fights, but cold and determined to anyone that would dare lay a hand on his family.

They were growing into the soldiers that Shinya knew, but under the vampires’ thumb, he wondered if it would remain that way.

Shinya was on his way back from picking up the day’s rations when he heard the whispers. He would recognize Kureto's icy tone anywhere. Shinya crept around the corner of the building where he heard the whispers coming from, leading him to a small alleyway.

“But Kureto-sama—”

“Are you arguing with me, Aoi?”

“N-Never, Kureto-sama! I… I just wondered if…”

“If it’s too dangerous?” Kureto asked a young blonde girl, with a ponytail and green eyes. A small, blonde girl, with her hair in pigtails and large purple eyes peered out from behind her leg.

Sangu Aoi and… Mitsuba?

“It will be dangerous.” Kureto said flatly. “But I refuse to be treated like cattle. I will fetch the map from Bathory’s manor, and I will escape from this city. Any who wish to follow me are free to do so. If you’re too much of a coward to follow, then stay and remain livestock for the vampires.”

“I will follow you, Kureto-sama. Anywhere. My loyalties lie only with you,” Aoi vowed, but Shinya saw her hand twitch where it rested over Mitsuba’s head and wondered if that was true.

Then he processed map and Bathory’s manor and escape, and Shinya ran as fast as he could back to the home where Guren and the children waited.

I will find a way to escape. I will save us all.

“I… I have to go somewhere tonight,” Shinya said quietly, wiping at Shinoa’s mouth with his sleeve and brushing hair away from her face. She needed a haircut; they all did.

Guren’s eyes widened a little, in shock, but he hid it well.

“Ah. Why would I care, stupid? Go wherever. I won’t wait up for you.”

“I didn’t expect you to,” Shinya assured him. “I’ll be out late, anyways. So take care of the kids for me, okay, Guren?”

Guren scowled. “As if I don’t when you’re here.”

Shinya laughed, then stood up and went around, patting a head here, kissing the top of Shinoa’s. Guren was still giving him an angry glare, so Shinya steered clear of him, exiting without another word.

The door flew open as soon as it was shut, and a hand caught the hood of his shirt. It was Guren, wild-eyed and biting his lip.

“That sounded like good-bye,” Guren whispered. “It wasn’t, was it?”

Shinya beamed, but it faltered when he saw how dead serious Guren was. In fact, he looked almost near tears— but then, that could have easily been the lights reflecting in his eyes.

“I won’t ever say good-bye,” Shinya promised.

Guren released his shirt, but remained at the door.

“...be careful,” He said, eventually. “Don’t do anything stupid. Come back safe.”

“I’ll be back before morning,” Shinya promised, and Guren nodded, but didn’t move.

Shinya felt Guren’s eyes on him until he disappeared around the next corner. Only then did Guren return inside the home, with heavy steps and a heavy heart.

“My, my, you’re a brave one, coming here alone in the dead of night,” the vampire smirked. His voice sounded like a purr.

The vampire was Seventh Progenitor Ferid Bathory. A vampire that had a strange interest in drinking the blood of children directly from their bodies, which was forbidden in Sanguinem. Specifically, he loved the blood from beautiful young boys and girls— luckily, for Shinya, the vampire seemed to find his silvery white hair and blue eyes as such.

Shinya did his best to smile alluringly, despite the bile that rose in his throat. “I’m not so brave. But I’ve heard rumors that you’ll give extra rations to those that offer extra blood. So I’ve come to offer mine.”

The vampire appeared to be taken aback for a moment, then he laughed. Shinya’s stomach twisted at the sound.

“Ah, you’re such an interesting little human! I’ve seen the mouths you care for. How many are there, hmm? Six?”

“Seven, including me,” Shinya corrected, though his blood ran cold when he realized that Ferid had to have taken note of his family at one point or other, to know that. “Bathory-sama,” He remembered to add, but the words tasted poisonous, bitter.

“Seven, hmm…” Ferid Bathory smiled, fangs gleaming, and he reached down to take Shinya’s hand and lead him into the mansion. “So be it, then.”

The door shut behind them with a slam.

The collar hid the bitemark well. Shinya felt a little woozy, but he wasn’t anemic, and his arms were loaded with vegetables and rice. It had been worth it, and best yet— Ferid’s mansion had magical paper, paper for enchantment. Huge stocks of it. Shinya’s pockets were stocked full of it, although the vampire hadn’t known that.

The map was tucked securely into his shoes, and, inside the bag of rice, was an extra treasure; a gun. Ancient-looking, but still. Against a vampire, it would only inflict pain, not death. But it would slow them; with strong enough talismen, maybe it would kill a vampire.

Shinya almost tripped coming up the steps, but he managed to regain his balance and knocked with  his foot on the door, gently.

“I’ll get it!” Shinya heard Guren call, but then Yoichi’s voice drifted through the door, softer but closer.

“It’s okay, Guren-nii, I got it…” Yoichi peered at him with his wide green eyes, looking surprised. “Shinya-nii? Where did you go?” His mouth dropped into a little ‘o’ when he saw the food. “Is that all… for us…?”

“It is!” Shinya said cheerily, beaming at him and stepping into the home. Kimizuki stood, hurrying to shut the door behind him before taking some of the food, going to store it in the corner where they kept any extra rations. “Pretty nice, eh?”

“Wow, Shinya-nii!” Mika admired, as Yuu tugged him up to help carry the food. Finally relieved of his burden, Shinya flexed his arms and sighed, smiling—

Guren grabbed the front of his shirt and smacked him into the wall. Startled by the fury in Guren’s eyes, Shinya’s eyes widened.

The children were silent as Guren brought his face inches from Shinya’s, fist still clutching the front of Shinya’s shirt, and he growled. “What did you do to get that food?”

“G-Guren—”

“Don’t ‘Guren’ me,” He hissed. “Answer me, Shinya. What did you do to get that food?”

“Mika. Take the others outside and play for awhile, ‘kay? I want to talk to Guren alone for awhile,” Shinya called, and he saw the blonde nod, snatching for Yuu’s hand and dragging him outside. Shinoa followed at his heels, and Yoichi and Kimizuki wasted no time following, though Yoichi shot them a worried glance as they fled. When he was sure the children were gone, their footsteps no longer audible. Shinya sighed.

“It doesn’t really matter where I got them, Guren. I did, and that’s all that matters.”

Guren dropped Shinya’s shirt like it burned him, and he took a step back, looking horror-struck.

“You… don’t tell me, you…”

Guren stepped closer and reached for Shinya’s collar, sliding it up to reveal the bitemark. He didn’t say a word; he buried his face in Shinya’s shirt, throwing his arms around Shinya’s neck. Shinya held him like that for a long time, and although Guren did not cry, Shinya thought he was close to tears.

Much later, when the children had returned and had been put to sleep, Shinya showed Guren the map and the gun and the paper, and Guren vowed to get them all out safely.

“Tomorrow night, we’ll leave,” Shinya promised.

“We’ll be free of these damn vampires,” Guren agreed.

They pinky-swore on it, even though Guren said it was stupid, and Shinya laughed.

The next night, they snuck out, darting behind buildings and dashing through the abandoned streets, always on the watch for vampires and other humans. They had almost made it into the tunnels that would lead to the exit when they encountered her.

A young girl, her blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, her hood concealing her face. She had solemn, sad green eyes, and a young girl with the same golden-blonde hair— though hers was tied back in pigtails and her eyes were purple-hued— clutched her pants nervously.

Sangu Aoi and Mitsuba. Shinya felt his heart race; was Kureto somewhere around here, too?

“You stole the map before Kureto-sama could,” Aoi whispered. “You, the foster son. Hiiragi Shinya.”

Shinya held his head high. “I did. I’m sorry, but… for my family, I would do anything.”

“Even if it means damning those who share the same name? Kureto-sama and Seishiro-sama?” Aoi inquired.

“Even if it means damning them,” Shinya affirmed. “The Hiiragi name means nothing to me. You might as well call me an Ichinose, or an Amane, or a Shindo, or a Kimizuki, or a Saotome— Hiiragi holds no sway over me. My family is here, those who stand with me, not those who abandoned me; I will do anything for them.”

Aoi did the strangest thing, then; she smiled.

“Good,” She breathed. “That’s good. Then, Shinya-kun, I’ll ask one thing of you.” Aoi tugged Mitsuba forward, and presented her to him. “Take Mitsuba with you. Escape with her.”

“Just her?” Shinya asked, wary. “Not you?”

“My loyalties will always lie with Kureto-sama,” Aoi said, then hesitated. “But Mitsuba… Mitsuba is my dear little sister. I will… I will never abandon Kureto-sama, but I will ensure Mitsuba is free.”

Shinya smiled. “So be it, Sangu Aoi. I will ensure Mitsuba-chan’s escape.”

Aoi nodded, then bent down and whispered something to Mitsuba, who threw her arms around Aoi’s neck in a tight embrace before walking to stand beside Shinya. She had tears in her eyes, but they did not fall.

“Please take care of me,” Mitsuba whispered, and Guren ruffled her hair.

“Sure, kid. But we’ve already wasted too much time. It’s time to move.”

Shinya knew it was wrong, before Ferid even appeared before them. The vampire laughed at their shock, but Shinya gritted his teeth and shoved Guren forward.

“Go! You keep them safe, Guren! I’ll hold him off!”

“What?” Guren exclaimed, appalled. “I’m not leaving you at the hands of that bastard, Shinya.”

“Run,” Shinya said firmly, shoving Shinoa— the slowest— into his arms and pushing him forward. “Go. I’ll be right behind you!”

The lie was bitter, but Shinya ignored it as he drew the gun and pointed it at Ferid.

Ferid laughed. “Oho~! Such a brave little human! Ah, it’s a shame you’re about to die; that toy won’t do anything to me.”

Shinya smiled grimly.

“A regular gun won’t, sure. But what about one that’s been enhanced with talismen?” He flashed one of the slips of paper so Ferid could see, slapping it to the side of the gun and pulling the trigger at the same time he chanted the incantation.

The bullet grazed Ferid’s arm, and the vampire stumbled back as the blood did not stop.

“Go!” Shinya shouted, and he saw the Guren usher the others forward out of the corner of his eye. Shinya didn’t have time to say more; he slapped another talismen to the gun and began to chant again, pulling the trigger. He knew Ferid would dodge, and he adjusted accordingly; the bullet struck the moving vampire in the leg.

“Ah! You shouldn’t be so good of a marksmen already, little boy,” Ferid grinned, but Shinya saw the panic in his eyes as things went out of his control. “Where’d you learn to do magic, hmm? To shoot like that?”

“None of your business, bloodsucker,” Shinya hissed. Guren was waiting for him at the stairwell now— he called out, “Shinya!”

Ferid saw him, too, and the glint in his eyes made Shinya’s blood run cold.

“Run, Guren!” Shinya shouted, so loud it made his throat ache, but he didn’t care. Guren couldn’t move fast enough, he knew; a human could never move fast enough.

Shinya flung an exploding talismen out at the vampire, and the explosion made Ferid stagger again. It gave Shinya the time to rush at him and point the gun at his head, but as he reached to grab another talisman, Ferid struck out first.

The pain of having a long-nailed hand punch through his chest stole his breath— literally. His lungs had probably just collapsed, from the feeling.

Guren shrieked, “Shinya!” and began to run towards him, but Shinya shouted, “Go!” and pulled the trigger. The force of it made Ferid release him, but the bullet caused only pain without a talisman, not actual, lasting wounds.

Shinya brought out his trump card; a single talisman, written in his blood in his neatest handwriting. He brought it down hard, right on Ferid’s forehead, and he chanted with wheezing breaths. A purple glow began to spread, slowly, a curse began to spread over Ferid’s skin.

“Wha—?!”

Shinya coughed blood, but grinned proudly. The room was spinning, and he collapsed to his knees, clutching the wound in his chest. Guren was beside him, suddenly— holding him, pressing his hands to Shinya’s chest where the wound was.

“Stupid,” Guren cursed, and Shinya saw the tears in his eyes. “You— why are you so stupid? We— We were supposed to escape together—”

“Go, Guren,” Shinya insisted. “The curse is surprising him, eating away at him until he’ll be nothing but a demon trapped inside my gun— but he can still move. Go, before he catches you— escape.”

“I won’t leave you,” Guren vowed, but Shinya moved his hands away and gave him a stern look.

“Guren. They still need you, the children. Go, and promise me— promise me you’ll escape, and you’ll live, you’ll make sure that they live, that they’re happy and safe.” Shinya broke off to cough— his blood stained Guren’s clothes, now. He hoped that the children were too far away to see him.

“Shinya—”

“Promise me.”

Guren buried his face in Shinya’s shirt, briefly, then whispered, “I promise.”

Then he set Shinya down on the floor, and he escaped. Shinya began to close his eyes, relieved, and waited.

Waited to die.

Before you grow up and realize they are bad ideas. (and in our times together,I have many many bad ideas.)

Chapter Text

Shinya’s throat burned. His blood felt like it was on fire, and his head pounded. But his face was stoic, and although every inch of his body burned, he would not make an expression of pain. 

He had played the survival game that was his childhood, he had been trained to withstand torture from the Hiiragi’s, he had lived and died too many times to show pain. Shinya would not give the vampires that satisfaction, not after they had made him lose Guren.

“Drink,” the Third Progenitor, Krul Tepes, Queen of Japan— the vampire that had saved him by turning him into a monster— ordered. She waved a hand at the body of the small child that lay unconscious at the foot of her throne. “When you do, your cells will cease to move, and you’ll transform into a complete vampire…” She rested her head against her hand. She was so small, it was ridiculous. But her smile was fanged and old. “With powers that transcend humans and an ageless body, become one of us!”

Her nailed hand was outstretched towards him, so inviting— for a moment, Shinya wondered what would happen if he would take it. He would be strong enough to save Guren, surely. He would be powerful beyond compare.

Inhuman.

Shinya lifted his chin, and his eyes were cold, as dead as the vampire queen’s.

“I won’t.”

Krul raised an eyebrow. “...you’re a strange one. I don’t believe I’ve ever met a human child with eyes quite so cold.”

Shinya smiled, but it never reached his eyes. “I’m not like other human children, though, am I?”

Krul smiled. “No. You’re not.”

She leapt down from her throne, right over the body of the child and stepped towards where Shinya sat on the floor, legs crossed. She paused, so close to Shinya he could see the darker flecks of red in her crimson eyes. “You say that you won’t, but your body says differently. It hurts, doesn’t it? Your entire being… it aches because of your insatiable thirst for blood.” Krul gave him another cold grin and leaned forward, placing a hand beneath his chin and running a hand along his lip. “Just give in…”

Shinya caught her hand in his own cold one and removed it.

“I said no. My answer will not change, Third Progenitor Krul Tepes.” Shinya smiled dryly. “Pardon me. I meant, my queen. You might as well kill me now. I will not become one of you.”

Krul looked surprised for a moment, then she laughed. Genuinely laughed, not her cold chuckles from before. It shocked Shinya, a little.

“Ah… you surprise me more and more every time you speak. There are so many mysteries that seem to follow you everywhere. You’re in unimaginable pain, yet you bear it better than some vampires do. You’re cynical, accepting of your own death— welcoming it, even. You track a vampire’s movements like a trained little soldier, diligent and on point. Your marksmanship is uncannily accurate, impossible for someone of your age. You’re too smart. You use a strange magic that was enough to bring a Seventh Progenitor, Ferid Bathory, to his knees. You very nearly killed him, you realize?”

“A pity you stopped me,” Shinya droned. “I would have had a very nice weapon in my hands, had you not stopped me.”

He faltered, then— but it wasn’t as though Krul would understand what he was saying, and he shrugged.

“It’s like I said, my queen. You should just kill me.”

Krul smiled. “You’re ready to die, then? You want your life to end? Just like this?”

“There is no point in my life continuing,” Shinya stated. “Guren and the children are gone. Death does not faze me.”

I can see them in the next life. So end mine, already, vampire.

Krul smiled, but now it was something else entirely; it was something sad, and forlorn.

“I see. The other one, the Ichinose boy, he was your friend, then? The small ones, they were your charges?”

She knows Guren…? Shinya’s thoughts abruptly came to a stop, then he realized, Seraph. She mentioned something about a Seraph. In this life, I suppose, Guren is one of those, as well.

“Guren is…” A friend? Yes, but… more. A lover? Well, yes… but more. “Guren is Guren. The others, they were our ‘children’.” Shinya smiled mirthlessly. “We had a nice, make-believe family going for us, until you came along and ruined it. I suppose it’s my own stupidity, though. I found the map. I lead them out.”

“You almost killed a Seventh Progenitor.” Krul reminded, tonelessly. “An annoying one, at that. Good for you, there.” She sighed. “Well, I can’t really blame you. Living for centuries is… dull. You’ve made a wise choice, I suppose.”

She let that sit between them, until she broke the silence and continued. “But still. You’re different now. Why? Because I changed you. Not drinking blood will turn you into an ugly, mindless demon, you know…”

Krul dropped down to rest on her knees in front of him, so they were eye-level.

“Just drink.”

“I refuse.” Shinya said flatly.

Krul studied him for a moment. Finally, she held her arm out, showing him the pale, unmarred skin of her inner forearm. In a flash of movement that his eyes could not follow, she slit the skin, splattering him with her blood. It pooled on her arm, warm and crimson.

“Or… would you rather drink my blood?” Krul asked, with a dark smile of fanged teeth and red lips. “I’m not human.”

It made him want to shiver, want to beg for the blood, want to give in.

He did not budge an inch.

“What would I get out of drinking your blood?” Shinya queried. His throat and mouth were so dry, so painful.

“You’ll be immensely powerful, even among vampires,” Krul promised. “And… you’ll be able to find your precious family.”

Shinya narrowed his eyes.

“Explain.”

Krul smiled dimly. “The outside world is a wasteland. Humans group together outside to survive, in small communities. Horsemen of the Apocalypse, creations of the humans, roam the surface of the Earth. If you’re family is lucky and strong enough, they can survive on their own, or perhaps they could find a group of others that would help them survive. Sanguinem is actually kind to our livestock. We feed you well enough to keep you bright, not just alive; that’s not how it is, with most of the other vampire communities.” Krul shrugged. “As a noble vampire, turned by my blood, you’ll have status. If you find your little ragtag family and bring them back, you could protect them, you know. Keep them safe here.”

Shinya had grown adept at telling lies over his lifetimes; from what he could tell, the vampire queen was telling the truth.

“...and in return?”

Krul’s smirk returned. “You’ll be my dog. My loyal servant, for all of eternity.”

Shinya thought the proposal over, but the smell of blood made his every nerve sing for it. It made thinking difficult.

“I accept,” He managed, eventually. “I will be your dog, in exchange for the power to gain my family’s protection.”

Krul beamed, and spread her arms. “Wonderful. Come here, Shinya-kun.”

She wants me to crawl, Shinya realized, and he scoffed at the idea.

He stood on shaky legs, like an infant taking his first steps, and he walked into the embrace of the vampire queen.

Ichinose Guren was exhausted. His arms were tired, after carrying Shinoa so far, and he was emotionally drained. Probably past the point of no return, in his opinion. 

He was not stupid. He knew he could not survive outside without weapons or some form of protection. Yet he had none.

But he remembered well enough. His hands still remembered the sword of his childhood days, and his muscles still remembered what it was like to swing it over and over, to cut the air, to spar, to train, to grow strong.  His childhood home was full of weapons. The Ichinose Clan had more than enough blades and ammunition for a small army. They were a small army, Mikado no Tsuki, or something like it. Guren had been too young at the time to be sure of what they were, exactly, but he was sure of this: the Ichinose Clan was powerful in spellcraft and swordsmanship, and Guren had been trained in both. The Ichinose land was warded, the manor stocked with weapons and talismen and paper for making talismen.

They could survive, there.

“G-Guren-nii,” Yoichi huffed. His small chest heaved— Guren was proud of him, for running so far, so fast. He was proud of them all. He would probably never say it, but still. “W-Where is Shinya-nii?”

Kimizuki whispered, “...blood. That’s blood, on your clothes. But it’s not yours.”

Guren’s hands tightened in Shinoa’s shirt, so they wouldn’t tremble visibly. Her face was pressed into his shoulder, and he smoothed her purple waves rhythmically, to calm himself more than her.

“Shinya… Shinya is…” Gone. Dead. Because I wasn’t strong enough. “Shinya… didn’t make it out.”

Yoichi burst into tears. Mika threw his arms around Yuu and adamantly refused to let go— Guren thought he was probably crying. Mika had always cried silent tears. Kimizuki’s eyes widened, then he slumped down and buried his face in his hands, and his shoulders shook. Shinoa’s hands, balled so tightly in Guren’s shirt, fisted into it even tighter. Mitsuba looked confused, unsure of what exactly had happened, but saddened nonetheless; she understood, at the very least, that the silver-haired boy with gentle blue eyes that had been kind to her was no longer with them, even if ‘death’ was a subject that was far too complex for her— and Shinoa— yet. Yuu stumbled back a step, with tearful green eyes, and he whispered, “What do you mean, Guren-nii? Shinya-nii… Shinya-nii said… he said… he’d be right behind us… you… you went back to get him…”

“I know what I said,” Guren said, harsher than he had intended. He hesitated, then continued, softly. “...I was too late. I couldn’t save him.”

I was too weak, too small, too powerless. Helpless. Worthless. Shinya was always the strong one.

Yuu had shaken off Mika’s arms in an instant and was pressed against Guren’s legs. A tiny fist met Guren’s hip, which stung, but Guren didn’t flinch or back away from the next blow, or the one after, or the one after that. The blows got weaker and weaker, until Yuu sank to the ground and sobbed.

“Why… why didn’t you save him…?  Tousan… why didn’t you save him…?”

They should have been moving. They should have been putting more ground between Sanguinem and them. Guren knew this.

He crouched down and balanced Shinoa on his knees, then drew Yuu into an embrace. With enough force to nearly knock him over, Yoichi flew into him to join the embrace, and the others slowly followed— Mitsuba was confused and scared, and eager to gain any comfort. Mika and Kimizuki were more reserved, more hesitant, but in a split second they were all huddled together and they were all crying and Guren wasn’t sure what to do , because wiping tears and soothing fears had always been Shinya’s specialty, but now Shinya wasn’t here and Guren was alone—

And then Guren was crying, too.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered. “I’ll get stronger. I won’t let anyone die ever again. I’ll protect everyone, just like I promised, Shinya.”

He buried his face in Shinoa’s hair and whispered, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” until the words blurred together into a sob.

His city guard uniform was ill-fitting. Too big, still. Krul had promised to have one made for him, a new one, one that was tailored to fit him. 

Shinya had shrugged and said it didn’t matter, but in reality, he felt rather childish and stupid. He studied himself in the mirror of his home in Sanguinem— yes, his home, he did not live in a furnish-less, dirt-floored home, because those were for humans and he was a vampire — and wondered if he was really the same.

Shinya had always thought that smiling was good. He smiled for the Hiiragi’s. He smiled for strangers. He smiled for his tormentors and his torturers. He really, truly, always smiled for Guren, and in some lives, for family— in previous lives, it had been Shinoa, Mahiru, Seishiro, and even Kureto. In this life, it had still been Shinoa, Yuu, Mika, Kimizuki, and Yoichi.

But now, he did not smile. He did not have the energy. He was tired, exhausted. He had no reason to smile. He had no one to smile for.

So Shinya did not smile, and he studied his reflection.

His hair was messy. It needed a haircut; it fell past his shoulders, in choppy strands of silvery-white. It had been almost five years since he’d cut his hair. Shinya touched a hand to the mirror and opened his mouth, observing his teeth. His fangs. His white, sharp, deadly fangs. There was no mistaking it; his eyes were still blue, for now— he hadn’t drank human blood, and they would stay blue until he did such— but he was, without doubt, a vampire.

Shinya was one of the monsters that he’d spend his life— lifetimes — trying to kill. How ironic.

He sighed and dropped his hand from the mirror, instead reaching down for the sheathed sword and slipping it through the belt at his waist. Krul had said that it was a first-class sword, and that it would drink his blood and give him power in exchange, and Shinya had laughed bitterly.

Even the swords were hemovores.

A rap on his door made him turn, and he approached the door, unlocking it and opening it in a fluid movement. A man that stood over him by at least two heads, with a mane of bright purple hair and crimson eyes, dressed in a city guard uniform, was on the other side. He grinned, showing fangs.

“Are you Shinya-kun?” The vampire laughed. “Aha! You’re so little. A child, still.”

“A child that supposedly brought Ferid-sama to his knees, and was turned with the blood of the Queen,” A dark-haired vampire with bags under his eyes spoke. “Is that true, boy?”

Shinya eyed them, coldly. They were stronger than he was— he was still too tired, too weak to fight in a melee battle, even with his vampire strength. It was better not to pick a fight, yet. Shinya could pretend to be submissive— he had mastered that art with the Hiiragi’s. But this was not the Hiiragi’s. This was the vampire world, where the hierarchy was his to climb, and the higher he rose, the more freedom he and his family would have.

He needed that status, that power. He needed to intimidate, to climb rank.

“And what if I did?” Shinya asked, flatly. “Ask Bathory himself.”

There. No honorifics, but a surname— respectful, but not as much as I should be. Scornfully. Mockingly. Let’s see how they interpret that, Shinya thought.

The purple haired vampire burst out laughing. The vampire with the bags under his eyes looked mildly surprised, then nodded, slowly.

“...I’m René. René Simm. This is Lacus Welt. We’re city guards; you’ll be working with us often, it seems. What’s your name, boy? Krul-sama never told it all to us.”

Shinya hesitated, and thought it over. His birth name wasn’t really his to tell; his parents had stripped him of that name when they sold him. His name had always been Hiiragi. It was all he had, the only thing he had— but was he really a Hiiragi? In this life, was that name his to give?

“Shinya. …Hiiragi, I suppose.” He smiled wryly. “Ha. Hiiragi. I might as well be an Ichinose, for all that name gives me. An Ichinose. Ha. Haha.” For some reason, the thought was hilarious; Shinya laughed until he had stitches, but it was a hollow laughter.

The two vampires watched him in silence until his silence ended. Then, Lacus tilted his head to the side and murmured, “You’re a funny one, Shinya-kun.”

There were corpses everywhere. Mostly, they had rotted away, to bones and stringy hair and rusty stains of old blood, beaten into the pavement and streets by the rain and elements. It had made Guren sick to look at them, at first— now, he didn’t glance at them. 

Don’t look at them, he told himself. He led the children through the streets with his head held high, and he did not look at the blood, at the death, at the decay and the destruction of the streets he had once known. Shinoa held on tightly to one hand, and Mitsuba the other. Kimizuki trailed just to his left, with Yoichi beside him. Mika stood in the middle, and Yuu held onto his sleeve. All of them were hollow-eyed and blank, irises tinged red from tears.

Guren’s own eyes were now dry. No red traces were found on his eyes, but there was a certain hollowness to his own gaze, as well.

“Where are we going, Ichinose-san?” Mitsuba asked, quietly.

“You don’t have to call me that,” Guren said, automatically. It was so strange to hear, ‘Ichinose-san’. He had never been called that. ‘Guren-sama’, once, by the servants of the Ichinose house and the serving families, and ‘little livestock’ by the vampires. ‘Ichinose-kun’ by Mahiru, Seishiro, and Kureto, the siblings that had left long ago. ‘Guren-nii’ (and occasionally, the never-to-be-mentioned name, ‘Tousan’ ) by the children, his— and only his, now that Shinya was dead— charges. ‘Guren’ , just Guren, by Shinya.

“Run, Guren!"

“You can call me ‘Guren-nii’, like the others. It doesn’t make a difference to me.” He paused. “...we’re heading to where I grew up. You and Shinoa were babies, and the others toddlers, so you don’t remember life before the vampires, but… I do.”

Shinya did.

Guren cleared his throat. “I belonged to a prestigious family, with a manor in Aichi. There are weapons and wards to protect us there. We’ll be safe there. But…”

“Aichi is a long way away, isn’t it?” Kimizuki said, quietly. “A really long ways away.”

Guren was surprised— but there had been maps of old Japan, before the war, in some of the books in the library. He had read some of them himself. One of them had mentioned National Route 163, the long highway that would take him home, to Aichi. He used to trace it on the maps, and dream of walking home: he could even remember the length, 124.6 km.

“Look, we’re on National Route 163 right now, and we’re going to stay on it until we get to Aichi. The highway was one-hundred and twenty four kilometres long. If we can keep up three kilometres an hour, and travel for twelve hours every day… that’s thirty six kilometres a day, I think?” Guren sighed, huffing a groan. “It’s been too long since I’ve done math. Okay, so one hundred and twenty four divided by thirty six doesn’t work out even, so that’ll be… five days? Six?”

Kimizuki scrunched his nose up, thinking hard. “No… More like four, I think. Five hundred divided by thirty six would be… three and a decimal.”

“So a little more than thirty six hours of walking,” Mika murmured. “Thirty six kilometres a day… can we do that?”

“Of course we can!” Yuu blurted, adamantly. His green eyes were no longer hollow, but alight with fiery passion. “Pa— Shinya-nii died so that we could get away from those stupid bloodsuckers! If he can do that, we can walk!”

Guren stared at Yuu for a brief moment, transfixed, then he released Shinoa and Mitsuba’s hands and reached out to ruffle Yuu’s hair.

Yuu stumbled back, startled. “What was that for, Guren-nii?” He muttered, combing his hands through wild black hair. “Did you put something in my hair?!”

Guren rolled his eyes and laughed. It wasn’t quite the same as it has been, but it sounded close enough to pass as a laugh.

The smell of blood was alluring, but dull. Krul’s blood had sated his thirst and dulled his desire. He felt normal, now. His uniform fit well. The feeling of the thorns of his sword cutting into his hand and arm, leeching the blood from his veins, was something that did not startle him anymore. The feeling of his fangs against his lips was familiar. 

The thought that he adjusted so well to being a vampire was frightening. It made Shinya’s heart feel cold, the way that he fit in so well with the vampires. He was so cold, so empty, so hollow already; he was more dead than they were, and they were his senior by thousands of years.

Somebody collided with him, startling him enough to make him stagger back and fall, even though he hadn’t even felt the force of the collision— human strength was a joke. Shinya was beginning to see why the vampire-to-human casualty rate was so few.

On the floor, Shinya blinked, surprised. The person that had bumped into him was a young girl, dressed in the clothes of a livestock— a human, Shinya corrected himself, horrified with his own thoughts— with her blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail and her green eyes gleaming dully in what appeared to be a mixture of fear and irritation.

Then, shock.

“You’re… Hiiragi Shinya,” Sangu Aoi whispered, drawing her hands to her chest. They were red and scraped where she had fallen, but she hadn’t seemed to notice. The rations she had gathered were still intact, miraculously. “Foster son. You’re… you’re… a…”

A vampire, was the word on the tip of her tongue. A monster. Sangu Aoi had always been excellent at snuffing out and hiding her emotions; she was almost as good as he was at hiding her emotions.

Unfortunately for her, he had been alive for too long to be unable to read her expressions. She was still young, after all. Only fourteen, though nearly fifteen, if Shinya remembered correctly. His dates tended to blend together.

Shinya watched the emotions dance across her eyes. Surprise and shock when she realized he had fangs, and processed that he was wearing a city guard uniform. Betrayal and hurt, when she realized he was a vampire. Fear, when she realized she had entrusted her dear Mitsuba to him, to a—

Sangu Aoi snatched up her rations and left in a dash, feet slapping against the stone floor of Sanguinem. Shinya watched her go.

“What was that about?” René wondered, more to himself. Shinya answered anyways, though he wasn’t quite sure why.

“...I used to know her, as a human.”

René studied him for a moment, but said nothing, and Shinya decided that maybe the dark-haired vampire wasn’t so bad.

Later, when it was dark in Sanguinem, and the humans were sleeping, most of the vampires away in their mansions or rooms, very few patrolling the city, Shinya arrived at the home that housed Sangu Aoi, Hiiragi Kureto, Hiiragi Seishiro, and, if he was not mistaken, children from other branch families. 

He reached out a hand to knock on the door, then hesitated. What would he say, exactly? He wasn’t sure. But he did not dislike Mitsuba. She was Shinoa’s age, and from the betrayal and hurt in Aoi’s eyes, she had genuinely loved her sister, with all of her heart.

She deserved to know that Mitsuba was alive, at the very least. He just had no idea how to tell her.

Figuring he would lose his courage if he waited, Shinya knocked anyways. The door swung open a moment later, and Aoi stood on the other side, looking tired. Her green eyes flamed when she saw him, and she did a very un-Aoi like thing, then; she hissed, “Monster!” and she slammed the door in his face. It caught his fingers, but Shinya just sighed and pulled his fingers from the doorframe. The wood had splintered in the shape of his fingers, just a little. It wasn’t really noticeable, so he figured it was okay.

She was crying on the other side of the door; he could hear her sobs. So Shinya knelt down and spoke into the wood, just loud enough for her to hear.

“Three nights ago a boy named Ichinose Guren escaped from the vampire city of Sanguinem with a child by the name of Sangu Mitsuba and five others: Amane Yuichiro, Shindo Mikaela, Kimizuki Shiho, Saotome Yoichi, and Hiiragi Shinoa. Hiiragi Shinya was the only casualty in the escape. He perished at the hands of Bathory Ferid, who had set up the entire thing as a twisted game.”

Aoi continued sobbing, but there was a slight change, now; there was relief, now, in her sobs. Shinya stood, and walked away.

When he was almost down the steps, the door opened. Hiiragi Kureto stood in the doorway, studying him in silence.

“You’ve become a vampire. Yet your eyes are blue.”

“I have,” Shinya conceded. “I have not yet turned completely, so my eyes have not turned completely.”

Kureto stared at him in silence. “Why does Aoi weep, foster son? Did you do harm to my servant?”

“I laid no hand on her,” Shinya answered. His thoughts raced. If he finds what Aoi did, will she be killed?

I have no doubt. I will not let that happen.

Shinya smiled, and showed off his fangs. “She weeps because I told her of the corpse of her sister, the little one with blonde pigtails. Her blood was exquisite, and I was hoping for more, but it seems that the older one does not taste as fine.” Shinya schooled his features into an over dramatic pout. “The blood is better the younger the body. A pity the sister isn’t younger. I could have drank her dry, too…”

Kureto studied him for a moment longer, then blinked slowly and announced, “...you are no bearer of the Hiiragi name. We have no need for a vampire. Go away, nameless bloodsucker.”

He turned heel and lead Aoi back into the house. Aoi shoots him a watery, but thankful, look, and Shinya wonders if it will be the last time he will see her. For her safety, it would have to be, he knows.

So he walked away from the home that did not hold his family, and when he was far enough away, he found an alleyway and he retched until his stomach was empty and his eyes burned.

“Guren-nii, this is really bad,” Mika said, quietly, as he wound the makeshift bandage around Guren’s arm and watched with a pale face as the dirty fabric was almost instantly stained red. “Yoichi, come help me, please. Your hands are steadier than mine are.” 

“Mika?” Yoichi asked, sleepy, then stopped dead in his tracks. “...is that blood, Guren-nii? I thought the bleeding stopped… you never said anything…”

Guren held a finger to his lips with his good arm, glancing at the others. They were camped inside a mostly-intact apartment complex, dirty and exhausted, but they had struck gold— there was canned goods in the apartment complex, non-perishables, and the jackpot, uncooked rice. White rice, wild rice, arborio rice, jasmine rice, basmati rice; the only thing they couldn’t eat was the brown rice, which Guren vaguely remembered went bad fast compared to the others, that lasted indefinitely. He wasn’t sure why, but he did remember that.

His arm ached. A long laceration stretched from his upper arm to his elbow, not seriously deep but bleeding obscenely and distractingly painful. That monster— the vampires had always spoken of them, the Horsemen of John, the Horsemen of the Apocalypse, but they had never seen one until the encounter— had attacked them, came out of nowhere and nearly severed Guren’s arm, probably would have if Mitsuba hadn’t grabbed his arm and yanked him out of the way, sending them both to the ground and the monster’s claw just scraping his arm. They had ran, so desperate, but the monster, the Horsemen had almost caught them so many times, and Kimizuki had tripped—

But they had made it into a nearly-collapsed subway, too small for the Horsemen to follow but sturdy enough to protect them from collapse. They were exhausted, battered, bruised and scraped, but they were alive and they had made it, and Yuu had managed a nearly tearful laugh and had uttered, “We don’t need those damned bloodsuckers protection. We can protect ourselves.”

They had waited the Horsemen out, and when it left, they crept out of their hiding place and into the apartment building where they now rested, on the fourth floor, after eating their full of rice and canned foods, and then vowed to sleep well and move on in the morning. Until Guren had noticed that his arm had bleed through his torn sleeve, which he had previously used to bind his arm.

Mika, being the observant not-quite seven year old he was, noticed this immediately and stayed away, feigning sleep. And when Guren moved to fix his bindings, Mika stirred, as well.

Now Yoichi was awake, as well, and Guren was ready to throw his head out a window and scream until he felt better. But then, that wouldn’t solve anything, and it would just wake the others. Probably.

Yoichi bent down and helped him retie the bloody bandage, tiny fingers winding the knot deftly, flinching when Guren grimaced.

“I’ll loosen—” Yoichi began, but Guren cut him off.

“No. Keep it tight. I need it to stop bleeding, and I don’t think it’ll do that if you loosen it.”

Yoichi still seemed hesitant, but he sat down beside Guren without arguing, studying the bandage.

“...Guren-nii, why won’t the bleeding stop?”

Guren huffed a sigh. “I don’t know. I hope it stops soon, though.”

“You called me a Seraph,” Shinya remarked, to Krul. He had been in servitude— her dog, but he thought that if he had to be a dog, she was the kindest master he had ever had — for more than three days and four nights, but he had never been brave enough to broach the topic. “What is that, Krul-sama?” 

Krul was seated on her throne, and they were alone. She smiled at him, where he stood, diligently, standing by the right arm of her throne.

“My, my, Shinya-kun, I’m surprised. It’s taken you a long time to ask this, hmm?”

Shinya shrugged. “I’ve been busy,” He said, and it was true; he had been searching for clues to where they had gone, Guren and the children, but Guren was not stupid, and they had not left traces behind. But he was still a new vampire, still inexperienced, still weak, and he couldn’t go far.

Guren and the children, his family, were already too far out of his grasp for Shinya to reach at the moment. He was still too weak at the moment.

But not for long, he promised. Not for long.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Shinya added.

Krul didn’t respond for a moment. When she did, it was in a strange tone; dulled but angry at the same time.

“Seraphs are… a magical curse, born through human experimentation and cultivated inside a person. Angels of the end, to punish the greedy humans for the sins they’ve committed.”

Shinya laughed. “I’m no angel.”

“Not that you remember,” She said, softly. “The Hiiragi family was practicing human experimentation. They wanted to bring people back from the dead— they wanted eternal life. The Hyakuya Sect was doing the same thing— in cooperation with the Ichinose clan, might I add, and they formed a mutual agreement with the Hiiragi’s to not interfere with the business of one another. In the end, they failed, and all but the children of the world and the vampires perished because of their transgression. But the Hiiragi’s and the Hyakuya’s were clever. They erased the memories of their test subjects— their own children. Well, the Hiiragi’s didn’t use their blood children. They used foster children.” Krul turned her dull crimson eyes towards Shinya, and she said the words that made his blood run cold.

“You were one of those test subjects, Hiiragi Shinya. The only one to survive, out of the Hiiragi children. Ichinose Guren is also a Seraph, the sole survivor of the Hyakuya-Ichinose test bunch. You two are the last two Seraphs in existence— because the Hiiragi house slaughtered the Hyakuya Sect, and you slaughtered all of the other Seraphs, with your own hands.”

Shinya almost threw up. He did not.

“What… what… what do the— we— do? We… Seraphs of the End…?” Shinya whispered.

Krul laughed, and pet his hair. “Grow stronger, and perhaps I’ll tell you then.”

Four days had passed, and countless blood, sweat, and tears— and Guren was almost ready to cry more, because yes, that manor with the old wood, worn from so many years of Ichinoses living there, that manor with the long past waist-high and now-patchy once-green lawn, with the garden with fresh fruits and vegetables that were once well-maintained now overgrown, that was his manor, his home.

Shinya, we made it, he wanted to say, but they didn’t, so Guren swallowed back the comment and the tears and said, “We made it. The wards start there— the property boundry line. It weakens any magic that isn’t from the Ichinose family, if not blocking it completely. It worked on vampires, I guess… I mean, I never saw any before the apocalypse… and the manor is still completely untouched, so it looks like it works for the Horsemen, too. We’ll be safe once we’re inside.”

Mitsuba burst into tears, and Shinoa swiped at her eyes furiously with dirty hands— she only smeared the dirt on her face, but they were all filthy and squalid— and Yoichi was right behind her on tearing up, and then Kimizuki sniffled, and Mika’s eyes were shiny with quiet tears, and Yuu choked back his own tears.

Guren forced his own down.

Crying is… for the weak. I can’t be weak. I have to be strong.

So his arm hurt and bled, and his chest ached where his heart was, but Guren did not cry. Guren lead his teary-eyed, crying charges into the manor where he grew up, and they no longer noticed the corpses on the ground that had withered away to skeletons.

They were far too used to death by now for it to bother them.

“Gahh, Shinya-kun, go easy on me, won’t you?” Lacus yelped, when Shinya struck out with his sword hard enough to force the other vampire back a foot. Shinya did not answer; he swiped out with his sword at Lacus’ ankles, but Lacus defended, parrying the blow. “Geez, you’ve only been one of us for what, two months? It’s not fair that you’re this strong!” 

Shinya feigned a swipe to Lacus’ torso, then went right for the neck. His blade sliced through the epidermis, but no more; Shinya stopped his blade there. Lacus was not his friend, but he was not his enemy. Lacus would not die if Shinya beheaded him— in fact, beheading was a rather unfortunate occurrence in sparring— but it was an extremely painful experience, and Shinya did not wish that on the purple-haired vampire.

“I win,” Shinya said simply, then removed his blade. The skin of Lacus’ neck sewed itself together, and the wound disappeared.

“Ah, Shinya-kun, that was mean,” Lacus whined, wiping a hand at the blood on his neck. “René! Look at what Shinya-kun did to me!”

René raised an eyebrow. “Good for him.”

“Mean! Both of you!” The purple-haired vampire decalred, and René laughed.

Shinya did not. The scene brought abruptly, to his mind, a memory from this life, of a small Shinoa teasing Yuu incisively, of Guren’s reaction to it— the exact same as René’s.

His chest ached, and he turned to leave; he needed a stronger sparring partner.

Wait just a bit longer. I’m coming. I promise.

The skeletal remains could not remain where they lay, scattered around the manor. It was unsanitary, and if they were to call this place home, it needed to look the part, not like a scene from a horror movie. 

Plan one, because of that, was to remove the skeletons. There were shovels in the garden shed, and after finding a suitable spot in the forest outside, they dug a hole. Then, with the assistance of a bulky wheelbarrow that took both Yuu, Kimizuki, and Mika pushing— Guren’s arm left him unable to do this; it had already soaked through the bandage twice, and even now, warm blood dripped down his arm. Plan two would be to find the infirmary, although Guren was certain he remembered where it was— while Yoichi guided the front of and the girls attempted to clear the path as much as possible, to ferry the corpses to the hole that would become their final resting place.

Guren would have liked to say that he remembered what body was his father’s, and given him a special grave. But the only thing he remembered, other than the blood pouring from his father’s mouth and the sight of his father’s body crumpled on the floor of the common room, surrounded by the bodies of the servants. Now that the corpses were only old cloth and bones, it was impossible to tell who was who. So they were all buried together, in this hastily dug hole.

A mass grave.

The sight of it made Guren sick. He could still remember learning about the Holocaust— this is what happened then, wasn’t it? Mass graves. Unknown identities. No-name bodies, thrown together in a pit to be forgotten.

I won’t forget, Guren vowed. I’ll never forget. 

Then he noticed the children’s bloody hands, from digging graves and burying bodies, and his own, where he had attempted to help, and Guren announced, “Their buried enough. Come on, let’s go inside. It’s late, and there’s bandages inside. Actual bandages. So let’s go fix up your hands.”

They cheered weakly, tired but making an effort, all except for Mika and Yoichi, who frowned. As the group headed back towards the manor, they drifted to his side while Yuu and Kimizuki began lighthearted bickering, and Shinoa began to tease Mitsuba about something or other.

“We should treat your arm, first,” Mika said, softly enough that the others wouldn’t pick up on it.

“The others should know, Guren-nii,” Yoichi agreed. “Shihou read a lot of books— more than I did, and Mika, too. He probably knows more about this than we do. He might be able to fix you better than we can.”

“Besides,” Mika added. “The others are already suspicious. You couldn’t help with the wheelbarrow because you can’t move your arm, ‘else it’ll bleed worse. You told them it was because your arm was sore, but they’re getting more and more suspicious, Guren-nii.”

“Suspicious, suspicious,” Guren muttered, as they entered the manor and the group of three took the lead, as Guren lead them to the infirmary, a small room stocked full of medical equipment. Most of it, Guren had no idea what was for, and was essentially worthless to him; bandages, those he knew. “Where did you even learn that word, huh?”

“Shinya-nii taught it to me,” Mika said, after a pause. “It was in a book that I was reading. Notes on Nightwalkers. The kanji was too hard. I had to put it back. But I learned that word. He said it meant ‘cautiously distrust’ and we should be suspicious of vampires. I remembered it because he said it was very important to be suspicious of vampires.”

Guren didn’t ask about the word any longer; he changed the subject. “There’s water still let in the pots that we brought in from the streams earlier, right? Go wash your hands, all of you. I’ll get the bandages out.”

There was some hums, mutters of “okay”s, and although Mika and Yoichi seemed reluctant to leave him, they did. Guren dragged a chair over to the counter and managed to pull open the white cabinets with his good hand. Inside, there was a treasure-trove of first-aid equipment. Rolls upon rolls of bandages— Guren could still remember vividly being beaten by the Hiiragi children, for being a lowly Ichinose, but who had higher marks in everything, and his father weeping, apologizing for being so powerless, binding the cuts and scrapes. Eventually, he learned to act average— bottles of a clear liquid with a strange label— ‘lidocaine’ , maybe— that he distantly remembered. It was poured over his serious cuts, and once when he burned himself, maybe? He squinted to read the small font— the words were long, the kanji often difficult— but Guren recognized ‘pain’ and ‘numb’, and realized that it was to numb the skin.

Tubes of ointment, as well. Guren studied them carefully, sitting on the counter. The label read ‘Terra-Cortril’ , and Guren remembered it, vaguely. It was to prevent infection, or treat it, one or the other. Guren couldn’t really remember. Killed bacteria, maybe. Something of that sort.

Either way, now, he could treat their hands— and his arm— with more than just cloth.

Shinya brought his sword down on the Horsemen’s neck, and watched as the giant beast’s head tumbled down. The body fell soon afterwards, falling to the ground with a shuddering thud. After a moment, children— human children— crept out of their hiding places, from inside buildings. 

“Alright,” Shinya called flatly, raising his voice to be heard. “We’ll be taking over this area now, and transporting those who remain here to reside in our city of Sanguinem. From this day forward, you’ll gain our protection; we ask only for your blood.”

“So suave,” Lacus snickered. “Such a way with words, Shinya-kun.

“So eager for glory,” René sighed. “Such a hunger for power.”

“So what does it matter,” Shinya said, sheathing his sword. His glove was tattered where the red thorns had cut through the white fabric to drink his blood, but he simply pulled off both gloves with disdain. “If I want to rise in the ranks? There’s no law to prevent me from doing so.”

“If you’re so ready for more power, why don’t you just drink?” Lacus waved a hand towards the dirty, ragged children, who were hesitantly creeping towards the group of city guards, frightened but hopeful at the promise of protection. “We city guards can only drink directly from the source outside of Sanguinem, after all.”

Shinya paused. He would be lying, to say that he hadn’t thought of it— the promise of more power, just by draining a vial of human blood, or from biting the neck of one of the live— humans he was ordered to round up by Krul was inviting.  It was in his rights to claim one of the humans as his and to drain them dry; outside of Sanguinem’s walls, all of the humans were free claim. Krul, of course, had ordered them to bring back a certain amount of each group, and René was normally able to keep enough of a leash on Lacus to limit him to one human.

But when he found Guren, would Guren even recognize him, forever stuck in the body of a fourteen year old boy? Would he want to be forever fourteen, watching Guren grow old, watching the children, even little Shinoa, grow older than he?

Would Shinya have the courage to turn them into vampires? Would he subject them to eternal torture? Eternal bloodlust? Was death better?

Shinya sighed. He wouldn’t make a decision until Krul told him more about the Seraph of the End.

I’ve kept my end of the promise, Krul. I’ve grown stronger.

They tacked the garden, and Guren was able to help a little more. His arm wasn’t quite so bad, anymore. 

The garden was overgrown, and picking out the good plants— the edible fruits and vegetables— from the bad weeds was difficult. They knew literally nothing about gardening, but there were books on it in the library, although the pages were faded and sometimes stained. Kimizumi and Yoichi read most of the material, and Mika and Yuu did most of the weeding. Shinoa and Mitsuba scavenged the ready-to-eat food, and Guren tried to figure out how to cook it.

It was difficult, but there were cookbooks, cutlery, and crockery, with wood in the forest for fires and clean water in the stream to be boiled for drinking. To Guren’s delight, there was also fish— he remembered fishing, although he wasn’t sure how to any longer.

It was trial and error, but it was eventually, surprisingly, Yuu, who figured out how to catch the fish, with nets of old rope and sticks. Kimizuki crafted a better net, later, out of fishing twine that Shinoa discovered at a hardware store, when she and Yoichi had left for a scouting expedition.

They began to fill out, and laugh, a little. Guren tried, but his laughs were dry and half-hearted, so he didn’t try after the first few attempts— but the sight of the others filling out and beginning to smile a little more, laugh a little more, be a little brighter, genuinely did make him happy.

But when he closed his eyes, he still saw Shinya’s corpse, and he could not smile as bright, could not laugh as happily as the others. He could barely manage a smile at all.

The smell of blood was tempting. So tempting. 

Human blood. Not Krul’s blood.

Shinya was weak. Supposedly, a turned vampire could last indefinitely on the blood of a vampire— they might go insane from thirst, but they wouldn’t die, or turn into a demon. Probably. The studies Shinya had been reading weren’t exactly clear.

Yet although Krul’s blood was tasty— it was, as tasty as blood could be, when it all tasted roughly the same— Shinya still longed for human blood. It wasn’t noticable after he drank Krul’s blood. The thirst went away, then, and stayed away, until time for his next feeding.

But Krul’s blood wouldn’t always keep away the thirst. How long, Shinya wondered, would he last?

He opened the vial nonetheless and drank.

When they were physically stronger, healthier, Guren broke out the steel blades and set them in front of his charges. 

“These are swords,” He announced. “Ichinose swords. Crafted by my family’s blacksmiths, before the apocalypse. There are enough for a small army— the Ichinose Clan was a small army.”

“Wow,” Yoichi marveled. “Guren-nii was the heir to an army?”

“It wasn’t a national army,” Guren added, with a frown, as he tried to think of the correct way to explain. “The Ichinose Clan… held sway in politics and trade, yes. Not as much as other families. But we did. And we were strong. Very strong.” He tapped the stack of square paper talismen. “These are talismen, or tags. They all do different things, depending on what writing they have. Some explode, some enhance strength or speed, or even healing. They all have an incantation that goes with them— most of them, anyways. All of these work inside the Ichinose ground, because they’re Ichinose magic. Other types of magic should be blocked by the wards.”

“Magic, huh,” Yuu said, skeptically. “Magic… isn’t real, is it, Guren-nii? It was from the fantasy books.”

“Vampires are real, Yuu-chan,” Mika reminded him, gently. “Magic… isn’t a stretch.”

“That’s right, Mika,” Guren agreed. “I used to train in both, as the next head of the Ichinose family. I remember most of it, and there are detailed records of old techniques and incantations in the Ichinose library. I’m going to start studying again, in what I don’t remember, and what I do remember, I’m going to teach you.”

Shinoa blinked. “We’re going to… fight?”

“Fight what?” Mitsuba chimed.

Kimizuki hesitated, then spoke up. “...the Horsemen.”

“That’s right, Shihou,” Guren praised. “The Horsemen of John, the Horsemen of the Apocalypse— whatever you call them, I’m not letting anybody be left without knowing how to protect themselves. Everyone is going to learn how to fight, like it or not.”

I won't lose any of you, ever again.

“Tell me,” Shinya instructed the queen of the vampires. “I’m stronger now. It’s been a year. I need permission to go further to search for my family. I need the blood to search.” Shinya’s hands curled into fists. “I need the information. Tell me, Krul. What do the Seraphs do?”

Krul studied him. Shinya was fifteen, and he was strong. Eventually, she let out a heavy sigh.

“Seraphs are creatures with a single goal: to destroy all humans for the sins they’ve committed.”

“That’s foolish,” Shinya snapped. “I would never do that. Humans may be foolish, cruel creatures, but I would never try to commit mass genocide. Guren— Guren is so kind, so soft-hearted. He would never, ever do such a thing.” Shinya’s nails dug into his palms so tightly that they bled, but healed immediately afterwards. He dug his nails in deeper, and continued the vicious cycle. “Guren’s father loved him very much. He would never have experimented on his own son.”

“Maybe he would not have. But the Hiiragi’s gladly would have; and they did,” Krul promised. “Ichinose is just a branch family. The Hiiragi’s are free to do as they please; the father was powerless.”

So everything comes back to the Hiiragi’s?

“How do you know so much about the Seraphs, Krul? It’s forbidden for vampires to meddle in the Seraph experiments. You and Bathory both could be put to death for knowing so much— I bet you both meddled.”

“Ferid Bathory and I are both very different. But we both value our lives, so we have a mutual agreement based to never mention our involvement. I had a… I suppose you could say, spy, watching the experiments the humans performed. However, that’s not the point, though, Shinya. Krul studied him with level eyes. “You might not, and your Guren might not,” Krul agreed. “But when the Seraph takes over, you are no longer you. It’s simple, Shinya. You and your precious Guren are, to be blunt, ticking time bombs. If something manages to set you off, and the Seraph inside you goes off, well…” Krul made an motion as though she was slitting her throat. “Consider humanity dead. The Progenitor Council would kill you before that happened, of course— but then, they would have killed you already, if they had known you were alive still.”

“So why did you keep me alive, Krul?” Shinya rasped.

“Because when your body stops aging, when you become a complete vampire, you should be safe from the Seraph transformation.” Krul rested her head against her hand. “So I believe, anyways. And if that’s true, you’ll be my very powerful, very loyal dog, for all of eternity, Shinya.”

“I’ve already agreed to that,” Shinya reminded. “In exchange, you allow me the status and freedom to search for my family. You’ve denied me one of those: the freedom to search. So what now, Krul? I am powerful. I have status; I am feared among Sanguinem vampire nobles. Will you allow me to search for my family now, and seal our pact?”

Krul smiled, and in the bright light, her fangs gleamed.

“So be it, Shinya.”

Guren’s arm screamed in protest as the Horsemen’s claw-like appendage smashed down on his sword, but he pushed back and did not give ground. It still ached, sometimes, in cold weather— the scar was horrendous, but he still had full functionality, and the wound had long healed. 

“Yoichi! Do it now!” Guren ordered, and Yoichi gave him a terse nod before throwing forth his talismen and chanting his incantations. Explosions rang out along the Horseman’s body, and Kimizuki stepped forward to protect Yoichi as the Horseman diverted its attention to the brown-haired male. Kimizuki was strong and smart, quick with his blade and more even-tempered than Yuu— if possible, Guren would have put him on more of an offensive role, but he feared that the pinkish-redhead’s sight would put him in danger. He could protect Yoichi alright; Yoichi would watch his back, and they could work as an okay duo, with Yoichi compensating for Kimizuki’s eyesight. But putting Kimizuki on a frontline, solo position, without correction— someday, he vowed, they would find an optometry building and search for glasses— was too dangerous. “Shinoa, Mitsuba!”

The two girls attacked in almost-synchronization, slicing at the monster’s hind, wing-like legs and making it stagger. Just as fast, they darted back, retreating, as Guren called, “Mika, Yuu!”

The two boys swooped in and finished the cuts the girls had started, severing the legs. Guren leapt forward, slapping a talismen onto his blade and chanting as he cut through the torso of the Horsemen. In a shower of hot, crimson blood, it shuddered and died.

They were silent, for a moment; then Yuu cheered hoarsely, and Shinoa laughed, and Yoichi slumped to the ground with a relieved sigh, and suddenly everybody was cheering.

And all Guren could think was, I won’t lose anyone, ever again. They’re becoming strong. I’m becoming strong.

Can you see us now, Shinya? Are you proud of us? Are you proud of me?

For all of eternity, hmm… Shinya thought. The vials of blood at his waist clinked softly as he left Sanguinem, to search for Guren and the others. I suppose… I have always been a slave to somebody or other. If I must be somebody’s slave, Krul is a kind master.

Guren dreams, fleetingly, of syringes and screams, and his father’s pleas for “Mercy, mercy! Please, have mercy, he’s just a boy!” A man, slapping his father and scolding him for insubordination, calling him a “Lowly Ichinose.”  

He woke with a pounding heart and tear-tracks on his cheeks, but his eyes were dry. He wanted to sob, but the others were sleeping just a few feet away— they had pushed beds into one room, a bed for everyone— and if Guren were to cry, he would wake the others. He longs for his confidant, for Shinya; but then the memory of Shinya’s corpse comes to mind, and Guren’s sobs almost slip out.

So Guren bit his hand until he tasted blood, but his sobs did not make a sound. He was absolutely silent, and the others slept on.

Shinya traveled on nothing more than gut instinct and suspicion. Route 1 was the fastest highway between Sanguinem and the Ichinose manor, so Shinya hotwired a car and drove. He had no idea if Guren and the children had gone to the Ichinose manor, or if they had started there and made it, but he had nothing else to go on, so he drove. 

“Say, why do we have to accompany you?” Lacus asked, curiously.

Shinya shrugged. “I don’t know. Because Krul suspects we may come across more livest— humans, while we’re out?”

“Why exactly are we out?” René asked, leaning against the car window. “I’d also like to ask where you learned where to hotwire a car, but I have a feeling you’d give me a vague answer, so I won’t bother.”

“Good idea,” Shinya agreed, then paused. “I’m taking a personal detour. A leave of absence. To find things precious to me that I lost a long time ago.”

Lacus cackled. “Krul-sama let you take a leave of absence?  What did you do to earn that?”

René sighed. “Looks like being a Progenitor has it’s bonuses, huh…”

Shinya did not remove his eyes from the road. “I’m a Twentieth Progenitor, and an incomplete vampire. The title is for show. The only way I got it was by challenging the lowest-ranking Twentieth Progenitor to a duel and beating him— I won his title, fair and square, but that doesn’t mean I’m respected. I’m a joke.”

But I have status, even lowly. I can protect.

The blood at his waist seemed to clink more noisily than ever. Shinya’s throat was dry when he swallowed, but he ignored it.

Clink, clink, clink.

The Horsemen had them outnumbered. They had been doing a goods run— for clothes, canned goods in other houses— but they had been caught by surprise, and now Shinoa was bleeding from a nasty cut on her stomach, though it wouldn’t be life-threatening, but painful; Mitsuba had a cut on her forehead, bleeding in a never-ending river, concealing her left eye in blood; Yoichi had maybe broken something in his leg; Yuu’s hand was bruised and bloodied from taking a hit awkwardly; Kimizuki’s arm was wrenched. Mika was the only one left without notable injury, with Guren; they defended against eight Horsemen, backs against a literal wall. 

There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. They would die, and Guren wanted to break down and cry, because this meant everything he and Shinya had done was worthless. What point had there been to living this long, only to die?

I’m sorry, Shinya. I should have died with you.

But he was not dead yet , and a promise was a promise; Guren had promised to keep the others safe and happy. He had failed; but he would die trying.

He shifted his sword, and he was about to charge, when he saw it.

A bizarre sight, really. A car. A moving, working car. Out of it leapt a stranger sight— a vampire with silver-white hair and blue eyes, but a vampire nonetheless, because of the obvious fangs and the clothes suggested a noble. He had to companions; a purple-haired vampire and a dark-haired vampire, but Guren was frozen.

Because it was bizarre, really, but that vampire appeared to look exactly like Shinya.

"Guren, dodge!” The vampire shouted, and Guren dodged mechanically, just barely avoiding the Horsemen.

The vampire looked furious. He drew his sword, and announced, “Sword, drink my blood.” Then he moved so fast he disappeared from Guren’s sight.

And then the Horsemen was dead. The Horsemen were all dead, just corpses that surrounded them in a semi-circle. The vampire dropped his sword and stepped closer, wide blue eyes so relieved, so genuine, so loving.

“Guren, oh, it’s really you,”The vampire said. “I was so afraid that I wouldn’t make it, but I did… why were you fighting the Horsemen, with swords like those?”

Guren held his sword to the vampire’s throat, and the vampire stilled, face falling and eyes draining of emotion, slowly. It was like watching a man die.

“What have you done to Shinya, to look like him, bloodsucker?” Guren rasped. His eyes burned, and his vision blurred.

“I am Shinya, Guren,” The vampire said. Guren’s hand shook.

“You aren’t. I saw Shinya die myself. I—” Why was it so hard to breathe, Guren wondered, when the vampire looked at him with those blue eyes, that looked so much like Shinya’s had? Except the vampire’s eyes were gone of emotion, except for pain and grief. A clever illusion. “I wasn’t strong enough to save him. I saw him die. I held him as he died, as he coughed up blood, as he withered in pain. I ran away from his corpse. You can’t fool me. Bloodsucker.”

The vampire opened his mouth, to spew more lies, but Guren wouldn’t let him. Guren drove the blade forward—

And heard the children sob and scream Shinya’s name, and his own hand was shaking too hard to drive the blade home. The tears in his eyes finally fell, and Guren dropped his sword.

“You win,” He croaked. “You win. vampire. I can’t kill you when you wear his face. I can’t kill Shinya. I love him too much.”

The vampire looked pained, so much so that Guren almost believed it was genuine. Almost.

“Guren—”

Mika screamed. Guren’s head whipped around, and he almost threw up. The purple-haired vampire had Mika by the neck, and was drinking him dry.

The vampire that was not Shinya, but that looked like him so much darted forward, and suddenly the purple-haired vampire’s arm went flying, and Mika was in the vampire’s arms, cradled like an infant. His sword was drawn, red, thorny tendrils twining around the vampire’s arm.

“Do not lay a hand on my family, Lacus Welt,” The vampire hissed, so corrosively that it brought shivers to Guren’s spine. He was frozen, as his family screamed and cried, as Yuu shrieked Mika’s name until his throat was surely bloodied, watching the vampire. “I will kill you slowly, painfully, if you do. Do you understand me?”

The purple-haired vampire seemed to be in shock. The dark-haired vampire helped him reattach his arm, and said, “Shinya, that was too harsh. Lacus was just drinking a single livestock. We’re outside of Sanguinem, so he’s—”

“I said, do not touch my family.” The vampire growled. His hand was curled around Mika’s neck, concealing the bloody bitemark, so gently, cradling him like a mother would an infant. Guren had held Mika like that before. He had seen someone else hold Mika like that before, too.

Shinya.

I tried to kill Shinya.

“Shinya,” Guren whispered, and Shinya’s head whipped around to face him. “Shinya, Shinya, what did they do to you?”

He fell to his knees and sobbed. My fault. My fault, this is my fault, for leaving. I should never have left.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.

Guren felt oddly. Light-headed. Faint. Then a noise overpowered him, drowning out every sense, and erasing everything.

Everything went dark, with the sound of a trumpet.

When we meet as adults, you’re always much more discerning. I don’t blame you.

 

Shinya saw Guren clutch his head and scream, and he started towards him, just a half-step, but Mika whimpered in his arms and he stilled. Guren was surrounded by the children instead, hesitant to touch him, but ready to protect him, even wounded. 

“There humans are under my protection,” Shinya hissed, to Lacus and René. “Lay a finger on them, and I will have you sentenced to treason for disobeying a Progenitor’s orders.”

René frowned. “It won’t make a difference, anyways. Lacus drank enough to kill him— look, the little livestock is already almost dead.”

Shinya’s blood metaphorically ran cold, and he looked down. Mika smelled sweeter than ever, his blood more alluring by the second— René was right. Blood was sweetest on the throes of death. It made Shinya’s knees feel weak, but he held his breath for a moment and steeled himself.

“My orders remain. Watch for more of the Horsemen of John; if I’m attacked with my back turned, you will pay for it with blood. Your own, that is.”

He walked away from his vampire companions, towards the children, who tensed as he neared. His chest ached at the sight, but Shinya continued on, until he stood just in front of them.

“Do you remember who I am?” He asked.

“I don’t know what to believe,” Shinoa, ever the little leader, spoke. Shinya supposed it was her Hiiragi blood showing through. “You look like Shinya-nii— you walk like him, you talk like him. But Guren-nii said Shinya-nii died— and then couldn’t kill you, and cried out Shinya-nii’s name, and you responded accordingly. You would not allow the vampires to drink us dry, but were careless enough to let Mika be nearly killed first.” Shinoa sounded coldly furious. She had changed, so much. “Yet you hold him so gently, look so remorseful. You have fangs, and wear the clothes of a vampire noble, but you have blue eyes.”

“It’s just a clever trick,” Kimizuki said, firmly, but there was a note of despair in his voice. “Guren-nii said never to trust vampires!”

As if to emphasise this, Guren’s screams seemed to reach a peak; Shinya thought that surely, Guren’s thoat was bloody and raw, but then, it had only been a few seconds, hadn’t it? Even if it seemed like much longer.

Yuu was standing in front of Shinya, suddenly; his eyes blazed like fire, and although his hand looked possibly broken or at the very least very nastily bruised and bloodied, it was clenched around his sword as if it didn’t hurt him one bit.

He’s going to stab me, Shinya thought.

And then Yuu did a strange thing; he turned his back on Shinya, on a vampire, and he dropped his sword, spreading his arms, shielding Shinya with his body. A foolish thing to do, considering Shinya was older and taller, but Yuu had effectively placed himself between his armed family and Shinya, and Shinya was not sure quite what to do.

“What are you doing?” Yuu asked, tone biting. “Family is family. We don’t point swords at family.” He swallowed. “I… I don’t know what happened— why Shinya-nii is one of them. But he’s protecting us! He’s still Shinya-nii! He’s still our family!”

Yoichi dropped his talismen; they fluttered to the ground, harmless rectangles of paper without the incantations to back them up. Kimizuki dropped his sword, and after a moment of hesitation, Mitsuba followed.  Shinoa was the last one to drop her sword, but she looked pained and distraught.

“How heartwarming,” René droned, and Lacus laughed. Blood still stained his mouth. Mika’s blood.

“Shinya did used to be human. These are the livestock he grew up with, are they?”

Guren’s screams abruptly stopped. He removed his hands from his face, and his eyes were different. Shinya had spent so many lives looking at those eyes— he knew that whatever was inside of those eyes now, that was not Guren.

“Get back,” Shinya said. The words tumbled out before he could stop them. “Get away from Guren, now!”

Looking startled, they did— and not a moment too soon. It seemed like Guren exploded with power, a single, massive wing ripping out of his back. It was not a conventional wing; instead of white feathers, it appeared to be made out of dark blood. Shinya stumbled, then pressed Mika into Yuu’s arms and said, “He’s lost too much blood. Keep your hand against the bitemark, and try to contain the blood flow.”

“You’re… different now,” Kimizuki admitted. “Stronger. Isn’t there anything you can do? To save him?”

The vials of blood at Shinya’s waist clanked noisily.

“I am weak, still,” Shinya spoke. “I am the dog to Krul, the vampire queen. I am strong enough to keep you safe in Sanguinem, but… I can’t heal.”

“That’s not true, now, is it, Shinya?” Lacus asked. Shinya wondered if he truly hated the vampire, sometimes. “You’re a Progenitor. A noble. If the livestock means so much to you, just turn the little pet, why don’t you?”

“I would never do that,” Shinya said, flatly, but Yuu interrupted him.

“Turn… make him like you, you mean? A vampire?”

Shinya hesitated, glancing towards Guren. He appeared to be dazed, confused, for just a moment. Shinya had minutes, if he was lucky. Seconds, if he was not.

“I am not yet a full vampire, but yes, that is what Lacus implies.”

“Will it… will it save him?” Yuu whispered.

“It would heal his wound,” Shinya said, carefully. “I wouldn’t call it healing.”

Yuu raised his chin. His eyes were dull.

“Then do it.”

Yoichi made a noise of protest, and Kimizuki opened his mouth to agree, but Shinoa spoke first.

“Yuu—”

“Family is family, Shinoa,” Yuu said, so steely it was almost frightening. “I won’t lose anybody else. I… I won’t lose anybody else. Not after we just were reunited.” Yuu met Shinya’s eyes, and he said, “Do it.”

There were no objections this time. René said, “You’ll need to drink human blood first, you know.”

Shinya scowled. “I know, René.” He sighed, then flipped open his pouch. He had four vials; two would sate his thirst. Three would ensure he didn’t kill Mika. Four…

He opened one, and drank it, then another, and another. He drank the fourth slowly, holding half of it in his mouth, discreetly. He breathed deeply, then he bit Mika’s already-bruised neck.

The blonde shuddered, but was too weak to protest. Shinya was careful; he drank only a swallow of Mika’s blood, and none of Krul’s. Immediately afterwards, he bit his lip for show, thumbed open Mika’s mouth and forced Krul’s blood into Mika’s mouth.

If I’m found out, we’ll both be killed. But the vampire society is based on strength. So… please, Krul, give Mika the same strength you’ve given me. The same kindness. The same mercy.

He drew back as Mika began to scream, and he said, “Lacus Welt, René Simm. On my authority as a Progenitor, I order you: escort all of these children back to Sanguinem safely, and present them to Krul as mine . If I might make a request, as a friend: show Mika the ropes. Be kind to him. He’ll grow into a powerful asset, I promise.” Shinya stood, and dusted off his clothes. He unclipped his cloak from his throat and laid it over Mika. “Show the queen that, when you arrive, and tell her who you are,” Shinya instructed, to all of his former charges, who watched him, confused. “She’ll protect you. She’ll be kind. Krul recognizes potential; show her what you can do. Your swordsmanship, your magic— hold nothing back, and you’ll no longer live as livestock, I promise. Sanguinem can be home, too.”

“And where are you going, Shinya?” René asked, watching as Shinya drew his sword.

“I’m going to end this,” Shinya muttered. “...tell Krul, ‘The Seraphs are dead. The world is safe.’ ” Shinya hesitated. “And… ‘woof woof.’ ”

Thank you for being such a kind master, Krul. Please, please be kind to the children. You know how much they mean to me… so, I trust you.

“Sword, drink my blood,” Shinya commanded, as Guren drew his own sword and began to advance.

But not towards Shinya, no.

Towards the children.

“The end has come.” Guren announced, in a voice that was not his. It was otherworldly, rasping. But Shinya still dared to be so arrogant to have hope, because Guren only had one wing. He was not a complete Seraph— yet. Shinya still had time, just barely. “Taited humans, who dare reach for the forbidden... May you all become…”

“He’s going to attack—!” Shinya warned, but René and Lacus had lived for many, many years, and they were smart because of it. They had grabbed the children and ran; Shinya decided that even if he did not consider them friends, he liked the vampires. They followed orders, at least.

Shinya clenched his hand tighter around his sword. “Drink more of my blood,” He urged, desperately, as Guren that was not Guren pointed his hand at the spot where the children had been and announced, “Pillars of Salt.”

Jagged spires of crystallized salt sprouted out of the ground. It would have killed any human that stood there.

"Shinya-nii!” He heard, called, but he didn’t turn. It was too late for goodbyes. He would see them in the next life.

Shinya charged, as Guren drifted closer. It seemed that Guren’s wing had grown larger. He didn’t have much time before his power would be insufficient; as it was, he might not be strong enough,

“The end has come,” Guren said. His blank eyes— one of the sclera was the color of blackish-blood— shifted to look at Shinya, but he did not move to attack.

“Yes,” Shinya agreed. “It has.”

He drove his sword through Guren’s chest, swiftly. Guren shuddered, and coughed. “O-On this day, the cycle of human greed and desire… shall crumble… as naught but pillars of salt in the wind.”

Guren began to move, but Shinya threw an arm around his neck and held him firmly in place, withdrawing his sword and stabbing again, viciously. Guren shuddered more violently, and blood poured like a waterfall out of his mouth, He coughed, and blood splattered onto Shinya’s face.

A spire of crystallized salt pierced through Shinya’s chest, and he staggered, but he did not let go.

“Stop this, Guren.” Shinya whispered. “Stop this. Don’t kill the children. You love them. You wouldn’t lay a hand on them.”

“Who are you?” Guren asked, blinking mismatched eyes. He showed no signs of pain, despite the should-be fatal wounds.

“You know who I am,” Shinya wheezed. The wound in his chest did not heal. Was it because of the Seraphs power, he wondered? “Shinya. I’m Shinya. But you aren’t who I’m talking to. Come back, Guren. You’re stronger than this. This isn’t some demon. This is a stupid angel, of all things. A Seraph. Come back to me. Let’s end this as ourselves.”

Guren blinked, and tears rolled down his face. One of them was a tear of blood.

“Kill me,” He whispered. “Kill me, Shinya."
Shinya kissed him, then drove his sword through Guren one last time. Shinya’s knees gave out— his vision went dark, and this lifetime finally came to an end.

Yet, always, you forgive me.

 

Chapter Text

As if you understand what’s going on, and you’re making up for all the lifetimes in which one of us doesn’t exist,

This lifetime was, relatively, normal. Shinya had been terrified that this would be one of those lives, where Guren did not exist (the fear was always in his mind), it started out so normal, after the last life’s eccentricity. It was not, to his relief.

When Shinya was sixteen, he slept on Guren’s couch in his funeral attire. His lifetime as a vampire had made him a light sleeper— he was one before, but now it was unfortunately taken to the extreme— and this time, he woke up to the sound of something stirring.

He opened his eyes, and twisted to look. Guren was moving, getting up.

“Where are you going?”

“Go back to sleep,” Guren said, in place of an answer. His voice was hoarse and dry. “Leave me alone for awhile, Shinya.”

He needs to be alone, probably, Shinya mused, watching Guren rub his eyes and yawn, before walking away. Guren slid open the door that led out into the gardens, and closed it quietly.

But I’ve left him alone for a long time before now. If he woke up like this in the past, I’ve never noticed. So I won’t leave him be, tonight.

Shinya was careful not to wake Mito, Goshi, Sayuri, or Shigure as he stood and rubbed at his neck, where a crick had formed. He walked quietly to the door and pulled it open, shutting it behind him silently.

Guren stood alone under the moonlight, in the garden of his father’s construction. The panes of his face seemed sharp under the silvery light, beautiful in a cool, cold way, and his ceremonial Ichinose kimono was wrinkled.

“I told you to leave me alone, Shinya.”

“I didn’t listen.”

Guren glared at him flatly. There was fire in his eyes, gleaming, burning. A rage to consume souls.

A desire for revenge.

“...you don’t have to hide it, you know.”

“Go back inside. I want to be alone.”

Shinya ignored him, and walked closer. “You want to be alone, maybe,” He conceded. “But if I leave you alone, Noya will come out, won’t he? Feed on your desire for revenge?”

Guren scowled, and said nothing. Shinya had hit too close to home.

“Ah, I hit right on the mark. Well, I’ll stay, then.”

“I can keep Noya in check,” Guren said, making a ‘tsk’ noise. “I don’t need your help, so go back to sleep.”

Shinya pursed his lips. “...You can’t keep Noya in check alone tonight.”

He was broaching the topic he shouldn’t.

Guren would not look at him. “What, you don’t think I’m strong enough?”

He really was quite beautiful under the moonlight; Shinya debated on his next move. This was unfamiliar ground. After a moment, he walked forward, and rested a hand on Guren’s shoulder.

“I think everyone has a breaking point,” Shinya said, eventually. “And I know you, Guren. Noya is a demon that feeds off of desire. If you’re alone, you’ll be consumed by thoughts of revenge, and Noya’s influence will grow. If I stay, my presence will keep the thoughts at bay, and the demon in check, won’t in?”

Guren did a strange thing; he laughed. It was a bitter sort of laugh, a little confused, a little angry, a little bit sad.

“...is that what you think?”

Shinya wasn’t hurt by the remark. It stung a little, but he knew better; there was something deeper, more important, behind it. Guren didn’t hurt unnecessarily, even when he was hurting. It just wasn’t who he was.

“What do you mean, Guren?” Shinya urged. His hand still rested on Guren’s shoulder, and he was unable to see his face because of that. He was half-tempted to move forward, but half-tempted to stay, caught in a quandary. “Noya is a demon that feeds off of desire; he will stay in check easier if you aren’t alone with your want for revenge. I’m not wrong.”

“You aren’t wrong,” Guren echoed. “Is that what you think?”

Shinya didn’t have to ask for elaboration, because Guren didn’t need a cue. Abruptly, Guren’s hand was around Shinya’s wrist, twisting him around and tugging him forward until he was falling into Guren, and the hand that wasn’t encircling Shinya’s wrist came up to guide his face until their lips met.

Oh.

Kissed him. Guren kissed him. This was new.

That made Shinya freeze, stiff as a board for a moment. But his body reacted faster than his mind; the hand that was not held captive by Guren came up, and his fingers twined in Guren’s dark hair, soft between his fingers, and closed his eyes. His hand was still trapped between their bodies, bent uncomfortably but not unbearably so— Shinya didn’t even notice it. Guren’s fingers were cool on the back of his neck, creeping lower, tugging at the stiff collar of Shinya’s jacket and making him gasp—

—and then Shinya pulled his hand away, firmly, separating himself from Guren.

“Guren. Guren, stop.” Shinya said, His voice was a little hoarse, a little breathless. “I won’t take advantage of you like this. Stop it.”

Guren’s cheek’s were flushed, but his eyes were bright, and not in a particularly good way; in contrast to the normal dulled violet, it seemed as though all of his emotions were ready to spill over.

Did I push him too far? Shinya wondered. Did I make it worse?

“What do you mean, Shinya?” Guren asked, and his voice sounded rough. “If anybody’s being taken advantage of here, it’s you.”

No. I made the right choice. I have to believe that.

“No,” Shinya said, gentle now, and when Guren tried to move Shinya held onto his hands, tightly. “I won’t do this tonight. Tonight, you need to grieve; you don’t need to do that alone, so I’ll stay, but I won’t do anything else.”

Guren opened his mouth, then closed it again, and in the moonlight, Shinya thought his eyes looked shiny.

“If you still want to do this, after you’ve grieved, then that’s different,” Shinya added, softly. It hurt him to look at Guren, to see him hurt; and he realized, coming outside probably was a mistake. “But if you’re just using me now, as a substitute for Mahiru, we can forget this in the morning, and I won’t hold it against you. I know you love her.” His voice almost cracked. Almost, but not quite. “Okay, Guren?”

Shinya’s eyes stung, but he was much better at concealing it than Guren would ever be.

If I’m unhappy until I die in this lifetime, at least it’s because I know I made a mistake by coming outside, and I can avoid doing it later. But I won’t make him unhappy. Not this time.

“I love her,” Guren said, but he sounded tired. “I love you too. I don’t know. I… I…”

He closed his eyes, tightly, but it wasn’t enough; tears, silver in the moonlight, began to spill, and Shinya, after a moment of hesitation, released Guren’s hands to swipe at the tears gently, with his thumb.

He said that he’d already cried for his father. Had he? Was Guren lying?

“It’s okay,” Shinya assured. “It’s okay. I know.” More than you’ll ever know, I do.

Shinya hesitated, but asked, “...is it alright if I hug you? I won’t do anything more than that, I promise.”

Guren nodded, and Shinya stepped forward and wrapped his arms around him gently. They were the same height, even then, and in Shinya’s mind, they fit together like puzzle pieces. But he did as he promised; he held Guren in an embrace, and nothing more.

“I’m sorry,” Guren whispered, muffled by the fabric of Shinya’s suit jacket, where his face was buried.

I’m the one who’s sorry. Over and over, I’ve put you through pain, haven’t I?

“Oh, Guren,” Shinya breathed. “You don’t ever have to say sorry. There’s nothing to forgive.”

Would you forgive me, if you knew?

Guren watched Shinya sleep, and wondered, would you think I was crazy, if I told you how I felt?

He dreamed, sometimes; dreamed of a Shinya that visited him by the creek, a Shinya that pointed a rifle at him, a Shinya that was not his but that was, but the dreams always left him when he woke, leaving nothing more than a feeling of nostalgia for something he didn’t know and unease.

Would you believe me, Guren wondered, running a hand through silvery-white hair as their friends slept on around them, if I told you that sometimes, I feel as though I’ve known you my entire life? For more than that?

What would you do? Would you laugh at me? Would you believe me?

Could you give me answers? Guren mused. Can you tell me why I feel like this, Shinya?

Why, sometimes, I’m afraid that if I let you out of my sight, you’ll disappear? You’ll be gone, and I’ll be alone?

They tried to carry on like normal. But touches were hesitant, and the air was tense. The others noticed, but none— at least, not to him, not even Goshi— said a word about it. There were worried glances, quiet murmurs behind their backs, but nothing to their faces.

Shinya was grateful. He wasn’t sure how to deal with it himself, and he wasn’t really sure how to explain to their friends that he kissed his best friend, when Guren was vulnerable.

It was not his best moment, and it was really a Hiiragi thing to do. Perhaps the name fit better than he thought it ever had.

It was December tenth, now, and Shinya intentionally placed himself near the school. He had always forbid himself from interfering with too many moments, but he figured this was the least way he could repay Guren for his mistake. Seeing Mahiru as a vampire for the first time— and having his blood drank— shook Guren, in every life. Shinya was always afraid to try and prevent this, fearing it would alter the course of history too much, but now it was already changed and Shinya figured he might as well make a clean break.

He heard the first scream, and then more screams and shrieks and panicked students, and the angry cries of the demon-possessed student, but Shinya waited, leaning against the side of the school with his eyes closed, until his phone rang. He dug it out of the pocket of his uniform— he didn’t attend school anymore, his uniform traded for the military-esque, to-be official JIDA attire— and answered it on the second ring.

His tone was normal, cheery.

“Hello, Kureto-niisan.”

“Shinya. A student lost control at First Shibuya High, and is rampaging at the moment.”

“Understood,” Shinya said, tone unchanged. He knew the answer already, but asked for the same reason he had waited outside until he received the call: he was the only one who knew. “I’m close to First Shibuya, so I’ll be there momentarily. Orders to kill or capture?”

“Kill.”

“Understood,” Shinya repeated, and the line went dead; Kureto had hung up.

Shinya pocketed his phone and walked to the entrance of the building. Around him, students ran screaming. Some stopped when they saw him; he stuck out like a sore thumb normally, with his silvery-white hair and blue eyes, the name Hiiragi on his shoulders like a glowing brand, but now his military uniform made him a beacon for yet another reason.

“Help has arrived!” Shinya heard somebody shout, and another voice echoed, “Mikado no Oni! We’re saved!”

Another voice: “It’s just one man! A boy!”

An angry shout, “That’s Hiiragi Shinya-sama, you idiot! Show some respect!”

Shinya did not respond to the comments. He hurried to the teaching block, and was maneuvered around a fleeing group of sobbing students armed with Cursed Gear. Up the stairs, to the fourth floor— he knew the layout of the school like the back of his hand.

The floor was bloodless, peaceful. This was not the floor with the possessed boy, and his captive, who Shinya could probably save, if he ran. No, that was not his objective. It had never been.

He was quick, precise, shuffling through his talismen and finding the one Shinya had been searching for; a tag enchanted for finding. It was experimental, something of his own design, and it probably wouldn’t work. But it was worth a try, Shinya figured.

“Find,” He ordered the talismen, “Hiiragi Mahiru.”

The tag glowed, but did nothing. Shinya huffed in disappointment, but then a voice chilled him.

“My, my, Shinya. So eager to find me, and I’m already right here.”

This was not going according to his plans. Shinya was planning on distracting her until the others arrived with a sniper attack, and then escaping with them. But he had not planned on a close quarters encounter. This was trouble.

He whirled, dragging Byakkomaru over his shoulder and, purely off of instinct, ordered, “Byakkomaru, bang!”

Mahiru, to his dismay, dodged the first tiger illusion, but Shinya did not hesitate, his instincts reacting faster than his mind could process. He fired bullet after bullet, “Bang, bang, bang.”

Mahiru looked surprised, but then, of course she would. This was her first encounter with the Black Demon Series-wielding Shinya, in this lifetime, her first encounter with the less-than human Shinya, with the Shinya that had lifetimes worth of sniper experience under his belt.

And even if she was a brilliant genius— he would never be as smart as her, never catch up, Shinya knew that — she was just a sixteen year old girl, who had only the memories of one life, and that gave Shinya an impossible edge.

Mahiru swung her scythe, cutting the tiger illusion into useless ribbons, but behind it was a second tiger; this she was slower to react to, cutting it only in half, and the illusion split into two halves of a bullet. One half she dodged, the other pierced her leg, almost perfectly at her kneecap. With a sickening shattering sound, her leg gave way, but Mahiru simply shifted her weight to her other leg.

Shinya flew forward, pressing his advantage, switching to talismen. Byakkomaru was ill-suited to close-combat, and his only option now was magic.

He flung one forward, and commanded, “Explode!”

It did, but the explosion hardly rattled Mahiru. It made her stagger, and seared her skin, but that did not faze her— not she, who was a former Hiiragi, and now, a vampire. It probably hurt still, but it wouldn’t faze her, not for long. Desperately, Shinya drove another exploding talismen down, but Mahiru caught his wrist with a cold gleam in her eyes.

“You’ve got blood all over my uniform,” She said, frighteningly cold. “I wanted to show Guren how I looked in it, and you’ve ruined it.”

Shinya grinned, and ignored the pain in his wrist as she tightened her grasp.

“Oh, such a pity, but you won’t be seeing Guren today at all. I won’t allow it.”

“You?” The bones in his wrist creaked in protest when she tightened her grasp. “What will you do, Shinya?”

He smiled coldly, and yanked back. It twisted his wrist, and Mahiru pulled savagely in response— there was the sound of something snapping, breaking, bone jutted through the skin, blood spraying, and Shinya gasped in pain as his stomach lurched, but he didn’t stop— and he held good his hand out, commanding, “Come, Byakkomaru!”

The rifle, which had been discarded across the room, flew into his hand. Shinya aimed with shaky precision and said, “Byakkomaru, bang!”

In his mind, he commanded, do it, and the demon responded.

Mahiru released his wrist, watching for a bullet from his rifle, but none came. Instead, a tiger illusion appeared behind her, tearing through her viciously. Blood splattered everywhere, and Mahiru gasped wide, revealing her sharp fangs.

“H… How… did you…”

“I’m a man of many tricks,” Shinya said, slinging Byakkomaru over his shoulder and backing away from Mahiru, towards the stairwell, cradling his injured hand gently and wincing at the sheer amount of blood, and the ugly bone that broke his skin. “Maybe you should have payed more attention to me, eh?”

Shinya laughed, to himself. Besides, Ferid Bathory makes you look like a joke. He had already had me at death’s door and beyond by now.

She stared at him like she was seeing him for the first time, her hand clutched to the gory wound that carved a hole out of her shoulder and torso, leaving her sailor fuku uniform a bloody mess.

Then she moved, fast enough that she seemed to disappear for a moment. Shinya’s air was cut off as she choked him, his feet dangling above the floor.

“Why,” She hissed, “Do you stand between me and Guren?”

Shinya huffed a breathy laugh. She wasn’t choking him enough to kill him, just yet, but his head was fuzzy and pain swamped his mind.

“I’ll… protect… Guren…” Shinya gasped, choked. “Won’t… lose… to… you…”

Mahiru laughed at him, but blood stained her lips and her face was pale. She was in trouble. “Is that so~?”

She released his neck and held him by his shoulders tightly enough it would leave bruises. Her fangs pierced his neck mercilessly, and his body froze. Then, he struggled, thrashing— it made her fangs tear at his neck— clawing at her, but Mahiru did not budge; his struggles were futile. His hands and feet started to go numb, his breath was hard to catch, and his heart pounded, the sound overwhelming in his ears. Then, his energy gone, his body went limp, his hands slack, his head drooping, eyes shutting.

But he was still conscious, barely.

“Possess me, Noya.”

The sound of a blade cutting through the air, just next to his ear, and Shinya struggled back to consciousness. The feeling of fangs left his neck, and he was suddenly left without support.

Stay awake!

His eyes opened, though Shinya’s vision was a little blurry, just in time to see Mahiru dart away from him in a blur of colors and blood, her long purple hair trailing behind her like a purple curtain. Shinya hit the floor, and his body cried out in protest, every inch in pain.

The cry stayed inside his lips, killed inside his throat. Turning into a vampire hurt much, much worse than this. He could bear this for a little while.

Guren was surrounded by a demonic aura; Noya’s power was at a good thirty percent released, and there was a fury in his eyes to start fires, but tears filled the corners of his eyes, and curse marks crept up his collar. With cold terror, Shinya realized that Guren was giving over to the rampage, not just the possession. He was losing control.

“You killed him,” Guren said, and voice caught in his throat, a sob. “You killed him.”

Mahiru laughed, so bright, so cheery. It saddened Shinya, made him a little angry, all at once.

Why can’t I save Mahiru and be with Guren? Why does she always have to turn out like this? Why does she always have to die?

“So what if I killed him? Now we can escape with no witnesses, isn’t that what you wanted? I came to see you, after all. Shinya just got in the way.”

“ ‘So what’ ...?” Guren echoed. His aura seemed to grow stronger, the curse marks darken. “So what? I didn’t grow strong just for you! I gained this strength to protect my companions!”

Mahiru tilted her head to the side, a little. “Am I one of them?”

Guren looked stricken, frozen. Unsure.

Mahiru smiled sadly.

“I see.”

There was the sound of footsteps, and voices called, “Guren-sama!” Sayuri and Shigure appeared at the stairwell, late but there, and Mahiru looked concerned. Even with Shinya’s blood, she needed time to heal; she was in no shape to take on a possessed Guren and his friends.

A heartbeat later, redheaded Mito appeared, wide-eyed; Goshi was just behind her, and he looked ready to be sick at the sight of Shinya’s battered body.

“S-Shinya-sama!”

I’m still alive, Shinya wanted to say, as Mahiru hesitated, then said, “Give this to Shinoa for me, Guren. You care about her; I know you do. This will help her survive.”

She tossed a small, chess-piece sized item to Guren, who caught it instinctively. It was Shikama Doji, wrapped in a handkerchief.

Then Mahiru was gone, through the window, without a trace.

Guren stared after her, blankly. Shigure and Sayuri rushed to his side; Mito was unsure of what to do, exactly. Goshi dropped to his knees beside Shinya, and his eyes widened when he realized that yes, Shinya was still alive, thank you very much.

“S-Shinya-sama! H-He’s alive! Quick, somebody call an ambulance!”

“No,” Guren said, dropping Noya as he whirled to dart back and drop to his knees in a pool of Shinya’s blood, a hand flying to Shinya’s neck to feel a pulse that was weak and unsteady but there, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. The curse marks began to recess. “That’ll take too long— they won’t treat him right.”

“What should we do, then?” Mito asked, looking near-tears. Shinya felt awful; Mito had never cried like that over him, honest tears. Did he really look that bad?

…he felt that bad. If only he could speak, or move, just a little, a few words of reassurance, a touch.

“Call Kureto,” Guren answered, flatly, and Shinya was disoriented as he shifted abruptly, stomach lurching— then he realized that he was in Guren’s arm, and Guren was standing. Sayuri had slipped Noya into his sheath again, but the curse marks did not reappear.

Guren had control now.

“Tell him that I’ll be waiting on the roof.”

Shinya blacked out as Guren ascended the steps to the roof, but he heard, “Hang on, Shinya. Just a little longer.”

Inside a white room inside Shinya’s heart, Byakkomaru studied Shinya silently. He decided to take the form of Guren— Byakkomaru almost always did. Occasionally, it was Mahiru, or sometimes, Shinoa. A handful of times, it was even one of the children.

But Byakkomaru knew that the real way into his heart was Guren, even if these attempts never worked.

For some reason, Byakkomaru wasn’t trying to sway him today, with Guren’s appearance and voice. He just stood there, and studied Shinya. Finally, he spoke.

“...There’s something about you that’s different, Hiiragi Shinya. Of all of the humans I’ve met, something about you is… different.”

Shinya laughed. “Aha, thank you, Byakkomaru! I’ll take that as a complement.”

Byakkomaru twisted Guren’s face into a childish pout that was oddly serious.

“That’s not what I mean. Your heart is… strange. You don’t fear death. You don’t welcome it, but you don’t fear it. You’d gladly end your own life without hesitation, if it meant that your friends— Ichinose Guren, especially— would benefit, or if it would save their lives.” Byakkomaru made a strange expression of displeasure, and curiosity.

Shinya shrugged. “I guess I have a little bit of a hero complex? Ah, I don’t really care if I die.”

“That’s not possible,” Byakkomaru said, in a flat tone. “Humans aren’t made to be selfless like that. Unless you were suicidal, which you’re not. ”

The demon shook his head. “...I don’t get it. You confuse me.”

“Ah, I confuse a lot of people. Don’t take it personally,” Shinya assured.

“But I can see into your heart,” The demon said. “I can see what makes you, Hiiragi Shinya, you. But I still don’t understand how you can accept death the way you do, without fear, with open arms. Every human fears death. It’s the end.”

Shinya grinned. “I like to think of it as a new start.”

His room was the opposite of blank. As a child, he’d been eager, desperate to escape the blank walls and the cell bars of his childhood, and when he had been given the freedom, he had requested his room painted blue; his request was heeded, and his room had been washed in a shade of blue that matched his eyes. Shinya had taken photos, pictures at any opportunity, always of smiles, framed them around the room. Himself with Mahiru, with Shinoa— they adorned the walls. Mahiru’s smiles with him was always fake, but they made his walls less barren.

When he was sixteen, it changed; his walls were suddenly covered in pictures of Guren, Goshi, Mito, Sayuri, and Shigure. Guren, the most, but suddenly, the moments were true.

So Shinya’s first glimpse upon awakening was normally his friends, but not normally in person; this was new.

His throat was dry, probably too dry to speak— how long had he been unconscious?— but his eyes were fine, so Shinya took a moment to observe.

Goshi was sleeping in a way that would probably give him a nasty crick in the morning, stretched out on a futon that one of the servants had probably brought in for him. Guren was propped up against the wall, sleeping restlessly, knees drawn to his chest; for a moment, Shinya was angry, but then, it subsided into weary acceptance.

Shinya turned his observation on himself. His arm was bound in bandages from his palm to nearly his elbow, and Byakkomaru lay across his chest, to speed up his healing. An IV ran in his arm, dripping a blood transfusion, slowly and steadily.

“Ah, so it looks like I’m in Shibuya, huh,” Shinya mused, glumly. His throat was dry and hoarse, but he was pleased to find that he could still speak, barely, softly. “Never thought Kureto-niisan would keep me here. Well then. It looks like I’ll have to visit Otousan at some point.”

“Shinya-sama…?” Goshi asked, yawning, blinking awake. When he noted that Shinya was awake, and processed the information, he bolted upright. “Shinya-sama!”

“Good morning, Goshi,” Shinya greeted, with cheer that was forced. Even after sleeping for so long, he really was quite tired. “Or is it night? I’m not really sure. The curtains are drawn, so it could be either.”

“You’re awake!” Goshi said, scrambling up. “Guren, Shinya-sama’s awake!”

Guren jolted awake almost immediately, bleary-eyed but alert. He twisted his head to look at Shinya and exhaled in relief. He didn’t say anything for a long while.

Finally, he said, “...it’s about time. You’ve been sleeping for two days now.”

Shinya gave a sheepish smile. “Ah, that long…? Sorry, sorry…”

The room fell into silence, tense and quiet. Goshi abruptly stood and announced, “M-Mito-chan! Mito-chan rented a hotel room near here— I’ll give her a call and tell her you’re awake! G-Guren, do you want me to give Sayuri-chan and Shigure-chan a call, too?”

Guren nodded, curtly. “Yeah. Thanks, Goshi. They’ll want to know, too.”

“Y-Yeah, no problem!” Goshi declared, then he was gone, and Shinya was alone with Guren for the first time— with them both conscious— since they kissed in the garden.

Trying to break the silence, Shinya asked, “So what happened? I can’t remember anything after you started to carry me up the stairs. Thanks for that, by the way.”

Guren was quiet for an alarming amount of time.

“Kureto sent the Hiiragi helicopter— the life flight one. You were flown to the best hospital in Japan, and given top-notch care. Nobody was allowed to go with you, not even a Hiiragi, besides medical personal. When you were stable, you were moved here.”

“I see,” Shinya said, but hesitated before he went on. This was a question he wouldn’t want to ask in front of Goshi or Mito— Sayuri and Shigure, too. “So, Guren… how long have you been here? How did you get in here?”

“Oh, they let Mito and Goshi visit,” Guren waved a hand. “Respectable branch families and all. But I’m a lowly Ichinose.”

“...you broke in?”

“Think of it as retribution for breaking into my house in Aichi,” Guren said, and it was as close to a confirmation as Shinya would get. “Don’t worry, I go out the window and hide on the roof when the servants come in to change your bandages and IV drips. It’s like clockwork. I’m never caught.”

Shinya sighed. “It’s too risky, Guren. You don’t need to break into the Hiiragi manor just to visit me. You’ll be beaten if Otousan is in a good mood— killed if he’s in a bad mood, when he finds out that you’ve broken in. It’s an act of disrespect. Otousan hates those.”

“He might beat me,” Guren conceded, “but he wouldn’t kill me. I’m the head of the Ichinose family now. He wants me to be an object of scorn for the other families to collectively mock. If I’m dead, his precious hierarchy falls apart.” He laughed. “Ironic, isn’t it? In a way, I’m invaluable. For the moment, anyways. Sooner or later, I’ll outlive my worth. But for now, I’m safe.”

“Safe?” Shinya echoed, furious. “Is that what you call safe?” He sat up, but his head spun with the motion and he pressed a hand to his mouth, forcing down the sudden rise in nausea.

Guren was by his side in an instant, hands on his shoulders, urging him to lay back down. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said all that now. Come on, lay down. Don’t push yourself so hard, stupid—”

“You’re calling me stupid?” Shinya gasped, the pain in his arm returning. He ignored it, flexing his fingers to try and force the tingling pain away. “Guren, I saw the curse marks. The demon, it’s getting worse, isn’t it? The demon, harder to control? Goshi’s gone, Mito-chan’s gone, Sayuri-chan and Shigure-chan are gone— so tell me the truth.”

Guren faltered.

“...not really. No more than I can handle.”

Shinya scoffed. “You nearly gave your heart to the demon at the school. Guren. If Noya isn’t harder to control, then why?”

Guren’s fists clenched, and he hissed, “Because of you! Because I saw your body, and you weren’t moving— it didn’t look like you were breathing, Shinya, do you know what that feels like? To find pale as snow, in a pool of your blood, with your arm like— like that? I was so angry with Mahiru, for laying a finger on you, I…” Guren faltered, like he hadn’t meant to say that much, or maybe anything at all. “I love her so much, but I was ready to kill her for hurting you, Shinya. I…”

I’m the one that made you lose control? Shinya wondered. Me?

“I’m sorry, Guren,” Shinya breathed. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you more.”

Guren shrugged. It was the most tired, hopeless thing Shinya had ever seen. “It’s okay. You didn’t hurt me. I did it myself. I’m sorry, that I didn’t save you sooner.”

“It was my fault I was in the situation in the first place,” Shinya said. “I was looking for the student, and I found Mahiru instead.”

That wasn’t true, not quite.

“You saved me in the end,” Shinya said, eventually. That was true. “And that’s all that matters.”

Guren wouldn’t meet his eyes, so Shinya reached out and touched a hand to his jaw, forcing him to.

“Guren. You saved me. Mahiru would have killed me, drank me dry, if not for you. Okay? You saved me. So, thank you.” Shinya said, firmly.

And then, Guren laughed. Sadly, maybe. Confused.

“I don’t understand. I… I don’t get you, Shinya.”

“Nobody really does,” Shinya attempted a shrug, but didn’t manage to conceal his wince.

Guren’s expression was undecipherable.

“Shinya. The nurses will be back soon. Just lay back down.”

“I won’t,” Shinya said, adamant. “If you leave now, you won’t come back— and that’s okay, because you’re safer if you stay away— but we need to talk. I won’t leave things like this any longer. If you can’t promise me that you’ll come back so we can talk, I can’t promise that I won’t do anything to find you.”

“Stay in bed,” Guren said, turning away, to the window. “We don’t need to talk. There’s nothing to talk about.”

Let him go. He’s better off without you, Shinya thought to himself, and across his lap, Byakkomaru seemed to grow cold in agreement. You’ve caused him enough pain. Let him go.

So Shinya watched Guren disappear out the window from where he lay in the bed, and not a minute later, the servants came in.

Like clockwork, Shinya thought numbly.

They praised his awakening, his rate of healing, his bravery and glory, his battle with the traitorous Mahiru. They sung his praises and Shinya smiled and smiled and smiled, until he finally slipped in that he was exhausted and they left him be, alone.

And Shinya cried until he could sleep again. This time, there was no Mahiru and no Guren to dry his tears.

He was alone, and that was comfortingly numbing.

Leave him alone, Guren thinks to himself, as he hauls himself onto the roof of the Hiiragi manor with a deft, adroit precision. Noya delights in his sorrow, and Guren can feel the demon claw at his heart, trying to take over, as the tears fall.

He’s stronger than that, and Noya backs down as Guren leaves the Hiiragi manor, ducking around guards and dodging CCV cameras.

He’ll be happier without me, Guren thinks. I’ll just cause him trouble; and unlike Mahiru, Shinya is an adopted son. If he’s involved with an Ichinose, as… as anything more than friends or comrades, they’ll kill him.

The thought was bitter and poisonous in his mouth, but Guren wanted to laugh as he left the Hiiragi property, onto the streets of Shibuya. Inside his mind, the hazy feeling of nostalgia for something he wasn’t sure of— didn’t know— left him aching and confused.

Of course he’s better off without me. I’m confused enough as it is— he doesn’t need this.

“Sayuri-chan and Shigure-chan don’t speak to you anymore,” Byakkomaru hummed. He chose to take a questionable form today; that of Shinya’s mother. It unnerved him. “Mito and Goshi are uneasy around you, and your friendship is strained, but they don't even know why. Guren doesn’t even glance at you. Maybe he’s found a new lover to sate his fancies, hmm~?”

“We kissed once, Byakkomaru. We weren’t lovers,” Shinya reminded the demon, then shrugged. “...Guren would be better off without me, I think. Happier.”

“You aren’t happy.”

“No,” Shinya agreed. “I’m not. But that doesn’t really matter. If Guren is happy, then, I’ll be fine.”

Byakkomaru made an expression of disgust. “Humans aren’t meant to be selfless like that.”

“We aren’t,” Shinya agreed. “But I’m not selfless. I’m a very selfish person. But just this once, I’m going to try being selfless.”

It worked, for awhile; but Shinya wore down, slowly. He began to crumble.

And Byakkomaru knew it.

Shinya opened his eyes, and he found himself to be inside of the school, of all things.

This was wrong. He did not attend school anymore.

He was sleeping, arms crossed, on his desk. This was also wrong; Guren was the one that slept. But when Shinya cracked open an eye, Guren stood above him, with a marker in his hand that was suspiciously close to Shinya’s face.

Shinya laughed instinctively, the sound bubbling out before he could stop it.

“Trying to get revenge, Guren~?” He teased.

Guren made an irritated ‘tsk’ sound. “You weren’t supposed to wake up.”

“Aha, you’ll have to do better than that, Guren,” Shinya said, trying to shake the feeling of unease in the pit of his stomach. “But then, I’m surprised Goshi didn’t want in on this too.”

Guren shrugged. “He probably would have. I didn’t tell him.”

Shinya propped his head on his head. “And Goshi left you here alone with me after the last class bell?”

Guren grinned mischievously. “I gave him an excuse.”

Shinya groaned. “This is your real revenge, isn’t it? What did you tell him?”

Hands on his chin suddenly made him still, and Shinya held his breath. Guren was very close.

“Things you don’t need to know,” Guren teased, and the unease in Shinya’s stomach grew.

“That’s mean, Guren,” Shinya breathed. “You’ll feed the rumor mill.”

Guren shrugged, and Shinya slid a glance over him. For all intents and purposes, he seemed the same— his hair was messy and inky dark, his eyes were the perfect shade of violet, skin the perfect color of tan— but he wasn’t the same. His personality was different, just slightly.

And when he noticed that flaw, Shinya became aware.

“You won’t get to me through dreams like this, Byakkomaru,” Shinya said, sighing, as the scenery of the school and Guren vanished and was replaced with cold shadows. In a moment, Byakkomaru would appear and would pout, and would say ‘I was sure that this time it was perfect!’, just like he always had.

“I’ve already closed my heart to you” Shinya told the demon. “You won’t possess me that way."

“Oh~?” Byakkomaru purred, into Shinya’s ear. Cold, small hands descended onto Shinya’s shoulders, and a chill seemed to encase his heart, taking his breath away. “Is that so?”

The sound of laughter rang in his ears as Shinya’s senses went dark.

“Because, Shinya, you may have closed your heart to me, but your heart is still very much open for Ichinose Guren.”

His lifetime ended at the hands of his demon.

Chapter Text

and the ones where we just, barely, never meet.

In the very next life, the minute Shinya is able to shake off the happy unawareness of infancy and grow into his memories during early toddlerhood— by the age of two, normally, he’s already different, he already knows that his dreams are not dreams at all, because they lack the happy glow dreams do, they are too real, too familiar, and within a few months he is fully aware, an endless cycle— he vows to himself that he will stay away from Ichinose Guren.

Every lifetime, he has found him, and every lifetime, Guren has suffered and died. Because of him. Shinya hurts more than helps , and he’s through with it.

He’s so tired. But he isn’t giving in; he’ll do his best to win the competition, to find a way to change the way of the world. This world isn’t right, and if he can make it a better place for Guren and their friends, without interacting with them directly— Shinya will do it in a heartbeat. This lifetime, he will do it.

I will be fine, Shinya promises himself, as he walks away from his mother and father, into the kindergarten he knows he will never again walk out of. He will never see the people behind him again, the people that gave birth to him. Well, that’s okay. This is how it is every life, and this life, he was especially cold, especially distant with them. It hurt less then, sometimes— but even if it didn’t, it was only five years that he would be inside the arena, and then he would win, and be a Hiiragi. And after that, it was just six years, six puny little years, until high school, when he could see his friends and Guren and he would not be alone, and everything would be worth it, even when the world ended.

But this life, he would never see his friends, never see Guren. He would always be alone. The thought left him numb, but Shinya smiled as he entered his prestigious kindergarten, beaming brightly.

That’s okay. I’ll be fine. I’ve always been alone, anyways.

Ichinose Guren vaguely remembers his mother’s funeral, when he was young. He doesn’t even remember how young, at this point.

He doesn’t remember how he got into his current situation too well, either. He just knows that here, the name Ichinose is scoffed at and laughed at, and it means nothing— these people must be the Hiiragi’s, the Mikado no Oni that Guren heard about in whispers and shouts when the servants and his father thought he was sleeping. He knows that his mother is dead, and his father is dead, and that his father was killed by the people from Mikado no Oni.

And at the funeral, the people from the branch families of Ichinose had wept and called him “Guren-sama”, sobbing apologizes, vowing loyalties, and the very same night he was taken by the people that had called themselves Mikado no Oni and laughed at his family name.

So here, he is no Ichinose, just as the other boys here have no family name. Just first names.

And just as the other boys, Guren will never go home. He has already realized this. The others screamed and cried for days, had begged and pleaded to see parents and to go home. but he knew better— he shed his tears at night, into his pillow, with his hands clenched into the sheets and his face buried to muffle the sobs that he would be damned if he would let others hear.

Because it would be bad for me to cry in front of everybody, right? The Head of Ichinose shouldn’t do that, right, Otousan?

Like always, the competition started out docile, but Shinya wasn’t fooled. Not cruel or even cold in the slightest, except for the not-going-home part. It was little games made from questions, easily done among little boys with naturally competitive spirits. Shinya watched it numbly, and while the others played, he worked.

“Can you run fast?” The people from the Hiiragi family— from Mikado no Oni asked. With kind smiles and sugary words, just like that, the boys were running along the track, laughing amongst themselves, lighthearted.

Shinya did not laugh and joke. As soon as the call was given to run, Shinya ran, and was the first one to cross the finish line, and the people from Mikado no Oni praised his speed and ruffled his hair, and he loathed their touch, had to resist the urge to snap, to hurt— so he smiled at them, bright and welcoming, and he laughed sheepishly, bashfully accepting their praise.

This would be an isolating move. Show off, they would whisper. Why does he try so hard? Why does he get praised?

But they would not befriend him now. Shinya would be alone, his goal accomplished. So if he had to put up with the cold hand ruffling his hair for a little while longer, he would do it.

The competition wasn’t really too bad. They were fed three meals a day, and the games weren’t really hard. Stupid, yeah— what did it matter, how fast he could run, what age he started to speak?— but not hard. Guren could almost believe the people from Mikado no Oni when they said that the boys should be grateful, that they were chosen, lucky. The others believed that just fine, anyways.

He laughed to himself, thinking of his father’s funeral, of the men who had called themselves Hanayori and Shigure, and who had promised their daughters to him as aids, to protect him and serve him as the Head of Ichinose. How they ranted about Mikado no Oni, swore revenge against it, while the two little girls at their ankles said nothing— one out of confused grief, the Sayuri girl, and the other out of personality, the Shigure girl.

He wondered if they were getting along alright. The Head of Ichinose was supposed to protect the families that served him, but here Guren was, five years old and in a bizarre sort of arena with his kidnappers and the other possibly kidnapped boys, eating dinner.

Some Head of Ichinose I am, he thought bitterly. Say, Otousan, what should I do? I’m too weak to escape now, so I should grow strong, right? Or should I try and win whatever this is? Is that my best plan?

He laughed again, to himself, staring at his plate. The boy sitting next to him gave him a confused, worried glance, but Guren could care less. He didn’t need friends. The heir of Ichinose— the Head of Ichinose didn’t need friends. He never had, and he didn’t need them now.

He had never been alone before, though, and his laughter rose an octave. The boy shifted away, continuing his conversation in hushed tones with another boy.

Hey, hey, Otousan. Tell me what to do, won’t you?

Shinya knew it was coming. They happened exactly on the date that marked three months, and he had slept exactly none the night before.

But that was okay. Sleep was never his friend. He could function without it for a few days— and killing his untrained opponent, who had never killed before, never spilled blood, would be a piece of cake.

And before that, even, came the written tests. Easy. Built for children, and he had the knowledge of lifetimes. He didn’t use that, though. He used what had been taught this life, enough to stand out but not too much, and he aced his test. He would place first, because Hiiragi Shinya never lost.

Then the combat tests arrived.

He tied the laces of his combat boots tight, ensuring the knots were extra-firm, as they waited in the arena. Shinya was not stupid. The other boys were excited. “We get to fight,” they said, “with spells and swords, we get to show off, we get to c ompete.”

They did not know that they would also be required to kill. Shinya was the only one that was not bouncing with excitement, the only one standing still.

For a moment, he wanted to scream at them— the boys who smiled, who laughed, who played, the boys that flaunted their innocence so eagerly, without knowing what they had, and how soon it would be lost. He wanted to scream at them to stop . To run. To live.

But he did not scream at them. He did not warn them, when his name was the first called into the arena, his and a young, meek boy, with illusion spells that were powerful and enchanting. He did not warn them, because they had to die, so that Shinya would live, so that he might change this world, even just a little, for Guren and their friends.

So when the announcer called that this was a battle to the death, and there were cries and tears and protests, and the meek boy quaked in his shoes and his spell tags shook in his hand so badly, Shinya did not react.

He moved forward, and in a fluid move, he slapped an explosive tag onto the boy’s neck and he whispered, “Explode.”

The boy stood rigid, but he could not react fast enough even if he tried. The tag exploded and severed the boy’s spine— blew apart his entire neck, splattered Shinya in blood.

It was an instantaneous sort of death, Shinya thought. The closest he could get to a headshot with Byakkomaru— a quick death, that preserved the body enough to be shipped back in a body bag to the family for funeral. The head could be reattached. A suit would cover the scars, the missing neck, maybe. It was the most he could do.

I will not say sorry, Shinya thought, as he turned, expression cold, face and clothes covered in the meek boy’s blood. I will not say sorry.

The loser dies. That’s the way this world works. So I will not say sorry.

The other boys scream when he walks past, but the instructors praise him, and Shinya smiles. He always has a smile.

I will not say sorry, but I can apologize, in the only way I can.

The sight of the boy’s body had made Guren sick— but he wasn’t the only one to throw up, and he held his tears in. He made his battle swift. His forte was swords, bladed weapons, but he was strong in spells as well and he ended the life of his opponent. A short, quick match.

But when he closed his eyes, he saw the boy’s face, and Guren felt strange. Like he was drowning.

I am… five? Have I turned six? How long have I been here? How old am I? How old was he, the boy I killed?

Guren knows boy’s name. But he doesn’t remember it. Can’t. Won’t. If he remembers now, he’ll break, and if he breaks, there’ll be nobody to pick up the pieces and he can’t lose—

Because he is the Head of Ichinose. He has people depending on him. He has to return, has to lead Mikado no Tsuki.

Right, Otousan? I have to stay strong for the family and the followers. Isn’t that right, Otousan?

Guren opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling in the dark, because at least if his eyes were open, he did not see the blood, the face, as clearly. Around him, boys are sobbing into their beds, wailing, crying. His eyes sting, but his breathing is even, and soft. He forces it to be so. It has to be so. It cannot hitch. Hitching breath, teary eyes, sobs— those are for children.

He is not a child. He is the Head of Ichinose.

It wasn’t my fault, right, Otousan? I didn’t have a choice today, right?

The competition has been going on for almost two years now. The amount of boys is dwindling; murders have been happening outside of the arenas lately. Boys hanging themselves, boys hanging other boys, boys beating other boys to death— a boy found with his neck broken, cleanly. That’s normal. That always happens about now, when the pressure sets in, and the numbness begins to take over.

When the psychopaths come out. The boys that snap and find they can enjoy taking lives— that killing can be fun.

Shinya waits for the time that the people from Mikado no Oni will move them into cells instead of dorms. He doesn’t really mind— but the dorms don’t bother him either. All of the other boys are too afraid of him to try and murder him while he sleeps.

Shinya sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. He was starting to wear down, he could feel it. Why? It wasn’t as though training was hard. He was the best here. Physically, he was in peak condition, in first place. Magically, he was second to none. Academically, he was the prized student. He had never missed a question.

So why am I so tired? Shinya wondered, shifted restlessly on his bed. I sleep enough. Four hours is enough. It’s never bothered me before. This shouldn’t be a bother.

His throat is suddenly thick. Why am I breaking down?

He knows why: he is striving for nothing. He has no goal to reach. He is just living until he dies, because he will not ruin Guren’s life, not again. And even if his ‘goal’ is to protect Guren from afar, there’s no reprise, there’s no break, in this life.

It will be a constant hell, because Guren is like the shelter to his storm, and Shinya isn’t sure he can last without that. He can’t live without that. Because he’s too weak.

Shinya curls into a ball and his hands clench into his hair, pulling on the silvery-white locks. The pain helps ground him a little, but his vision does not clear, and he holds his breath, because he cannot break now—

If he breaks down now, he will just cut himself on the pieces, and that will do nobody any good. Shinya knows this. Yet he can’t stop the sob that rises, so he bites down on his hand until he tastes blood, and he lays like that.

He is surrounded by so many people, but he is so alone.

The image of Guren sitting by the river, laughing while Shinya splashed him, in the delightful time that they had spent together during his life as a true Hiiragi comes to Shinya’s mind. The memory is blissful, delightful, and Shinya’s tears are bittersweet.

Are you happy with Mahiru right now, Guren? I hope you are. Please be happy.

Shinya falls asleep and drowns himself in the memories. He dreams of summer and the river, of happy times and blissful memories of lives long passed, of a boyhood that he can only dream about now.

It smells like summer in his memories, and the hurt in his chest isn’t so bad.

The next tests come too soon. He is not ready. Guren is not ready, he can’t do this, he can’t kill again, he can’t take the blood, the nightmares—

He gasps for air like a fish out of water, clutching his chest. The feeling of panic is overwhelming. Crushing.

Please please please please, Guren chants, in his mind, a mantra. Don’t make me go don’t make me go—

It’s no use, he knows. They would send him out if he was brain dead and broken.

Isn’t he? Broken?

Guren shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He can do this. He can do this.

Pull yourself together, He chides, but his heart still flutters uncontrollably. It makes him feel light-headed.

Ichinose Guren is fraying at the seams, and he cannot hold himself together.

They call his name, and he walks into the arena with a confident smirk. He is powerful. He hides his power, conceals it, in the mid-twenties every time— but Guren is strong. He can win this.

Right, Otousan?

The smell of summer washes over him.

Shinya wins this battle easily, just like all his others. It is a piece of cake.

He smiles cheerfully at the person from Mikado no Oni who is congratulating him on his victory, and he is walking out of the arena, past the bodies that he sees but does not see when one catches his eye.

A boy with pale skin, inky and wild hair. His skin was seared in places— the marks of explosive tags pressed to skin. Cuts and gashes that still spilled blood onto the white sheet the corpse was stretched out on, even though his heart had stopped beating. Bruises from training that would never heal, shadows under his eyes that told Shinya, he was one of the remorseful ones, one of the kind ones . A tag tied around his ankle, like luggage, with the print that was always listed on the tags of corpses: date of birth (8/28/96), date of death (XX/XX/02), an address to ship the body to (Aichi), and the name of the dead boy.

(Ichinose Guren)

Shinya tore away from the Mikado no Oni man, to kneel in the pooling blood, to hold the ragged corpse, and his mind spins and spins and his cheeks are wet with tears—

“Why are you here? Why aren’t you safe? I wanted you to be safe, happy! You aren’t supposed to be here! This is wrong! This isn’t supposed to happen! I’m not supposed to be able to hurt you anymore!”

The body in his arms in still warm, and he cradles it. It’s so tiny, so small, covered in cuts and bruises and burns that are so big, and the blood that seeps into Shinya’s clothes is still warm , and he buries his face in Guren’s chest because if Guren hurt anyways then the separation in the last life was for nothing —

And Shinya s c r e a m e d.

They try and take him away from the corpse, they try and drag him, with sedatives and magic and men and women that are stronger and bigger than he is—

But Shinya is numb and cold, and these are the people that hurt Guren, and he would be separated from Guren again by death and death only— because if Guren hurts no matter how far Shinya stays away, Shinya will not stay away, and he will try and soothe the hurt.

But he wasn’t there to soothe the hurt, and Guren suffered alone for so long, and Shinya is armed and angry, and he is ready to die and end this lifetime anyways.

So he might as well kill as many of them as he goes down, for retribution.

I hate those. I prefer the ones in which you kill me.

When Ichinose Guren is small, he discovers the creek— that later flows into a stream— behind his home in Aichi, and he falls in love with it.

The creek is in a clearing in the forest. It smells of summer when he discovers it, and for some reason, it makes him think of nighttime. The deep sort of nighttime, where the silvery-white moon and the stars and in full view, and the emotions that wash over him are bittersweet and too complex for him to understand, so he doesn’t try to. He plays in the creek, and he laughs, and later, he naps there.

The clearing and the creek are safe. It is his safe place, his special place. Nobody will disturb him here. Otousan leaves him be, the servants don’t dare intrude, and Guren loves it. The clearing is peaceful and calm, and it soothes his unsettled emotions, calming his restless heart.

He comes here after training, when it’s hard and his body hurts but he is still beaming from the praise. He comes here when he feels like he’s drowning in responsibility. He comes here when he can’t take things anymore, can’t take being an Ichinose, can’t take existing.

So he comes here, and for a little while, nothing else matters. He can forget anything and everything, because this is his place.

He dreams. Dreams of lilac purple and snowy silver, of amber and of  blue that were both beautiful hid sadness in their depths, of the sun and the moon, of day and night, of fast and slow, of rough and gentle.

Yin and Yang.

And sometimes he talks. To who, he isn’t sure. He thinks sometimes, that a name is on his tongue— but it leaves him in the same instant it came, and he never knows what it is— and then thinks that he must be crazy. But he never stops talking, and Guren never stops thinking that somebody is listening.

When Guren is around five or six— young enough that his age blurred together, didn’t really matter quite yet— he meets the little girl of lilac and amber, with laughter like bells that was always a little sad, and she captures his heart in a heartbeat. He loved her in an instant, loved the way that she was graceful and gentle, but also fast and rough, confident in everything and anything.

She was so different than anyone he had ever met. He was captivated, amazed. His heart was hers, and she accepted it with a twinkling laugh.

But Guren can’t help but shake a strange feeling of incomplete .

It isn’t caused by Mahiru. It isn’t solved by her presence. And he loves her so dearly, because she is his most cherished person— they eat cake, and she laughs, and she makes him so enamored he isn’t sure quite what to do.

He knows it’s impossible. Because she is a Hiiragi and he is an Ichinose. He has received many beatings for that, but he doesn’t mind, really. Otousan patches him up afterwards, and Guren assures him that his father is not at fault.

And when the Hiiragi’s tear Mahiru away, they tear his heart with it. His first love, is gone, and it’s a crippling loss, but Guren does his best to cope. He vows to grow strong, so that nobody he loves is ever taken away from him again, and he trains.

But it doesn’t change the fact that they’ve taken his sun, and now Guren is trapped in the dark, and the feeling is a terrible one.

When Guren begins to attend First Shibuya High, everything changes, in so many ways. But firstly, it was him.

Hiiragi Shinya came into Guren’s life like the spell talisman that he greeted Guren with; fast and blinding. One minute, Guren was alone, in his dark, and the next, there was Shinya.

Where Mahiru was rough, Shinya was gentle. Mahiru had teased him, kissed him, shared cake with him— but she was always rough, always calculating. Shinya would hit him hard enough to bruise during training, but would laugh and brush warm fingers over his bruises, offering to kiss them better as soon as they were done— Shinya was always smiling that smile that was never quite right, always shameless, and even if he wasn’t always physically gentle, he was gentle when it counted.

Mahiru is never there, but Shinya is always there, even when Guren doesn’t want him to be— and later on, finds that he needed him, because Shinya always knew just how to soothe, just what to do.

Mahiru stole his heart in a heartbeat, but Shinya won his heart slowly, patiently, through gentle touches and dried tears and friendship.

Mahiru had illuminated his world like the sun, fiery and hot. She blinded him. When she was gone, Guren was in the dark, alone. Missing her, in the beginning, was an ache so fierce it took his breath away.

Shinya lit up his dark world with the soft luminosity of the moon and a thousand stars, and taught him how to breathe again.

And Guren found that he preferred the night.

“We’ll kill Mahiru,” Shinya promised him, stroking his forehead. “I promise, Guren. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure that your father isn’t executed. I won’t allow it.”

Guren thought that, if it were anybody else, he would have laughed. But it was Shinya, the same Shinya that had held him the first night his father was imprisoned and told him to cry until he felt better— and Guren has scoffed at him, because he wasn’t some hormonal teenage girl that needed a knight in shining armor, but his voice had cracked and he had cried. But Shinya didn’t laugh, didn’t do anything but hold him and dry his tears afterwards.

So Guren wanted to hope. Wanted to, tried to.

All he said was, “Yeah.”

Shinya’s kisses were especially gentle that night. Guren thought that they were even a little sad.

When Guren woke up, Shinya was not there. Shinya was gone, and the bed was cold, and he had woken up to his cellphone ringing and of all people, it was Kureto, with orders for him to execute a demon in Kyoto.

There was a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, but Guren could not refuse the orders, and he reluctantly strapped on Noya and left for Kyoto.

The demon was engaged in battle already. And, as if Guren’s day couldn’t really get any worse, it was with Mahiru.

To top things off, the demon wasn’t a demon at all, but Shinya, and Guren felt horribly tricked. What sort of sick game was Kureto playing?

Shinya wounds Mahiru, swiping out with a long rifle with a blade at the end, and Guren can barely follow their movements. Mahiru growls and darts back, away— it’s like watching animals fight, Guren thinks to himself. It’s vicious and bloody and fast. Violent, animalistic, menacing.

Shinya throws his head back and laughs.

But Guren freezes still, because that is not Shinya. Shinya does not have slit pupils and a menacing, glowing aura, nor does he have fangs. But that is Shinya, at the same time.

Guren’s phone buzzes. It’s a text, orders from Kureto. Reminders.

If you kill Hiiragi Shinya, the traitor who is on a rampage, your father will be spared.

The phone trembles in his hand. Of course. It’s to make him suffer— the Hiiragi’s hate that not one but two of them, even a lowly foster son, would dare love an Ichinose. What better way to make an example than to have him slay them? Even better: hold his father hostage.

Guren wants to laugh. Or cry. Maybe both, but now isn’t exactly the time for that.

And then Mahiru stumbles back with a bubbling hiss, and she holds a hand to her neck where the flesh is torn away and blood pours, and Guren realizes that she is not human, either. She has fangs and red eyes, and he realizes with a sinking heart that she is a vampire.

The demon in Shinya’s body laughs. “My, from the fuss my human made about you, you’d think you’d be stronger. But then, he’s quite strong himself, isn’t he? Aha, such a deep reservoir of magic! So talented!”

“Shut it, demon,” Mahiru snapped. Her eyes shift, and she spots Guren and freezes.

Shinya’s demon doesn’t. He seems to disappear, and suddenly Mahiru’s head is not on her body and Guren throws up.

The demon holds her head for a moment, by her hair. “Ah, so strong! Are all humans so talented these days? If I hadn’t caught her before she drank, she really would have been quite troublesome~!”

Then the demon sees Guren, who is trying desperately to clean the image of Mahiru’s beheaded body from his mind. And the demon smiles, but the demon cannot smile quite like Shinya does.

“Oh, Guren~! So nice to see you. Look, I’ve taken care of Mahiru for you!” The demon beamed at him, had the nerve to pretend to be Shinya.

Guren pointed his sword at Shinya and growled, “Noya, possess me.”

His desires inflated as the demon’s power flooded him, but Guren was used to the feeling, and he held the sword to the demon’s throat.

“What,” He hissed, “Did you do to Shinya?”

The demon laughed.

“I didn’t do anything to him.”

Noya’s blade was firm against Shinya’s throat, but Guren could not bring himself to cut. Because this was Shinya’s body. He couldn’t kill Shinya— but of course, the Hiiragi family would make him, because even if Mahiru is dead it wouldn’t be enough, it would never be enough.

Shinya was Guren’s everything. Guren could not lose Shinya.

Guren grit his teeth. “What are you implying, demon? Shinya would never—”

“Oh, but he did,” The demon delighted. “He made a contract with me last night, and we spent all this morning hunting down that vampire. But he wasn’t strong enough, and if I agreed to kill the woman,” the demon grinned, a wide smile, all fanged teeth, and Guren wanted to be sick again. “And he let me possess him.”

“You… you…” Guren swallowed. Noya shook in his hand. “You’re lying. Shinya would never—!”

“I’ll do everything in my power,” Shinya had said, with kisses that were so sad but so gentle.

“Shinya, you idiot,” Guren said, and his voice sounded hoarse. Raspy. “You dumbass.”

The demon laughed when Guren’s eyes widened, when Noya quaked in his hand, when Guren dropped the sword and left himself to the demon’s mercy, because he couldn’t kill Shinya, not when Shinya had given up everything for him.

The demon looked surprised at that. “What,” he asked, in Shinya’s voice, “you’re not even going to fight back a little?”

“I can’t,” Guren shrugged, and offered the demon that wore Shinya’s skin a sad smile. Can you still see me, Shinya? I’m smiling for you. I’m sorry. “So do your worst, demon.”

Suddenly, the demon looked stricken. The expression shifted, to one of pain, and Shinya’s expression twisted into a wince.

“G-Guren, you idiot,” Shinya gasped, and it was really Shinya, Guren knew it like he knew the sound of his own heartbeat. “Don’t s-stand there. K-Kill me.”

“What.” Guren stared at Shinya, at the expressions that morphed between demonic  and pained, the demon and his lover, and he said, “You’re the idiot! Why would I—”

Shinya pressed a hand to his chest, where his heart would be, expression twisted into one of agony. He crumpled to his knees, but Guren caught him, and lowered him to the ground gently. There was blood leaking from Shinya’s lips— the demon was taking a toll on him, and he was still in bad shape from his fight with Mahiru.

“K-Kill me,” Shinya managed to say, with ragged breaths and eyes that were squeezed shut. “W-While I’m still m-me. Don’t make m-me do it myself, please,” Shinya rasped. His fingers were painfully tight on Guren’s shoulder, but Guren could have cared less. “P-Please, Guren. Don’t let me die a demon. Let me die as me.”

Guren sank his head down, to rest on Shinya’s shoulder. His eyes burned with tears, but Shinya drew back and wiped them away with a pained smile.

“S-Shh. None of that. Let me see a smile, won’t you?”

Guren smiled, but there were still tears in the corners of his eyes that spilled over, and despite his best efforts, they would not stop.

Shinya laughed, but even it was tinged by pain. He leaned forward, until their foreheads touched. Shinya’s hands rested on his shoulders, and their tears mixed. “That’s fine. Thank you, Guren. Thank you for loving me. This life… this life was a good one.”

Guren doesn’t understand what Shinya means, but in that instead, Shinya’s body stiffens and seizes, and he coughs blood as the demonic aura grows.

Guren remembers his promise.

He lifts one hand to support Shinya’s head, at the back of his neck, and with the other he raises Noya. Guren never moves, as he cuts Shinya’s throat and the blood pours, and Shinya’s body grows still and cold.

No, they stay like that until Sayuri, Shigure, Mito, and Goshi arrive, and coax him away from Shinya’s body. But Guren will not leave him like that. Guren carries the body to an ambulance where they confirm death, and they take Shinya away from him by force.

Then, Guren cries, and his friends are there to support him.

But it’s not the same.

Chapter Text

But when all is said and done, I’d surrender to you in other ways.

Hiiragi Shinya lives through the end of the world again, in this life. He comforts Guren after Mahiru’s death— by Guren’s hand, a cruel death, one that seems to happen despite Shinya’s best efforts in every life that they live this long— and wins Guren’s heart, piece by piece.

It’s a slow process, but that’s okay. Shinya doesn’t mind. He prefers it this way; Guren opens up to him slowly but surely, and Shinya knows that it is real. He doesn’t enjoy death; death hurts, and when death occurs, it’s like hitting a reset button. He has to start over.

This life is okay. Shinya doesn’t really want it to end.

So he studies, and he researches, but he’s done the same research for lifetimes, and he can’t figure out how to reverse the namanari transformation. He never has been able to.

But Shinya is not deterred, because he can see a little more of Mahiru-no-Yo in Guren every day, and he works with a renewed fury.

It was only a matter of time until Guren found out. And he did, one night, when he came home late— they rented a roomy, one-bedroom apartment in Shibuya, because Shinya would be damned if he stayed in the Hiiragi manor, and there was no point in renting separate apartments; they moved around too much for that to be worth the trouble, and it was nice to have someone to come home to. Even if the Hiiragi’s didn’t like it much, they didn’t intrude— to find Shinya asleep at his desk.

Which wasn’t unusual, if Shinya was being honest. Being a Major General involved doing more than his own weight in paperwork, and it wasn’t uncommon for him to sneak a nap in every once and awhile.

Guren just sighed, and flicked his forehead.

“You’ll drool on the papers,” Guren warned, as Shinya roused and yawned, swatting Guren’s hand away. “And Kureto will make you redo them. All of them.”

“Aw, Guren, so mean,” Shinya sighed. He rubbed at his eyes and rubbed at where a crick in his neck had formed from sleeping so awkwardly. “You could’ve woken me up nicer, eh?”

Guren hummed, sitting down on the edge of Shinya’s desk. “Maybe. Or I could have left you to sleep, and watched you suffer through redoing all of your paperwork because you drooled all over them.”

Shinya pouted, and Guren smirked, but he ruffled Shinya’s hair fondly and Shinya complained, “It was your turn to cook tonight, you know.”

“I called Sayuri,” Guren said, a little bit apologetic, but it was nothing new for one of both of them to be out too late for dinner. Shinya had lost count of the times he had picked up something or made something and brought it in for them to eat at the office, because there was no way they could possibly eat at home and still finish work. “She had been wanting to visit, anyways. She said that she’d bring something over.”

“We should have invited the others over, too,” Shinya said, stretching. “It could have been just like old times.”

“Goshi was working late, too,” Guren frowned. “Mito is stationed in Shinjuku for the next two weeks. I think Sayuri was bringing Shigure, though. Unless Shigure was busy.”

“Ah, that’s good,” Shinya said, with a genuine smile. But Guren’s attention was elsewhere, looking down, at the papers still scattered in halfway organized stacks on Shinya’s desk. His gaze grew cold in an instant; his back stiffened.

“Shinya,” He said, tone warning. “What is that paper, on your desk?”

Shinya glanced down, and froze.

A report from the labs that Shinya was overseeing, a bargain that he had made with Kureto, and had used his name— or rather, the Hiiragi name— with a few pulled favors to authorize. The research into namanari, and if there was a way to tighten the boundary between demon and wielder— if there was a way to separate the souls, after the human had come into contamination with the demon and begun the process of becoming a namanari.

“Oh, that? Nothing. A lab report from Shinjuku—”

Guren snatched the paper before Shinya could grab it, reading it outloud in a flat, hard voice.

“ ‘We are sorry to report that the research is going slow, and the findings are grim for the human test subjects involved. Despite our best efforts, after contamination, it is impossible to reverse the effects of the demon’s possession; we were unable to even slow the rate of possession. We will continue the experiments, but we believe that your desired results are for the namanari—’ “ Guren stopped, and the paper crinkled in his hand. His eyes flamed, the violet glowing with anger.

“Shinya. What is this about, huh?”

Shinya bit his lip, and did not say anything. Guren grabbed him by the collar of his JIDA uniform and dragged him up, slamming him into the wall hard enough that Shinya winced, head throbbing achingly in protest. But he did not say a word in defense.

Guren slammed his hands down on either side of Shinya, trapping the silvery-white haired man against the wall.

“When did you figure it out?”

“I’ve known for years now, Guren,” Shinya said, quietly.

Guren was furious.

“Years? Years? I haven’t been— Mahiru-no-Yo hasn’t been—!”

“You changed the minute you touched that sword,” Shinya told him gently. “But it’s hard to see change that comes from the inside. Mahiru-no-Yo is clever, and she corrupts you slowly. You haven’t noticed it until the last few years. But I’ve always seen it.”

“That’s stupid,” Guren said, hands curling into fists against the wall. “That’s stupid. I would have noticed, I would have noticed Mahiru taking over!”

“But it’s not Mahiru,” Shinya spoke softly, like a coax. “It’s Mahiru-no-Yo. The demon, Guren. Not the girl that we knew. And she’s turned you into a namanari, I know— I know, Guren, and I know that you didn’t want me to find out, didn’t want a soul to find out, but I promise that—”

“Shut up,” Guren hissed, and Shinya obeyed. “Just— just shut up! Why? Why did you have to find out? I… I…”

“Guren, I can he—” Shinya began, but Guren cut him off.

“I— I have it under control— I don’t need your help—” He said, and his fist was suddenly drawn back, but Shinya would not flinch, would not raise a hand to defend himself—

There was the short rap on the door that meant Sayuri had arrived, and the door swing open without further ado. She entered with a happy expression, but stopped dead upon entering and shrieked “Guren-sama!”

Guren froze for a millisecond when she shouted, but his momentum carried him forward and his fist grazed Shinya’s ear and slammed into the wall at the last second instead of colliding with Shinya’s face. Dust flew, and plaster cracked.

Sayuri dropped her pan; it shattered into glass shards and what looked to be casserole bits on the floor, but she ran to them, but froze when Guren said, a hoarse, demanding rasp, face as white as a sheet,

“Why didn’t you block me…?”

Shinya said nothing, and Guren drew back like Shinya’s very presence had burned him. He turned, and he left, slamming the door behind him.

Shinya had not moved. Sayuri asked, tearfully, “S-Shinya-sama...?”

Shinya laughed dully. “Ah, sorry about that, Sayuri. We had a bit of a spat.”

“That was…” Sayuri’s hands shook. “Guren-sama… what troubles him, Shinya-sama?”

Shinya smiled ruefully. “He’ll be angry with me if I tell you. He was angry with me for finding out.”

She doesn’t seem to be surprised; instead, she nodded, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.

“How serious is it, Shinya-sama? The thing that troubles Guren-sama?”

“Serious,” Shinya replied, eventually. “But I’ll save him this time, Sayuri. I won’t let him be troubled alone.”

Sayuri nodded once more, though she seemed a bit confused at his choice of words that he hadn't really meant to let slip, then glanced at the hole in the wall and the shattered glass on the floor. “I-I’ll call Yuki-chan, and have the wall fixed. I’ll get the class cleaned as well. Sorry about the food. I can—”

He sighed. “No, that’s okay, Sayuri. You don’t need to go through the trouble of making something else this late.” Shinya stared at the door, then waved at the glass. “...I’ll clean the glass up, but I would appreciate if you’d give Shigure a call and get someone in to fix the wall.”

“I can clean up the glass,” Sayuri protested immediately. “I dropped the pan myse—”

“It’s alright, Sayuri,” Shinya said, tiredly. He wondered why he felt so tired, suddenly. A different sort of tired— this was a bone-deep sort of tired, both mental and physical. “I don’t mind. Guren won’t be coming back home tonight anyways; he needs time to clear his head. He needs his time to be alone, to sort out his thoughts.”

Sayuri hesitated, like she wanted to speak, but was unsure. Finally, she asked him, “Will you promise that you’ll help Guren-sama, Shinya-sama? I… I’m worried. It’s not my place, I know— I’m just his aide, but I’m his friend, and— and he’s different lately, but I don’t know how to help him…” Sayuri sighed, her hands clenching into frustrated fists. “I’m supposed to be his aide, but if I don’t know what troubles him, I can’t help him. But Guren-sama… Guren-sama—”

Shinya thinks about the lives where he stares at Guren, at the demon that Guren will become, eventually, and he thinks, I know. The crimson, slit-pupiled eyes, the pearly fangs, the cruel taunts of the demon that is so much like the person that he loves but so different haunt him in his nightmares frequently.

The sight of Guren’s corpse, after Shinya kills the demon, is even worse. He can’t bear that.

“Guren would never speak about what troubles his heart,” Shinya said heavily. “I know. I know, Sayuri. But I’ve been trying to figure out a way to save him, and I promise— I swear, that I’ll save him. I’ll find a way to save him.”

Sayuri nodded, but her eyes were still dark and solemn, saddened. “The wall will be fixed by the time you return tomorrow, Shinya-sama.”

“Thanks, Sayuri.”

She paused at the door, then added, “...I serve Guren-sama. My life is his. But… I am also your friend, Shinya-sama. If you need something, call me.”

She was gone then, and Shinya was left alone, to mull over her words.

Guren ended up on the rooftop of their apartment building, not far away but not too close. Far enough away for his thoughts to begin to clear.

His heart was pounding loud enough to drown out all of the other noises around him, and Guren stood on the roof, catching his breath.

Why was he breathing so hard? Was it because he was so angry?

No, his anger was already fading, leaving him feeling drained and tired, exhausted down to his soul. Guren wanted nothing more than to sleep. It had been a long day at work— he’d been looking forward to coming home, to eating dinner with Shinya and Sayuri and Shigure, if the latter could attend. So where had it gone wrong? Where had he messed up?

It hit him like a physical blow, and Guren wanted to retch.

Did I… Did I really just nearly hit… Shinya…?

His hands trembled, from fear and disgust.

I did. I was going to hit him. I was going to hit him as hard as I could. I was going to hurt him.

The sword at his waist seemed to burn him, like it was red-hot. Guren felt bile in his throat, and he couldn’t draw his gaze away from his gloved hands, still dusty from the broken plaster of the wall he had punched through.

Was it her that did that, or was it me?

The realization that he couldn’t tell who had controlled the action made Guren grow cold, and Mahiru-no-Yo laughed delightedly.

He stayed on the roof until his hands and face were numb from the cold, and the sun was rising in the distance, painting his silhouette in shades of black and red.

Shinya slept restlessly for an hour or so, and when he awoke, he found that Guren had returned at some point or other, and had fallen asleep at his own desk; unlike Shinya, he hadn’t seemed to have done it accidentally. Mahiru-no-Yo was propped against the wall behind him, but Guren still sat rigidly, and Shinya wondered what he was dreaming about. It was nothing pleasant; Guren’s hands were curled into fists, and his face was pale and drawn into a frown.

Absentmindedly, hesitantly, Shinya brushed a hand across Guren’s forehead, and his fingers stilled when the biting chill seeped into his fingers. Guren’s fingers were just as cold. Then, Shinya drew his hand away, and sighed, leaving to retrieve the blanket from the bedroom and he draped it over Guren’s shoulders.

“Stupid Guren. Staying out all night in the cold, you’ll catch your death. You should’ve came home. I was waiting for you, you know. It’s not very nice to keep me waiting for so long.”

Guren slept on, but his face was a little less drawn, and Shinya’s exasperated smile slipped away. He sat on the edge of Guren’s desk, and he said, softly, “Don’t worry, Guren. I’ll definitely save you. I promise.”

Inside his head, Mahiru-no-Yo delights in showing him memories, in trying to pull him apart at the seams.

Guren resists, and she tries another tactic, one that he hates the most.

“Stop it, demon. This won’t work on me. This school no longer matters, and neither of us attend. There is no point in trying to pretend you’re still alive. I’m aware that you’re dead.”

Mahiru sulked, but her frown revealed that she was concealing her fangs, still; her eyes remained an amber-hued color, and the school scene remained.

“How cruel of you to remind me, Guren. That you were the hand that slayed me.”

The scene shifted, to a memory— to his sword, soaked in her blood. To Mahiru, in her dying moments. To Mahiru, a corpse, and then, a demon, inside his heart and inside his sword.

Guren shut his eyes, but the images did not go away. “Stop it, demon.”

“ ‘Demon, demon’, “ Mahiru hummed, laughing, her laugher like bells. “Yes, indeed. I am a demon now. But what does it matter? To a demon, the name Hiiragi means nothing; we can be just a—”

“I told you last time, no,” Guren said firmly. “We are not just another girl and boy; you are a demon and I am your master, and I am in control.”

Mahiru studied him for a moment, then said, “Aw, Guren, what’s wrong? Don’t you desire me anymore?” She held her arms out and spun, the skirt of her sailor-fuku uniform fanning out around her. She still had not aged a day since the day he murdered her— no, since the day she changed, into a vampire.

“Quit changing the subject,” Guren said flatly. “I told you to stop. You won’t win this way, demon. I won’t give in to you.”

Mahiru sighed, and looked saddened by his words. Mahiru-no-Yo was skilled at illusions and deceptions; for a split-second, it really did make him sad, to see Mahiru look so forlorn.

“It’s because of him, isn’t it…? Say, Guren, what exactly is so appealing about him, hmm? What makes you desire him, and not me?”

“Leave Shinya out of this.”

Mahiru laughed, colder than before, icy. “Aha, I’ve hit a nerve!” She smiled, and Guren’s hands curled into angry fists. But he suppressed it; letting the demon provoke him would do him no good.

“Is it the Hiiragi name?” Mahiru asked, perched on her desk, adjacent to his, the desk that had belonged to Shinya. “Are you drawn to that? No— you hate the other Hiiragi’s. So what about Shinya, hmm…?”

Suddenly, she brightened, and let out another peal of laughter.

“Say, say, is it his body? Is it the way he—”

“Stop it, Mahiru-no-Yo.” Guren commanded, but in his anger, he knew he had made a mistake; he had let his heart be shown to the demon, for just a moment. “I said, leave Shinya out of this. Torment me with my memories, fine. But leave Shinya be.”

She grinned, but he saw her fangs, now.

“I see. Aha, you’re guilty, Guren. You don’t think you’re good enough for the foster son, for Shinya? Aha~!”

The scenery of the school fell away, and Guren was plunged into dark as Mahiru-no-Yo let the illusions fall away, before a memory began to play.

The memory of weeks ago, of when he had come a hair’s breadth from hitting Shinya in the face, with all his might. Guren froze, tensed up—

Mahiru laughed.

“You’re right, you know. You don’t deserve him, and he doesn’t deserve you.”

You’re right, Guren thought, waking up in cold sweat, staring down at Shinya, who slept beside him.

He deserves so much better than a half-thing like me. A namanari.

Shinya shifted, and opened his eyes, as if he could sense Guren’s thoughts— Guren wouldn’t have been surprised if he had. Shinya had always been a notoriously light sleeper, waking up at the slightest unusual noise, the smallest of disturbances. Guren wondered why, sometimes, but he saw the look in Shinya’s eyes whenever the topic was mentioned and he never asked.

Piercing blue eyes studied him for a moment, then Shinya said, bluntly, “Guren. It was her again, wasn’t it?”

Guren did not answer, because if he answered, he would have to lie. And he did not want to lie, but he did not want to be truthful, and admit that yes, it had happened again.

But Shinya knew. Shinya always knew.

Warm hands tugged him back, urging him to lay down silently, but Guren didn’t let that happen— he shifted, to straddle Shinya’s waist, and leaned down to kiss him eagerly.

It was a hungry sort of kiss, and it startled Shinya, for a moment. It had been awhile since they had kissed like this, with Guren’s hands sliding up the thin shirt Shinya slept in, breaking only for air and to slip clothes off.

But Guren kissed to forget, about the demon’s dreams, about himself, about everything and anything else.

And in his breathless haze, he did.

Shinya tried to hurry the experiments along, but he knew in his heart that they were too slow, and, in the end, they were.

Because Ichinose Guren inevitably succumbed to Mahiru-no-Yo, and Shinya failed. So he, Guren’s squadmates— Goshi, Mito, Sayuri, and Shigure— with the assistance of Shinoa squad were assigned to track down a rampant demon and to execute him.

And they found him, alright, wreaking havoc among Shibuya. Guren was a demon that, strength-wise, ranked in the Blank Demon series, and worst of all, he was aggressive; a possession-type demon. Overall, he was a terrible opponent to battle, but the situation went further downhill when Shinya realized that Kureto had not informed the Shinoa squad exactly who they were hunting.

Yuuichiro, Kimizuki, Yoichi, and Shinoa, who had been assigned to help take Guren down, were perhaps the closest thing he had to family outside of his squad. How cruel, the Hiiragi’s were.

“Shinoa Squad,” Shinya said, voice level, as he drew out a spell tag and chanted a lightning-fast incantation, casting an illusion to buy him a moment to speak. “If you cannot handle the battle, then retreat now. I don’t have the time for you to get in the way— if you can’t fight because of emotional attachments you had to Ichinose Guren, then go, now.”

“How can you say that?!” Yuu shouted, drawing Asuramaru and advancing towards Shinya— but Sayuri and Shigure moved to intercept him, block and attack him if needed, eyes red but expressions firm. Yuu’s eyes widened in betrayal, and Shinya longed for a moment to reach out and ruffle his hair, to soothe him— but in this life, Yuu had never called him ‘Shinya-nii’ had never slipped and called him ‘Papa’, and Shinya held his tongue. “Isn’t— Isn’t Guren you’re family, Shinya-san?! I thought you loved him! How— how can you just—”

“Don’t say another word about Shinya-sama,” Shigure hissed.

Goshi shook his head with a sad frown and said, “It’s the hardest for him, brat. Don’t talk about things you don’t understand.”

“What do you—” Yuu shook his head. “I don’t understand, you’re right! So explain it to me, somebody!”

“Yuu-san,” Shinoa began, but Yuu cut her off.

“No! Family is family— you don’t give up on family!”

“Shut up!” Mito said, surprising everyone with her outburst, so unlike her. Her eyes brimmed with tears. “There’s no coming back from becoming a demon, do you understand? We must be the ones to do this— we love Guren too much to let a stranger set him at peace!”

Nobody spoke another word, then, because the spell illusion broke and the demon that was no longer Guren saw them and attacked, them, and Shinya ordered, in a voice that cracked, “Decide now!”

When it was over, and Shinya had dealt the last, blow, Kureto had shown up and promised to sort out the chaos that the demon had caused, and to dispose of the body properly— Shinya was too tired, too bloody with blood that was both his own and blood that was not, to argue.

Shinoa Squad was a family; they cried and coped together, and Shinya knew with a single glance, his help would not be needed nor welcomed. He is not remembered in this life as the one who dried tears and soothed fears on blood-drawing days— but that’s okay. Even if it stings, he’s too numb to be hurt by it, and he doesn’t say a word to the children.

Sayuri and Shigure wept together. Mito and Goshi were crying, but had the comfort of one another; Shinya brushed them off when they tried to approach him, with a smile.

“I’ll be fine. Go home and clean yourselves up. Don’t come to work tomorrow— however long you need. I’ll take the responsibility for it.”

Sayuri saw his smile, and she cried a little harder.

And only when Shinya arrives at home, and he realizes that he is alone, surrounded by the things that Guren left behind, does it become unbearable, and he sobs.

But this life has another sick twist for him in store.

A week after Guren is dead, after they held a funeral with a coffin that was empty, with no body to burn, as the last of the Ichinose family is laid to metaphorical rest for this life, Shinya receives a call from Kureto, who leads him down to the basement where the Black Demon weapons are kept, and Shinya is sickened to see another sword hanging.

Kureto studies his expressions intently, and he nodded when Shinya observed this.

“Yes, that’s right. That is Ichinose Guren— or rather, the demon that consumed Ichinose Guren. We’ve attempted to have others take it on as a weapon, but the demon is…” Kureto scowled. “Temperamental. Unusually stubborn. We believe that you’ll have the best luck, because of your high compatibility with the Black Demon weapons and your connection with the demon.”

“I fight ranged,” Shinya said, flatly. “Swords are not my forte.”

“Lies,” Kureto said. “You may fight melee, but you can go blade-to-blade with me and the fight would be a draw.”

“Wow,” Shinya droned. “I didn’t think you’d ever admit that a foster son could match you in anything. I’m flattered.”

Kureto stared at him for a brief moment, then said, “Try the sword. It is much more powerful than Byakkomaru.”

“Stronger than Raimeiki?”

Kureto did not answer, and Shinya sighed.

“What’ll happen to Byakkomaru, if I make a contract, hmm? What about me? Can I control both of them?”

“Your contract with Byakkomaru should be severed by your contract with the new demon,” Kureto informed. “We believe.”

Shinya laughed.

“It’s an order from the Hiiragi’s, eh? I don’t have a choice, anyways. There’s no point in delaying.”

“That’s the idea,” Kureto agreed.

Shinya started forward, and stopped at the sword. It was a beautiful thing, really, in a cold sort of way; a black katana with jagged red highlights. The sword that Mahiru-no-Yo had been similar, but had seemed somehow more refined; this was different, and the aura coming from the sword was strong already. Shinya was wary as he laid a hand on the handle, pulled the sword free, and stepped into the spell circle.

“Give me your power, demon,” He whispered.

Everything went dark.

When he opened his eyes, Shinya was standing in the arena, with a blade in one hand and spell talismen in the other. Across him was his first kill, in this lifetime; a boy with brilliantly blue eyes and black hair, and pale skin, that had always seemed to look a little sad. Shinya had been friends with him once, so many lives ago.

Now, Shinya did not remember his name; rather, he knew it, it was engraved in his heart, but he would not allow it to ever surface in his mind again.

“Hey, hey, Shinya-kun,” the boy said, dragging his sword behind him in the dirt and walking towards him in the arena. “You left us. You were the only one to leave.”

His voice was so soft, so sad, just like Shinya remembered it.

“Ne, Shinya-kun, why were you the only one that got to leave, huh?” The boy asked, creeping closer. “I know why. It’s because—”

But Shinya cut him off, sweeping forward and driving the sword through the boy’s chest, plunging the hilt into his torso in a way that would be fatal without doubt; severing spine, and piercing lungs. A double-kill.

The boy’s blue eyes, the same ones that sparkled with laughter when Shinya told jokes, when they had been friends, grew wide with horror and cloudy with pain.

Shinya twisted his sword, and drew it out, fingers clutching the boy’s shoulder bruisingly tight, and he said, “It’s because I am a killer, I know. I know that very well, demon. So torment me with these memories all you like, but you will not break me.”

The boy tilted his head to the side, blood leaking from his mouth, and mused, in a different voice— in Guren’s voice, but softer, lighter, with a squeaky quality to it, immatured and youthful— “That’s odd. All of the other’s I’ve consumed have broken before now.”

“I’ve already been touched by a demon,” Shinya said, dully. “I know how your tricks work. I won’t let you take over me.”

“You’re no fun,” The boy complained, teeth stained red with his blood. Then, his hand shot through Shinya’s chest, and Shinya staggered. After a moment, the demon hummed.

“Oh, yes… I’d almost forgotten… They sent you in because you had a personal connection to me, hmm? Aha, humans are funny creatures. So sentimental.”

Shinya pressed a hand to his chest, grimacing as the blood flowed, but he swallowed back against the pain. “Doesn’t matter. I’m here for your power, not for who you used to be.”

“Aw, that’s cruel,” The demon pouted, still in the body of the boy. “Don’t you miss me, Shinya?”

“I love you,” Shinya said, and the demon recoiled. “I’ll always love you. But that doesn’t mean I’ll submit to what you’ve become.”

“This is why I hate humans,” The demon muttered. “Love this, love that. Love, love, love. And yet, you’re heart is also full of hate and bitterness. It all coexists, so paradoxical.”

“You used to love that paradoxical feeling,” Shinya reminded. “Can you remember that, demon? Can you tap into his memories enough to recall feelings?”

The demon laughed, a strangely forlorn sound.

“Alright. I’ll lend you my power. But if you’re heart waivers, even for a moment, I’ll consume you.”

Shinya smiled, and held out a hand as the scenery dissolved around them. He was left holding the hand of a little boy, of all things.

Guren was cute as a little boy, Shinya mused. Round cheeks, messy black hair— a small button-up shirt and black slacks, held up by suspenders. The image of childhood innocence, probably no older than five, which was surprisingly young.

If not for his red eyes, slit-pupiled, and his fangs, that is.

“I know,” Shinya said simply.

The Hiiragi’s were pleased with his performance, and Shinya had never said a word to a soul outside of the Hiiragi’s, praying that somehow his friends would never hear of the fact that he had switched weapons.

It was only a matter of time until they did; Shinya could only push off visits and such for so long, and eventually, they showed up without warning and forced their way into their— his, Shinya corrected himself, because it was probably not healthy to count the demon that had formerly been his lover as a living occupant— apartment.

“We brought food,” Shigure announced. “Curry.”

“Enough for everyone,” Sayuri added, as Goshi announced, “And we aren’t going to let you sulk in your sorrows anymore!”

“Goshi!” Mito hissed, but Shinya just laughed tiredly.

“I’m not sulking. I’m just… tired, lately. It’s been a long few weeks. Sorry, guys.”

“Don’t apologize,” Mito affirmed. “We… we’re just worried about you.”

“You spend so much time alone here,” Shigure added, then trailed off.

Mito followed her gaze to Shinya’s sword, loosely sheathed and laying on his desk, and she froze.

“...What is that? You don’t fight with a sword…. Byakkomaru… that’s not Byakkomaru.”

“I fight with a sword now, “ Shinya said carefully. “It was an order from the Hiiragi family. To switch to a new weapon, one more powerful than Byakkomaru.”

There was silence, and Goshi looked sick. “Hey, don’t tell me…”

“The demon that I made a contract with is… what remains of Ichinose Guren, yes, the demon that he became.”

Sayuri started to cry again, and Shinya wondered why he had to make his friends so sorrowful, in every life.

For a possession demon, things could have been worse; Guren— the demon — was aggressive, yes, but did not torment him more than Shinya had expected.

He started to leave his sword just loosely sheathed, enough that the demon could manifest at will, and Guren behaved strangely, not like any demon Shinya had ever encountered before. Occasionally, he was a small, five-year old boy; other times, he was a teenager, adorned in First Shibuya High’s uniform; still yet, sometimes he appeared as he had in Shinya’s memories, in full JIDA attire or in casual dress, whatever the demon felt like at the time. He pressed their connection when it was convenient, manipulated Shinya’s memories and dreams to his advantage, and Shinya figured that the relatively docile act while the demon was manifested was more or less another attempt to get Shinya to drop his guard.

Today, Shinya had been called to assist Shinoa squad in the extermination of a low-ranked progenitor. It was the first time he had seen any of them after Guren’s death, even Shinoa, which had taken some effort— but then, Shinoa had never tried to make any unnecessary contact with the family anyways.

“You have a sword now, Shin-nii?” Shinoa asked, eyes drifting to his sword and then back to him. Her voice was a little bit more distant than it had been, but she was attempting conversation— she was trying, and his heart twinged in grief.

He should have reached out to her, at least. Even if she had her squad, Shinya had always been by her side— and Guren had been as good as her father and mentor, from sixteen onward. His death would have hit her hard, and he had left her alone to deal with it.

“Yeah,” Shinya smiled cheerily, but he begged with his eyes for her forgiveness. “I decided it was time for a change. Swords are nice too.”

“Aha, not so cowardly anymore?” Shinoa teased, and he saw her sad, but genuine smile, and he knew he was forgiven. Maybe he had never needed to ask. “Wow! I never would have expected it!”

They laughed, but Shinya made sure to keep his hand on his sword, sheathe tightly closed. The demon would not escape for now, at least.

And then, they became a bit more serious, and went about working.

The progenitor was strong, for such a low-rank, and she evaded Yoichi’s sniper shot.

“That’s okay,” Shinya encouraged the young soldier, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Louder, he announced, “Come on, we’ll meet the vampire head-on! Attack now, while we still have surprise!”

To himself, he drew his sword from the sheathe and whispered, “Possess me, Guren.”

He did not see Shinoa stiffen, did not see her eyes widen in horror. Because even if his body and his mind remembered how to fight with a sword, as easily as breathing, beaten into him in countless lives, he had to fight against the surge of desires and the memories that swelled, as the demon manifested eagerly.

This time, it was as a child, disturbingly enough. A small five-year old boy, with fanged teeth and slit-pupiled red eyes, but with a charming smile and baby fat still lingering on his cheeks, disarming, false innocence in his eyes.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

With a struggle, they defeated the progenitor, and Shinya returned home to their apartment, exhausted and bloody. His wounds healed, but his body had taken a beating, and the demon trailed along beside him, only to his eyes.

“You might as well go back for the night,” Shinya told him. “I’m tired. I’m just going to shower and go to sleep— I know I’ll see you in my dreams, anyways, so you might as well take a break for a little while. Maintaining a corporeal form must take it’s toll.”

“Aww, are you worried about me? How sweet!” Guren grinned, that disarming grin— and then he was no longer a little boy, but the Guren Shinya had known as an adult, with something darker in his red eyes.

“Ah, really? My, my, so eager…”

Shinya gave him a flat look, and sighed.

“You’ll give me whiplash if you switch between tactics so quickly— and forms . Innocence or seduction, five or twenty-four, pick one or the other, sheesh.” He waved a hand, unbuttoning his ruined JIDA uniform. It was soiled with blood, and torn— he would need another, but he had enough spares for the moment. “Besides, you know I didn’t mean that sort of dream, and you know it. I’m tired tonight, so I know you’ll disrupt my rest, because you’re Guren.”

The demon laughed— Shinya would never really get used to that, the demon’s cold and childish nature— but the door to their apartment swung open and he paused, suddenly. Shinya froze with his undershirt half-off, and found Shinoa in the doorway, all traces of humor in her expression gone. Her face fell futher and paled, when she saw the unsheathed sword on his desk.

“You were talking to him,” she accused. Her eyes were dark, dead. “Your demon is him, isn’t it? Don’t lie to me, Shin-nii.”

“How did you get in here, Shinoa?” Shinya asked, pulling his undershirt back down and studying her. She too, was still dressed in her torn and soiled clothes, blood and dirt staining her skin— she had not been home, then. She had followed him, probably from the moment the group parted ways at the city gates.

She brandished her Hiiragi crest, and Shinya laughed bitterly. “Ah, yes. I would have done the same thing. Good job— I assume you avoided the CCV cameras, as well?”

“And I was only spotted by one person, to make witness disposal easier, if need be,” Shinoa responded automatically, like a true Hiiragi, voice derived of emotion. “But that’s not what I asked, Shin-nii. Answer me.”

Guren chuckled delightedly. “So feisty, Shinoa!”

Shinya didn’t try to deny it. He held his hands out, palms up, with a blank smile.

“Yes, my demon is what remains of Ichinose Guren. Yes, I was conversing with my demon when you entered. You caught me red-handed; what’ll you do now, Shinoa?”

“Literally, red-handed,” his demon mused, now a child, perched on the edge of Shinya’s desk, “You might want to wash that blood off at some point.”

Shinya ignored the demon, and Shinoa did the last thing he had expected. She did not grow angry with him, or storm out.

She walked over to his sword and slammed the blade down into the sheathe, pressing a talisman to the blade and whispering an incantation quickly— the demon vanished, the curse binding him temporarily tightened.

And then she hugged him, so tightly Shinya feared she may squeeze the life out of him. She buried her face in his grimy undershirt, and she said, tearfully, “I lost Oneechan to the Hiiragi’s. I lost Guren to— to what Oneechan had become, at the hands of a Hiiragi. Don’t make me lose you too, Shin-nii.” Her hands were tight on him, so tight, and he rested a hand on her head gently. “Please don’t make me lose you, too.”

Shinya smiled, and he pet her hair, and he thought that he was a terrible person for leaving her to deal with her grief alone. Hiiragi or not, Shinoa was a teenager, and her parent-figures had just died, been murdered and turned into a weapon— in front of her, to add.

And I’ve condemned myself to the same fate.

He pet her hair, so gently, and he said, “Shinoa, I won’t do that. I won’t leave you. I’ll stay with you— I’ll always be here for you. I promise.”

It was a lie, and it was a bitter one. Shinoa knew it, too— the demon wouldn’t ever release it’s clutch on him. It was a matter of time until he succumbed to it. And when he did, it would he his friends and her squad, the dutiful little Hiiragi, that would be assigned to take his head.

But for now, Shinoa let herself be consoled by the sweet lies, and she cried into his shirt until she slept. Shinya let her have the bed; he didn’t sleep, anyways. He spent the night at his desk, staring at the sword in his hands and clutching the blade until his hands screamed in protest.

When the sun rose, Shinoa found him to be making breakfast, cheery and whistling, with shadows under his eyes but the grime gone from his skin and a fresh uniform to adorn him.

Because he would make his lies last as long as possible, for her sake.

Nights were unbearable sometimes.

He found himself to be seeking Shinoa’s company more during the daytime, or Mito or Goshi when they weren’t too busy. Shigure and Sayuri showed up once and awhile, as often as they could, but Shinya knew that for them, it was different— they were the servants of Ichinose, and he was the foster son of Hiiragi. Without Guren, it wasn’t excusable for them to visit frequently anymore, and the demon filled his dreams with memories of six-man sleepovers and games of Bomberman to taunt him with the thoughts.

It can never be the same again, the demon told him, whispered in his ear.

I know, Shinya thought, as he studied his reflection and the sleepless circles under his eyes that seemed to grow darker by the day. It alarmed him mildly, but he was numb.

Tired.

I know.

Shinya did not want to sleep.

During sleep, he was assaulted by memories and dreams of times long past, or of nightmares. The demon was on the offense, trying to break him, and Shinya was cracking.

He couldn’t take it any longer.

He hated the moment his head touched the pillow, hated the second his eyes closed and opened again, and Shinya was no longer in his bed, but in a white space— inside his heart.

Guren appeared before him, and Shinya blinked, rubbing his eyes— but no, the demon had concealed himself in one of Shinya’s memories, disguised his red eyes and fangs. It really looked as though Guren stood before him, in all of his glory.

“Idiot,” Guren told him, shaking his head and putting a gloved hand to his forehead. “Look at you. You’re a mess.”

“It’s your fault,” Shinya rebutted, wagging a finger, but his voice was flat and his eyes were dull. “Let me have some sleep once and awhile, eh?”

Guren frowned, then strode forward and tugged Shinya towards him, grabbing his wrist and pulling him down— Shinya was on the ground, gently, with Guren’s arms were around his shoulders, and Shinya was enveloped in the embrace.

“Fine. If that’s what you want, rest awhile. I’ll watch over you.”

“Really?” Shinya asked. He knew it was a lie. It all was; but then, did it really matter, when the lies were so sweet? “Then, Guren, hold me for a little while longer. I won’t sleep for very long. Just let me close my eyes for a little bit, okay?”

Shinya shifted, to lay his head in Guren’s lap, and gentle fingers combed through his hair. Shinya’s eyes closed, and every inch of his body seemed to release a sigh of relief. He could feel the demon taking control already, and his body was too tired to fight it.

He was exhausted, and he did not fight for control. The demon had it willingly.

“Alright.” Guren told him, voice so sweet, so warm. “Sleep well, Shinya.”

Shinya's closed eyes never again opened in this life.

Chapter Text

Even though each time, I know I’ll see you again, I always wonder

It was a constant fear, in every life. Shinya wasn’t sure when it had started, but in some lives, it was worse than others— it hit breaking points during the lives when Guren did not exist, and sometimes, the fear was suffocating, crippling.

He was always afraid, afraid that maybe this life was the one where Guren did not exist and simply never did again, because there was no guarantee that he did.

The fear of being alone.

Every life, that was disproven— Guren was there, strong and steady. But Shinya couldn’t shake the fear, and sometimes, it was suffocating.

Drowning.

It was at it’s worst when they fought, Shinya thought, as Guren slammed the door and left to cool his head. The fight was over something stupid, and Shinya hadn’t meant to provoke him— Shinya had meant to ask about his day, and Guren had shouted about the Hiiragi’s, and how he should just ask his damn family.

And then stormed off, and now Shinya was alone with his thoughts and his fear, and Byakkomaru. Who fed on his fears, made them swell until Shinya was overwhelmed, couldn’t even stand, couldn’t bear the weight of the fear—

He pressed a hand to his chest, fingers clawing at his collar in a desperate attempt to breathe as his breath left him. His heart pounded so hard it hurt, and his head felt light; the room was fuzzy, and spun slowly, sickeningly.

A panic attack; he knew what it was, Shinya knew well. He had experienced a handful before, when he was living for the first time, as a child— after his first kill, when the stress was too big to bear— yet the knowledge did him no good. He could not fight the rush of anxiety, and he tried his best to close his eyes and focus on the present, but it seemed to last an eternity. It was painful.

And the door swung open, and Guren stormed in.

“I forgot my fucking keys,” He said irritatedly. “I just came back to—”

He broke off at the sight of Shinya, eyes going wide.

“Oh, hell. What happened— where does it hurt? Did somebody attack you?” Guren’s hands were on him, trying to pull Shinya’s hands away from where they had clawed bloody gashes into his skin, even through his clothes. His eyes narrowed, and he pulled Shinya’s hands away, holding them with an iron grip by the wrists. “Is it the demon? Why didn’t you tell me you were having problems, you idiot? I could’ve helped you—”

Shinya shook his head in the negative, but his breath was too short to speak, his mind to cloudy to form the words.

Guren pulled him up, into a half-carry. “Come on, I’ll call Shigure and Sayuri; they’ll drive us to the hos—”

“No,” Shinya managed, this time, but it took all of his effort to say the simple word. People would make it worse— he knew that, but Guren did not.

Guren made an exasperated noise. “What do I do, then? Just sit here with you?”

He said it sarcastically, but Shinya nodded, and Guren frowned.

“Really?”

Shinya nodded again— his stomach twisted and flipped from standing, and he staggered. Guren frowned, but guided him to the bed anyways, and laid him down, anger forgotten. Guren was hesitant, at first, hands uncertain, body stiff— but after a moment, he relaxed, hands moving to run through Shinya’s hair and pull him into an embrace.

“Breathe,” He said, softly. “Just breathe.”

It was hard— Shinya’s heart was beating too fast, and every breath ached and stuttered in his chest. But his back was pressed against Guren’s chest, firmly, and after what seemed like an eternity his breathing started to slow.

“With me. In. Out. That’s it. Like that.”

A panic attack, Shinya thought bitterly. He hadn’t had one of those since his first life, his first childhood. So why now? Why, when he was so much older, so much more experienced? He was too grown-up. A panic attack was childish. Why—

A gloveless hand found its way to his neck, pressing gently against Shinya’s pulse, and Guren said, “You’re heart is beating too fast. Stop thinking.”

Easier said than done, Shinya wanted to say.

Guren paused, then said, softer, “Stay here, in the present. Stay with me.”

So Shinya stayed, and Guren stayed with him.

“What was that?” Guren asked him, when Shinya’s heart had calmed, his breathing settled, and his stomach no longer did flips and twists. “What happened, Shinya?”

“It was nothing, Guren,” Shinya promised, tiredly.

You don’t need to be bothered with my childish concerns.

“That was not ‘nothing’ ”, Guren said, hands stilling where they had been rubbing circles on the palm of Shinya’s hand absentmindedly. A note of cold anger was beginning to return to his voice. “I thought you were being possessed, did you know? I thought you were possessed, and it was my fault—”

“It was just a panic attack, Guren,” Shinya snapped, flinching at the tired venom in his own voice. “It was stupid.”

“ ‘Just’ a panic attack?” Guren asked him, incredulously, sitting up and glaring at him. “Shinya. Why didn’t you tell me? You’ve never told me that you had panic attacks. I could’ve— I could’ve—”

“I didn’t have panic attacks before now.” Shinya said, closing his eyes. He was exhausted. “A handful when I was a kid, that’s all.”

Please, drop it. Don’t make me talk about it. Please, Guren.

“Tell me next time, stupid,” Guren said, voice cracking. “I’ll help you if you’ll let me.”

But Shinya was already asleep.

I’ve seen him collapse like that before, Guren thought, to himself. I’ve seen him like that before. Not a panic attack. No, something different— but similar.

Guren recalled his first thoughts, when he saw Shinya collapsed.

...possession. I thought of possession, right away.

Shinya was breathing in his arms quietly now, a soft reassurance. Guren’s arm tingled, and his fingers were numb from where Shinya had been laying, using his arm as a pillow. But Guren dared not move, for fear of waking Shinya— and because like this, he could feel Shinya’s heartbeat, thrumming against his chest strongly.

Why did I think of possession? Shinya has excellent control over Byakkomaru. Besides, Byakkomaru is a manifestation-type demon— not as aggressive as possession-types.

Yet Guren couldn’t shake the lingering feeling of deja vu; it seemed too familiar.

It’s like… I’d seen it before…

But Shinya rolled over, and curled into Guren’s embrace, and Guren held him a little tighter, dismissing the thought.

Flashes, in his mind. Fragments of things that don’t make sense to him.

Byakkomaru pointed at Guren’s face, and Shinya’s tearful blue eyes on the other end of the rifle.

A boy with silvery-white hair and blue eyes, splashing water at him in his childhood creek with a pealing laugh. The same boy, eyes clouded with pain, curse marks marring his skin, holding Guren’s bloodstained hand with a weak smile.

The same boy, dressed in a sleeveless shirt and slacks, with cold, sad eyes, as he walked into an arena, a sword in hand and a stack of spell talismen at his waist.

Shinya, illuminated by the moonlight, standing in Guren’s father’s garden in Aichi, held captive by Guren’s hand and a hungry kiss, with his other hand trying to tug off the pesky suit jacket, while Shinya gasped into his lips and arched his back under Guren’s fingers, the skin of his neck hot.

Shinya, with his wrist dripping blood where a bone jutted from the skin, bloodlessly pale, eyes closed, held up by Mahiru’s cold fingers as she drained him of every drop of his blood.

Shinya, in Guren’s arms, with a weakly fluttering heartbeat, as Guren pleaded with him to stay, to hold on, just a little longer.

IV’s providing life support for him, inside the Hiiragi manor, Shinya, unconscious, his wrist bound in layers of bandages and his skin still deathly pale.

Shinya, with a blood-stained face, wiping Guren’s tears with a pained smile and slit-pupils and fangs. Foreheads touching, as Shinya laughed, and two sets of tears mixed into one.

Shinya, throat slit by Guren’s sword. Dull blue eyes staring vacantly at nothing, seeing no-one.

A bloody corpse in his arms, with a crimson-stained throat and tear-tracks marring his face, as around him Mito, Goshi, Sayuri, and Shigure wept. The body had Shinya’s silvery-white hair, but it was dyed pink with blood, and his eyes were shut; they would never open again. Surely this corpse was not Shinya.

“Ah, ah, Guren. That’s enough.”

A voice halted the flood of scenes, and Mahiru-no-Yo appeared before him, looking confused, lips pursed into a frown.

“M-Mahiru?” Guren whispered. “That was… you?”

“No, I did not do that,” Mahiru chided. “Guren that was you.”

Liar, Guren wanted to say, but the words seemed to catch in his throat.

“W… What was that?” Guren rasped.

“I could only see them, access them, for as long as you were able to see them.” Mahiru informed him, pausing. “I’ve never seen them before— I know you haven’t. I… I don’t know where they came from. They’re sealed inside your heart, closed off; I hadn’t even known they were there, and even now that I do, I can’t access them.”

She locked her hands together behind her back, frowning. “I… don’t know what they are, Guren.”

Is this the last time?

It was worse, this time. For some reason, Shinya couldn’t shake the fear, the terror. He couldn’t shake it.

What if… what if this is the last time?

It was a stupid thought, a childish one, but one that clung to him like a parasite. And Guren noticed— of course he did. But he never brought it up, never said a word; yet Shinya noticed it in the little things, the way that Guren saw Shinya’s fears and responded to them.

They were so busy, but suddenly, Guren was doing paperwork in Shinya’s office— he made the excuse that his own was cold, because some brat had broken a window near his office and let all the freezing air in, but Shinya knew that was an out and out lie. When they got home, at the end of the day, Guren was affectionate, in little ways; reading a book, with his head in Shinya’s lap, rather than at his desk, or cooking dinner together, shoulders bumping, or hands lingering together and meeting more often than was necessary when they met doing mundane tasks.

Silly things.

But the fear was settled when Guren was around, and Shinya was reminded that Guren was here, and real, and it was okay. Guren placeted his fears, without even knowing what they were.

Shinya thought that he was lucky, so lucky, to have Guren.

So this time, when Kureto lost control of the Seraph, and Shinya was a casualty— well, Shinya was okay with it. Guren’s eyes lost the sheen that was typical of Mahiru-no-Yo, the demon losing her possession over him, and he rushed to catch Shinya before his body hit the ground.

“Shinya!” Guren screamed, but dying was just painful at this point— it made Shinya sad to leave, but that was about it. “Shinya— my god, Shinya—”

“Shh,” Shinya told him, wincing at the chains in his chest. It would be another slow death, this one. “It’s okay, Guren. I’m okay with this. Listen to me, carefully. I won’t be able to speak for much longer.”

A building, sharp, stabbing pain in his chest told him his lung would probably collapse soon. It had killed him enough times before for the feeling to be almost bitterly nostalgic.

“D—” Guren began, but Shinya kept on speaking, ignoring the blood that spread from the wound and stained his torso bloody crimson. His breathing was ragged, but he could speak through it.

“After I die, run. Do not give in to Mahiru-no-Yo. You fight that possession, Guren— do you hear me? Fight it. Go with Shinoa Squad— protect them. They need you, in a world like this. Don’t leave them alone. Not this time.”

Don’t put it all on yourself, don’t be alone, Shinya wanted to say, but couldn’t, because his chest gave a sharp ache of protest. Because that’s when she’ll take over.

He died without saying what he needed to say, but Shinya wasn’t too worried.

He would see Guren in the next life. He would make it count, and say what he needed to say then.

Is that really you?

Shinya’s biological surname had always miffed him a bit. He remembered it— he did. Vaguely.

But the Hyakuya orphanage wasn’t the only one that could effectively erase memories, and every life, when Shinya won the competition, his memories were tampered with. Just a select few: his address, his birth surname, the birth names of his parents. His biological information. His family registry was burned.

And then, something happened in this life, something that sent him into overdrive.

He was never recruited into the Hiiragi family.

Yet he had done just as well on his academic work as always. His prestigious kindergarten loved him, cherished him, doted on him— he, Shinya, the prized student, the golden boy.

So why hadn’t the Hiiragi’s had him tested?

Shinya had learned tips and trick, many of them, when it came to electronics. Still, he was no hacker; but something like finding the name of the Hiiragi’s children, that, even he could do.

And he did. Hiiragi Mahiru, born on July 26, 1996. Gender, male.

Male. Shinya hadn’t been tested because they didn’t need a husband; they needed a wife.

He was not a Hiiragi. He would not be.

Shinya was not sure what to do.

What am I, he wondered, staring at the screen of the school’s computer numbly. If not a Hiiragi?

The answer, ironically, was a mix. He wasn’t even purely Japanese— then again, he hadn’t expected to be. It was nice to know, though. He was half-Russian.

Shinya’s mother was a Japanese woman, with a delicately boned face that he had inherited. She was not very mentally sane; he could tell this, from her mood swings and her dangerous looks, but he was smart enough to play her and avoid her moods, and he could deal with her. She wanted the best from him; he threw her expectations out the window and surpassed them with ease, and she was happy enough, so long as he acted enough of a child. If he was too serious and too solemn, then he was ‘defective’ and a ‘devil child’, but Shinya had only heard that a handful of times.

Shinya’s father was a Russian man, from whom Shinya had received his odd coloring, and he had a terrible habit of disappearing for long hours. He said it was for work, and the bills were paid on time, so Shinya never said a word, but he could smell the alcohol well enough.

His parents put up with him, and he with them. That was the extent of their relationship, while Shinya plotted. He had only a handful of options: approach Guren in Aichi, which would be nigh impossible, or try and approach the Hiiragi family. He needed status. The apocalypse would happen one way or another, and he needed a weapon and a way to survive, a way into JIDA.

He needed to become either a follower of Ichinose, or of Hiiragi. Either way, he would have access to Guren, so it would be fine.

Or so he thought, until Shinya was seven years old, and he realized with dread why his surname seemed so familiar.

Shindo Mikaela was born, a boy with happy blue eyes and laughter that pealed like bells, on May 1, 2004.

When Mika was barely a few months old, Shinya noticed the changes. Okaasan was, to put it bluntly, crazier; Otousan was colder, and reeked more strongly of alcohol. Fists began to lash out, hitting, kicking, beating— Shinya didn’t mind, didn’t really care.

So long as it was him and not Mika, it was okay.

And, he decided, he would not put up with another life of hell. If he was going to be beat, it would be by his choice— if he had to pick his poison, then he would not pick the Hiiragi’s.

“I’ll find a way to serve the Ichinose family,” Shinya promised the infant in his arms, as Mikaela laughed brightly, immune to the darkness that seemed to try and suffocate them. “I’ll get us out of here.”

Mika laughed often. So often. He laughed the way that Shinya smiled— to cope. He laughed because he yearned for the laughter of others, because he yearned for affection, and Shinya was determined to give it to him. He took the beatings for the small blonde boy, for the precious boy with sparkling blue eyes and pleading laughter.

How did I never guess that we were related before now? Shinya wondered, returning home from school. His prestigious school, the one where he was practically worshipped. It wasn’t right, but it would help him— it had already gained him the attention of the Hiiragi’s and the Ichinose’s.

But when Shinya opened the door, it was already wrong, because Mika was on the floor and crying, pleading, “I love you, Otousan!” while their father lashed out and kicked him viciously in the ribs, over and over.

Shinya dropped his schoolbag at the door, and was in the kitchen, snatching a butcher knife and stalking to where his father was beating Mika. With his free hand, he slugged the Russian man, hard enough to make the drunk man stagger— Shinya moved like a snake, pressing the knife to his father’s throat and pressing until a thin line of blood appeared. His father snapped out a fist, to slug him, but Shinya stomped a foot down and twisted his heel, digging the knife in deeper. Not enough to cause damage, but enough to bleed.

“Hey, hey, Otousan,” Shinya said, coldly cheery, as his mother shrieked, “S-Stop that! Stop that this instant!” but Shinya ignored her. He continued speaking casually, cheerily. “Why were you beating Mika, hmm? Aren’t I enough?”

“He’s the reason your mother became strange!” He declared, angry with the influence of the drink even now. “It’s all his fault!”

“P-Please,” Mika said, sobbing, curled into a ball on the floor. “P-Please, Papa, Mama, I’ll be good, I promise! I’ll be a good boy! J-Just don’t—”

“Shut up!” Their father shouted, and Mika flinced. “Just shut up!”

“You’re the one who should shut up, Otousan,” Shinya growled. “It’s fine if you hit me— beat me, I don’t care. It doesn’t hurt me. But don’t you touch him.”

Otousan hit him hard, across the face. Hard enough that Shinya heard the crack when bone connected with bone, knuckle against jaw, but Mika’s screams of “Niichan!” were louder.

“Did you really think you could talk back to me?” Otousan asked, and Shinya wrinkled his nose at the reek of alcohol.

Then Shinya smiled, devoid of all emotion, and he said, “Did you really think that would hurt?”

He dropped the knife and whipped out a spell talismen, and his incantation speed was as fast as ever; the explosion happened in the next instant, a searing of flesh and screams.

Shinya ignored them. He pushed Otousan backwards, onto the floor, and planted his heel onto his biological father’s hand, twisting it.

“I’m taking Mikaela,” Shinya announced. “Don’t follow us. If you do, I’ll kill you.”

“You’re only eleven,” Okaasan laughed at him scornfully, but her eyes were fearful. “Where will you go, stupid boy?”

“I’ll become a soldier,” Shinya said simply, then offered a hand out to Mikaela. “Come on, Mika.”

“What about Mama and Papa?” Mika asked, teary-eyed. His eye would be blackened in the morning, and his lip was bloody. “What’ll they do, Niichan? If we leave them?”

Even after all that, he still loves them, Shinya thought. Even as he bleeds, he’s concerned for the man who made him bleed.

“Are you really going to leave?” His father asked, with a cold smile. “You’re stupid! A soldier— no army will take you, a child!”

“Don’t worry about them,” Shinya informed. “They don’t deserve your concern. Take my hand, Mikaela, and we’ll leave here.”

“Forever?” Mika asked him, voice a whisper.

“Forever,” Shinya affirmed, and Mika’s tiny hand gripped his.

Mikaela was five years old, and yet when Shinya led him through the icy winter streets of their hometown, with nothing but the clothes on their backs and the cash in Shinya’s pocket, only informed of the vague plan to become a soldier, he did not say a word of complaint. Shinya marveled at it.

“Mika, aren’t you tired?” Shinya asked, softly. Mika’s hand was cold in his; Shinya had the mind to don their winter gear before they left— coats, gloves, and scarves— but in the biting winter air, it was still finger-numbing and nose-reddening. “I’ll carry you, if you want.”

“You’re tired too, Niichan,” Mika mumbled. “I can walk.”

“Aw, none of that,” Shinya cooed. His legs were tired as well, and his fingers numb, but he was used to the tiredness, the burning of muscles. “Your Niichan is strong, eh? I don’t tire so easy! Besides, doesn’t a piggy back ride sound fun? Come on, let’s do it!”

Mika cracked a smile, and laughed. The sound made Shinya’s grin true.

“W-Well, okay. But just for a little while, Niichan!”

“Yes, yes,” Shinya said, but it wasn’t too long after he began to carry Mika that the arms around his neck went limp, and Mika’s breaths were soft and even.

Shinya carried him all the way to the train station.

“Niichan, why are we in Aichi?” Mika asked him, as they left the train station. “You told Mama and Papa you’d become a soldier— but you can’t be a soldier yet.”

“I can,” Shinya promised. “Just not the sort of soldier that you’re thinking of. Not the conventional kind.”

“Won’t it be dangerous, Niichan?”

The little hand in his was so soft, uncalloused and gentle. Untouched by the woes of the world, the cruelty of everything— well, almost everything; Shinya thought of their father and his hand closed around Mika’s a little tighter— and anything. There were no vampires to drain Mika’s blood, he was not in an orphanage to be experimented on, he was free of their parents. But how many things would Shinya have changed, in this lifetime, to have freed Mika of that suffering?

To spare one life, had he made others worse? Probably; but Shinya would not look back. In the next life, things would change again, and he would never have this chance again. So he would take it now, and not regret it.

Because regret was a dangerous thing.

“Halt!” A voice commanded him, sharply— and Shinya obediently stood still. Mika froze, and held onto his hand a little tighter. The voice belonged to an Ichinose guard, a man in uniform, with a sword at his belt and spell talismen at his waist. “Identify yourself; what business do you have here, boy?”

“I am Shinya,” he announced, shaking Mika’s hand off gently and raising his own hands, to show he was unarmed. It was untrue, because there were talismen on his body, but that didn’t matter. He was young and had no blade, and the guard saw two helpless children, no more, because of that. “I’ve come to speak with your master, Ichinose Sakae-sama.”

“Wh—” The guard began, but a softer, gentler voice spoke.

“Me? Well then, you’ve found me,” Sakae announced. Shinya guessed that he had been on a walk of the Ichinose grounds— he was dressed surprisingly light, in only the traditional Ichinose kimono, for how cold it was— and he praised his luck. Sakae had a kind heart, and the sight of two half-frozen children, one barely coming to stand at the other’s knee, at his doorstep would help Shinya’s case indefinitely. “But why, pray tell, did you wish to speak to me?”

“I’ve come to ask for a favor,” Shinya said, bowing neatly, lowly. It was not a shameful thing, and he was not ashamed to do it. He was a child, and he knew it— he needed a family to stand behind, and this time, it would be Ichinose. “Please, Ichinose-sama, allow me into your service!”

The guard laughed scornfully, and Mika’s fingers curled into Shinya’s trousers fearfully, but Sakae held a hand up for silence. His eyes were full of curiosity, not scorn.

“This is not an orphanage,” He said, not unkindly. “I do not take in lost children. If you’ve come looking for a free meal and board, you’re better off going to an orphanage.”

“I don’t want a free meal and board,” Shinya said, firmly, keeping his head lowered. Do not raise it. Do not flinch. Do not waiver. “I’ve come to offer my services in exchange for pay, not as a child but as a mercenary. I can fight. I can perform magic. I am the best in the country— I can best the Hiiragi children in anything, I guarantee it.”

“Big words, for someone so small,” Sakae mused. “How do you know the name Hiiragi?”

“I have my sources, Ichinose-sama.”

Sakae laughed. “Very well, I won’t ask. We will talk more later, then. I’ve got matters to attend to now, but afterwards, I’d like to see your swordplay and your spells in action. If you’re not all bark and no bite, we’ll go from there, eh?”

“I’ll beat whatever opponent you throw at me,” Shinya promised.

He smiled, kindly, softly. “We’ll see about that. Raise your head, little mercenary, and tell me your name.”

“I’m Shinya,” He introduced. He tugged Mika forward by the hand, and the boy bowed, politely, but stiff, half-frozen by the cold. “This is my little brother, Mikaela.”

Sakae nodded. “Then, Shinya-kun, Mikaela-kun, come inside. One of my servants will see that you both get a warm meal while you wait.”

You are always so kind, Sakae. That kindness will be your downfall, eventually— but it will also be my savior. A double-edged sword, isn’t it?

They ate their full of a hot, lavish meal, and Shinya was lead into a training room after some time had passed. Sakae was waiting for him, patiently.

“What do I have to do to prove my strength, Ichinose-sama?” Shinya asked, bluntly. Mika hovered near him, always, and gave him a worried look at his bluntness.

Sakae looked mildly surprised, but smiled nonetheless. “I want you to beat a single opponent. If you can best them, I’ll make agree to discuss a contract with you. We can discuss the terms then, as well.”

“I don’t need a bunch of terms to agree to,” Shinya hummed. “A wage, that’s it. Enough that I can provide for myself and my brother. In return, I’ll serve the Ichinose family faithfully. As a swordsman, a spellcaster, a servant, I can do what I need to do.”

“You’re straightforward,” Sakae conceded. “And confident. That’s good. But before we can get that far, you have to beat your opponent first.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Shinya spoke. “Mika, go on. Sit down, out of the way— cheer for me, ne?”

“O-Okay, Niichan.” Mika said, releasing Shinya’s sleeve reluctantly, and hurriedly going to sit. Surprisingly— or perhaps, not surprisingly— Sakae gestured for Mika to sit down near him.

“Who will I be fighting?” Shinya asked, as Sakae tossed him a sword— a steel katana, well-balanced, with a dulled edge. It would bruise, but not cut or kill. He had his own talismen, at his waist, hooked into his belt loop.

“You’ll be fighting my daughter, Ichinose Guren.” Sakae called, “Ah, that’s your cue, Guren.”

Daughter?

A young girl, with inky hair that fell to her ears in messy strands, violet eyes sharp, emerged, carrying a katana. She wore a button-down shirt and slacks, and honestly, Shinya thought that Guren did not look any different.

But, daughter? This was… news…

“Don’t even think about going easy on me because I’m a girl,” Guren said, and Shinya thought that no, Guren was definitely the same.

Shinya beamed. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Guren-sama!”

“The rules are simple,” Sakae clarified. “Make the other surrender. Use any tactics, spells or swordsmanship. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Ichinose-sama,” Shinya called, when Guren said, “Yes, Otousan.”

“Then, begin!”

Guren wasted no time; in a flash, a sword met Shinya’s, and a spell talismen was pressed against his blade, while Guren chanted out an incantation. Shinya swept a foot out and knocked Guren off-balance, grabbing the talismen with one hand and tearing it in half, rendering it useless. Shinya pressed his blade hard— the air filled with the grinding of dull steel, and Mika squeaked, “Niichan!” in panic— until his blade pressed against the hilt of Guren’s, and he twisted the steel.

Guren’s blade went flying, and Shinya smacked her with the dulled steel blade hard in the torso. The breath left Guren in an instant, violet eyes flying wide, and Shinya whipped a talisman to his fingers— the incantation left his lips in a single breath, and the talisman exploded in a shower of light, warping into chains and wrapping around Guren’s arms. The spell was a weak one, and with an irritated glare, Guren strained against them and the chains shattered, but that didn’t matter to Shinya. It was only a distraction, something Guren realized a split-second too late.

The real explosion talisman, the strong spell, hit her like a ton of bricks, and she crumpled as her body arched with electricity. It was dulled, weakened by the Ichinose family’s wards, but it was still more powerful that an adult’s spell was normally.

And Shinya grinned, triumphantly, as he pressed the sword to her heart.

“Say you surrender,” He advised, a foot pressing down on her ribs, hard enough to bruise but not harm. “I win.”

“How did you…?” Guren wheezed, looking absolutely furious. “That spell—!”

Sakae clapped.

“Well done, young Shinya. You’re quite talented indeed— the match is his, Guren. Accept defeat with dignity. As for you, Shinya… Very well, I’ll accept your terms,” The Head of Ichinose agreed. “But I have a few of my own you must agree to. We can discuss this in private, yes?”

The terms of their agreement were simple.

One. Shinya would receive enough compensation to adequately provide for himself and Mikaela. They would both attend schooling.

Two. Shinya would serve Guren— as her bodyguard, her aid, her protecter. She didn’t need a protector, Sakae clarified; his daughter was strong enough to protect herself. But Shinya would not be Sakae’s aid, he would be Guren’s.

Shinya was okay with that.

Three. As far as the Hiiragi family was concerned, Shinya was nothing more than a promising boy who had been adopted into the family as a servant. It would remain that way.

Four. Should Shinya ever die, Mika would be provided for.

Guren was not happy about it. At all, really.

“I don’t need an aid,” She said flatly. “Especially him.”

“You’ll be attending middle school soon,” Sakae coerced. “An aide will be helpful.”

Wrong thing to say, Shinya thought, as Guren scowled and bunched her fists up.

“I don’t need help!” She declared, and stormed out. Shinya followed her, out, into the gardens. She whirled and announced, “Stop following me!”

“As the heir of the Ichinose clan, you have to look the part, too.” Shinya hummed. His clothes had been replaced for something nicer, but servantile in nature— a white button down, and slacks, with the crest of Mikado no Tsuki emblazoned on his collar and a sheathed sword and spell talismen arming him. “So it doesn’t matter if you need me— because you don’t, Guren-sama— but I still have to follow you around dutifully. Because I need to act the part of the dutiful servant, and you the dutiful heir, isn’t that right?”

“I am the dutiful heir,” Guren said flatly, but she saw the truth in his words. Shinya knew just how to press Guren already; the subject was always a touchy one. “And what’s with that polite language?”

“You’re my master. I should speak fittingly, shouldn’t I?” Shinya asked, curiously. “If they bother you, I’ll drop them, but it won’t be very socially appropriate.” He smiled, slyly, and added, “Would you rather me call you Himesama? Or maybe Ojosama?”

Guren glared at him, and scolded, “No” , her cheeks reddened faintly.

Shinya laughed. Ah, I’ll never let this go, he thought.

Guren shrugged exasperatedly. She dragged a hand through her short-cropped hair— and really, Shinya thought, if not for the fact that Guren’s voice had changed, he wouldn’t look any different as a girl than a boy; and did it really matter? Guren was Guren, Shinya decided— and huffed a sigh.

“Why are you here, anyways? Don’t you have somewhere better to be? Family or something?”

“None that matter,” Shinya said airily, waving a hand. “I’ve had my sights set on joining a nice family for awhile now. Circumstances just dictated that I did so sooner than I had planned.”

“You knew the name Hiiragi,” Guren said, pausing, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. “How? If you knew the name of the family that ran Mikado no Oni, knew the strength that they possess— and supposedly can beat them— then why come to a lowly branch family like Ichinose?”

“Hmm,” Shinya mused. “I wonder, why? Well, simply put, I’d say that it’s because of Mika.”

Because of you, Guren. But then, you’d say I was crazy if I said that, wouldn’t you?

“The little boy— your brother, isn’t he?” Guren asked, frowning. “What about him?”

“If I die, he’ll be alone,” Shinya said simply. “Part of my contract is that, upon the circumstances of my death, Mika will be provided for. The Hiiragi family would not do that.” Shinya paused. “Your father has agreed to. Ichinose-sama is… quite kind.”

It will be his downfall. It will kill him, Shinya thought, watching as Guren frowned at his words.

“Yes… he is.”

She didn’t sound happy about it.

Mika was bandaging Shinya’s hand when Guren found them.

“What happened to your hand?” She asked warily.

“I cut myself cleaning my blade, that’s all, Himesama,” Shinya brushed the question off, examining Mika’s bandaging. His fingers were small and deft, tying the white strips tightly. “Thank you for being concerned! Ahh, I feel better already!”

“Shut up,” Guren informed him. “I told you not to call me that.”

“Aha, sorry, Guren-sama,” Shinya beamed, as Mika finished his bandaging and said, “Nii chan,” in a scolding, exasperated sort of way.

“Which one of you is the elder?” Guren asked dryly, and Mika laughed delightedly.

“It’s nice to meet you, Guren-sama. You’re here for Niichan, aren’t you?”

“I am,” Guren conceded. “You’re Mikaela-kun, right?”

Mika nodded, and Guren said, “Yes, I am here for your older brother.”

The young blonde smiled and nodded his head sagely. “Okay. I’ll leave, then.”

Guren looked startled, and Shinya knew what Guren did not say out loud. She had been meaning to ask all along for Mika to leave, but wasn’t sure how. Shinya laughed at her expression of shock.

“Mika is a very bright boy, ne~? He picks up on everything!”

“It’s okay,” Mika added, before Guren could add a half-hearted apology. “I have sword lessons soon, so I have to go now, anyways. Sensei will be angry if I’m late!”

Mika left hurriedly, a wooden sword in his hand, and Guren was silent for a single moment afterwards.

“You cast a spell when we sparred,” She stated. “But there are wards here that guard against magic that isn’t Ichinose— so how did you manage to get around them?”

“I didn’t,” Shinya answered, simply, honestly, flexing his fingers. Mika bandaged well; he had plenty of experience from their childhood, and the cut was from a demon-less sword. It was as worrying as a papercut, if that. “The wards weaken my magic, and ability to cast spells, that’s true. But I’m strong enough that I can still use my talismen.”

“You’re lying.” Guren pointed a finger at his talismen, and Shinya followed her gaze. “There’s no way you’re strong enough to overpower the wards.”

“I am. I can teach you, if you’d like,” Shinya offered, with a smile.

Let me teach you how to protect yourself, Shinya wanted to say. I know your weak points. I know where you’ll falter before you do. I don’t want to see you die again— let me teach you to cover the faults in your armor that I normally do, so that when I’m not there, you can protect yourself.

Let me help you.

Guren scoffed. “Learn from an idiot like you?”

“Ah, Himesama, that was cruel,” Shinya winced, putting a hand to his heart dramatically. “But okay, that was bad wording, I admit. How about we spar together? Learn from each other?”

Guren contemplated it for a moment, then nodded. She held a hand out, an offer for him to shake it, to seal the deal.

“Fine. I’ll accept that, Shinya-kun.”

Shinya took her hand and kissed it, like he had many times before, though never in this life.

“Ow, Himesama, that was cruel. All I did was kiss your hand. Did you really need to hit me so hard?”

So you slap me now, Shinya thought mournfully. But you were okay with it when we were both boys?

“Yes,” Guren glared daggers, no remorse as Shinya rubbed his cheek, where a red handprint glowed. “And I told you, don’t call me Himesama.”

Guren in this life was slow to warm to him. She did not want to make small talk, and Shinya could not touch her casually, freely, like he had in their previous lives.

They bonded through the clash of steel on steel, through spilled blood and bruises, sweat and aching muscles. Long nights spent pouring over spells together, teasing teachers that taught too slowly behind their backs.

Shinya had never had a childhood before. He was twelve now— was he even really considered a child anymore? He wasn’t exactly a child anymore, but he thought that this was what it was like to be a child, mostly.

So if he lived alone in an apartment with Mika, if he made meals and paid bills, if he trained for an apocalypse and a war, if he was taunted for serving ‘Ichinose scum’— none of it mattered.

Because this was as close to a childhood as he had ever had. And… it was nice.

Sayuri and Shigure were suspicious of him, initially, for many reasons. Because he never told them his surname— he was Shinya, simply Shinya, to anyone and everyone. The name Shindo was not his to give, after all. And he was not a Hiiragi.

But really, it was mostly because he “was a boy, and he should not have been within ten paces of Guren-sama!”— but Guren dismissed that one fast.

“What does it matter if I’m a girl?” She had growled. “I’m still the heir of Ichinose, and Shinya-kun is my retainer too.”

Shinya gasped dramatically. “Himesama! Are you warming up to me?”

“In your dreams, stupid.” Guren told him flatly, and Sayuri couldn’t resist a laugh.

“Aha! Himesama likes me! I’m so happy!” Shinya declared, with a pleased smile. “Ahh, I could cry!”

“Don’t.”

When they were thirteen, and began the second year of Junior High, the bullying grew worse. It got physical.

Shinya didn’t mind. It was certainly no worse than he was used to. In fact, the bullying was rather docile, he thought, as Seishiro slammed him into the wall. Shinya’s head struck brick and his vision went fuzzy for a minute, but he stayed completely conscious as Seishiro pulled a fist back and punched him in the stomach, hard enough to knock Shinya’s breath away but not enough to do any real damage.

Shinya smiled as Seishiro’s goons laughed, swallowing against his nausea. Seishiro scowled at him.

“Why are you smiling?”

Seishiro, Seishiro, you were my little brother once, too. You came to me during nightmares once, you know, crying and calling me ‘Shinya-niisan’. Ahh, what happened to you? Are you really always destined to be so cruel?

“Aha,” Shinya smiled. “No reason. Just thinking that punch actually tickled a little, is all.”

Seishiro released his collar and Shinya crumpled to the ground. His hands came up to protect his face instinctively as Seishiro lashed out, kicking viciously, hard enough to make Shinya dry-heave. Seishiro kicked him a final time, his shoe splitting the skin above Shinya’s brow, and he said venomously, “Know your place, trash. You don’t dare talk back to me.”

When he left, Shinya stood and staggered to the subway, catching the train back to the Ichinose manor.

“Shinya-kun!” Guren called, and Shinya froze, hand pressed to his tender ribs. Guren stood at the door of the Ichinose manor, eyes wide. “What happened to you…?”

“Ahh, nothing, Himesama,” Shinya grinned, a bloody smile, because his lip was split. “I got into a fight. I lost pretty bad, huh?”

“Liar,” Guren said. “It was them, wasn’t it? It was Mikado no Oni— those damn Hiiragi’s, wasn’t it? Tell me the truth, Shinya-kun!”

“You don’t want to hear the truth,” Shinya whispered. “Guren-sama, it’s fine.”

“Idiot!” Guren yelled, eyes flaming with anger. “It’s not fine! It’s— It’s—”

“It’s fine,” Shinya repeated. “It doesn’t even hurt. Just trust me, okay?”

She held a hand to her short hair, gripping the strands tightly, pulling. “Idiot! Why are you so stupid?”

Shinya shrugged, but did not say a word. Guren bit her lip, and swallowed, then turned and walked away silently.

“Why don’t you fight back, Niichan?” Mika asked him curiously. His hair was longer now, and his cheeks had lost some of the baby’s roundness, as he grew into adolescence. His hands were calloused from swordfighting, and his clothes bore the symbol of Mikado no Tsuki on the collar. “You’re strong enough. More than strong enough. You could beat him in your sleep, Niichan!”

Shinya laughed as Mika placed the bandage over Shinya’s eyebrow, where a nasty cut stretched, courtesy of Seishiro’s beating. “I don’t know about in my sleep. But… we serve the Ichinose family, the lowliest branch family of the mighty Hiiragi’s, and the Ichinose family is despised greatly. So if I were to fight back and to win, the Hiiragi name would be shamed. It would overthrow the social hierarchy, and Ichinose-sama doesn’t want that. So I don’t fight back.”

“I don’t like it that you get hurt,” Mika muttered. “It’s not right.”

“What’s right and what’s not,” Shinya hummed, studying the bandages that wrapped around his ribs and torso in strips, covering the splattering of bruises and scrapes. “That isn’t clear in this world we live in. So, Mika, things like ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ don’t really matter. It’s who  survives that matters.”

Mika sighed. He was almost seven, yet so adult, so grown-up.

“I… I know, Niichan… just… just be careful, okay? Don’t… don’t…”

He was about to cry; Shinya swiped a finger out and wiped away Mika’s tears, beaming.

“Hey, now, none of that!” Shinya said, cheery but softly. “No more tears, Mikaela. I won’t leave you, I promise. So smile for me, won’t you?”

Mika did, a watery smile, and Shinya pulled him up by the hand.

“Alright, then! That’s better! Now, how about I call up Sayuri-chan and see if she’ll take you to go get some ice cream, hmm? I think she’ll do me a favor and take you, just this once.”

Guren showed up at his apartment when Mika was gone, and she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Come with me,” She said. “Just for a little while.”

Shinya was surprised, but he shrugged and donned his sword, though twisting to do so made his ribs scream in protest.

“Alright, Guren-sama,” Shinya said, and followed her obediently. To his surprise, she lead him silently to a forest behind the Ichinose manor— to the clearing, Guren’s special clearing.

She gestured for him to sit, and he did, relaxing in the grass.

Guren took a deep breath, and she said, “I’ve never brought anyone here before. This is my place.”

Shinya understood. Guren was saying, I trust you, I do, in her own way. She was opening up, apologizing, in the only way that she knew how to.

“Thank you for trusting me, Guren-sama,” Shinya said, with the exhale of his next breath. “Thank you. I appreciate it, I do. It means a lot to me—”

“Stop,” Guren said, putting a hand to her forehead. “I’m… I’m not done talking. Did I ever tell you, Shinya-kun, that I knew a Hiiragi? Mahiru. His name was Mahiru. We were best friends— I loved him— and the Hiiragi’s, they took him away, because it wasn’t right for him to associate with Ichinose trash like me. I hate the Hiiragi family— so I don’t care if you lie and say that it doesn’t hurt! Because— because—!”

She was angry, so angry— Shinya had rarely seen Guren so angry. But he smiled, split lip dragging painfully.

“Ahh, Guren-sama, I’m sorry. I—”

And then she was kissing him with all of the fury and the sadness of a thousand lives, and Shinya froze for a moment before he smiled against her lips. Her nose bumped against his painfully, but he didn’t mind.

She drew back and pressed her head into his chest, and she said, “Because it does hurt, stupid. So don’t say that it doesn’t.”

“Hiiragi Mahiru… the boy with the purple hair and eyes? The freshman representitive?” Shinya asked, as if he did not know.

Guren nodded, sadly. “I… I want to save him, Shinya. I want to save Mahiru, from the Hiiragi’s. He… doesn’t belong with them. He isn’t like the rest of them.”

You always do, Shinya thought. And so do I. And it never works, but we always try.

“Then let’s try and save  him,” Shinya promised. “I’ll help you.”

“Niichan, I brought home a friend,” Mika called one night, when he was just seven years old and Shinya was fourteen. “We have to work on a project together, but first, can she play games with us? She’s never played Bomberman before!”

“I don’t see why not,” Shinya conceded, calling his response from the kitchen. “Wait with Sayuri-chan and Shigure-chan, okay? Guren isn’t here yet.”

“Okay, Niichan!”

But the last thing Shinya expected to see when he walked into his living room was a girl with purple hair and a large bow, dressed in a school uniform. She had purple eyes, and a mischievous smile that was carefully made-up, just the right amount of emotion in her expressions.

“You’re Hiiragi Shinoa,” Shinya said, almost dropping his plate with toast and jam on it. “Mika, you brought a Hiiragi home, oh my god.”

“She isn’t bad, Niichan, I promise!” Mika leapt to the defense instantly. “She’s my friend, not a Hiiragi!”

I know she’s not bad, Shinya thought. I changed her diapers.

“That’s not the point, Mika-kun!” Sayuri said, looking at Shinoa, horrified. “You— you—”

“You brought a Hiiragi into the house of a retainer of the Ichinose family,” Sayuri said, rationally. “It’ll look terribly on the Ichinose family— Guren-sama might suffer repercussions for it, if the older Hiiragi’s find out that Shinoa-san associates with you, Mika.”

“That’s stupid!” Mika said, fists curling. “That’s not right! Shinoa is my friend!”

“Everybody calm down,” Shinya said, setting his plate down. His head was beginning to ache. “Stop this. Let’s sort this out before Guren arrives here.”

A murmur of agreement met his words, and Shinya knelt down to look into the eyes of Shinoa, who had watched the scene unfold silently, sadly, solemnly— but unsurprised. She expected this, as a Hiiragi.

“I’m Shinya,” he introduced, smiling. “You already know, but I serve Ichinose Guren-sama. Mikaela is my little brother. Sorry for the commotion, but you surprised us quite a bit.”

Shinoa shrugged. “It’s okay.”

She was used to it, she was a Hiiragi. She didn’t have any real friends. Mika would have approached her, of course he would have.

But it wasn’t okay, and Shinya knew that painfully well.

He reached out a hand and ruffled her hair fondly, ignoring Sayuri and Shigure’s gasps. To touch a Hiiragi so casually was like touching a god— or the devil. “It’s not. But I do need to know some important things before we can play Bomberman, ‘kay?”

“Ask away,” She said, curiously.

“Were you followed?”

“No.”

“Are you bugged?”

“No.”

“Is your family aware that you’re friends with Mika?”

“That’s a stupid question,” Shinoa rolled her eyes. “I don’t want Mika to get hurt. He’s my friend. Why would I tell my family about him? They don’t know he exists. At the moment, they believe I’m at home.”

“You live alone?”

“Yes.”

Shinya nodded, interrogation done, and he bopped her nose. Shinoa wrinkled her nose, and swatted his hand away.

“Okay then, Shinoa-chan. If my brother doesn’t get hurt because of you, you’re welcome here anytime. But you aren’t getting special treatment because you’re a Hiiragi— you’ll help out with the dishes after you eat a meal and you’ll be polite.”

“Yes, Okaasan,” Shinoa crooned, with a smirk.

“I hear your sarcasm.”

“Oh, good. You were meant to.” Shinoa said, as she beamed cheekily. “So, Okaasan, what’s for dinner?”

Guren didn’t say anything about her, after asking if Mahiru was her older brother. She didn’t say a word, not when Shinoa began to show up every night, until it would have been odd to see her not in the apartment.

“Niichan, we’re home,” Mika called, every day, and every day Shinoa would be behind him. Every day, Shinya would say, “Welcome home,” to both of them, and every day, Guren would groan in mock-displeasure, and complain, “The brats are back.”

It never failed; Shinoa always greeted them with, “What’s for dinner?”

“I’m amazed that you put up with Shinya’s cooking for this long,” Guren muttered.

“...Shinya-kun actually cooks quite well,” Shigure conceded.

“You’ll make someone a wonderful housewife someday,” Shinoa crooned, and Mika laughed gleefully.

“Traitor,” Shinya declared, hitting Mika on the head lightly with his chopsticks. “You’d be eating microwave meals without me!”

“No,” Guren droned. “We’d be having Sayuri cook.”

Everyone laughed, and Shinya made a dramatic, overexaggerated noise of betrayal.

Shinoa was not a Hiiragi with them. She was Mika’s friend, and that was that.

Fifteen years old— Mika was still seven, but barely. Shinya had been serving Guren for years now, and the Ichinose manor was home. Next year, they would move to the city for High School, to Shibuya.

Sakae summoned him, and Shinya bowed to his master respectfully before Sakae said, “You know there’s no need for that. Raise your head, Shinya.”

Shinya smiled, a genuine smile, lips tugging upward. “Yes, Ichinose-sama. If I may ask, what did you call me here for? You rarely summon me these days. Have I done something wrong?”

“No,” Sakae said, then rose and waved a hand. “Come on. Walk with me.”

“Yes, Ichinose-sama.” Shinya hummed, and followed him. Sakae lead him to the gardens, which was unsurprising. The Head liked the gardens, and Shinya couldn’t really blame him.

They walked in silence for awhile, and eventually, Sakae said, “I’ve been informed about your relationship with my daughter.”

“Ah. Well, we weren’t trying to hide it or anything,” Shinya shrugged. “Is that what this is about? It’s not in violation with my contract.”

“It isn’t in violation,” Sakae agreed. “And even if it was… you make Guren happy. I wouldn’t forbid you from her in my wildest dreams; it simply wouldn’t happen. Guren is too stubborn. She would rebel against me, probably.” He sighed. “Besides, Shinya, you’re more than just a retainer to us by now. You’re like a son, and you know it.”

Shinya swallowed, abruptly choked up. Nobody had said anything like that to him before. Ever.

“I… I…” He had to catch his breath before he could continue. “That means more to me than you’ll ever know, Ichinose-sama. Thank you.”

A hand reached out and ruffled his hair, fondly, in a paternally affectionate gesture. “You don’t have to thank me for saying something so simple. Just take care of my daughter, Shinya. If you break her heart, she’ll kill you."

Shinya laughed. “I know she will. Guren is scary sometimes, ne?”

“She’s so much like her mother it’s scary.”

I’m like a son? I’m more than just a retainer?

That’s so cruel, Ichinose-sama. You say that to me, and yet, I know when you’ll die— how you’ll die, even. But I cannot prevent it. I just have to live with it, and watch you die.

Ahh, how fair is that?

Shinya was not in Guren’s class. It was the Hiiragi’s doing, he knew, but it still irked him.

But one day, just after they started school, an event that involved the entire school happened. A practice session in the schoolyard.

And Seishiro Hiiragi wanted to fight Guren. Of course.

Shinya would be damned if he let that happen.

“Why not fight me instead?” He asked innocently. “I’m Guren-sama’s retainer. You should spar with me first, right, Seishiro-sama?”

Seishiro narrowed his eyes at Shinya, then scowled. “You’re the trash with the smile. What, learned a few new tricks and now you think you can talk back to me?” He laughed coldly. “I guess I didn’t teach you well enough the first time. I’ll just have to make sure you learn your place. Fine, I’ll fight you.”

“Shinya—” Guren began, worry flashing in violet eyes, just for a moment.

But Shinya just smiled. A smile that said, don’t worry, I won’t fight him for real, I’ll let myself get beat up, I’ll take the blows and I’ll go down in a flashy way, that’ll satisfy the audience.

But I won’t die.

Seishiro broke three of Shinya’s ribs, dislocated his left shoulder, and crushed the bones in his right hand, all with spell talismen to enhance his strength and might. Shinya went down in a shower of blood and gruesome bone-cracking, and the teachers and the students laughed at him, because ‘look at the weakness of the Ichinose family’ .

Guren wept over him in the infirmary, while she thought he slept. Sayuri and Shigure comforted her.

Seishiro did not let Guren out of his sights, however. Because he did not humiliate the Ichinose girl publicly, he would be looking to do it again, Shinya knew.

So Shinya tried to be by Guren’s side at every moment, but that was impossible. He wasn’t able to be at Guren’s side during class, or right after the bell, or the pesky moments he was assigned after-class tasks. But Sayuri and Shigure were working with him, and the three of them normally ensured that someone was always with Guren.

Sayuri and Shigure were with Guren now— Shinya was packing his schoolbag. His classroom was the furthest away from the others, so he was the last to join them. He was alone in the class; nobody wanted to be left with Ichinose retainer scum.

The door slammed open, and Jujo Mito, red hair a vibrant mark, stood in the doorway. Her eyes showcased panic.

“Y-You! You’re the Ichinose retainer— your master—!”

Shinya waited for no more. He left his schoolbag and dashed past Mito, into the hallways, heart speeding up. He can feel the bloodlust, so strong it’s choking.

Seishiro is standing at the end of the hallway. Guren has her back turned, and is speaking to Sayuri— Shinya can read Guren’s lips from here.

“Don’t react.”

Seishiro kicks Guren in the head before Shinya reaches them, and Guren falls, rolling in a clumsy act.

Shinya will not put up with more of it. Shinya slugs Seishiro’s smug face, hard enough that the sound of his knuckles against Seishiro’s jaw echoes through the halls, no enhancements, no demons, just brute force.

It felt amazing, and terrible at the same time.

Seishiro staggered, and his followers shrieked and dove for Shinya immediately, baying for blood. But Shinya ducked and wove, avoiding them with expertise, and Seishiro wiped at his bloody mouth with a glare and growled, “Stop. I’ll fight him alone.”

Seishiro followers backed away, and Guren said, “Shinya, stop!”

“Sorry, sorry, Himesama,” Shinya said. "But I can’t do that this time. Sayuri, Shigure, take Guren-sama and go.”

Shinya didn’t think they left, but he couldn’t waste more time. He whipped a talismen out and breathed an incantation, flying forward and driving a fist enchanted with the spell forward. He heard the sickening crack of breaking ribs, and Seishiro stumbled. But Shinya was angry now, and he kicked and punched, beating and beating until Seishiro was bloody—

“Stop him!” Someone shrieked, one of the other students, perhaps a teacher, but Shinya’s fury was something to be reckoned with, and he twisted Seishiro’s wrist until it snapped.

One of Seishiro’s followers tried to grab him and restrain him, but Shinya dropped, becoming dead weight and rolling, twisting his arms free and punching out, sending the follower stumbling back with a split lip and a bruised jaw. Shinya kicked and Seishiro cried out, blood splattering the tiled floor of the hall—

And a blade was drawn, level with him, at his face. Guren’s blade, an Ichinose blade, and she commanded, “Stop.”

Shinya stopped. His fists were covered in crimson, his shoes were coated in it, and his school uniform was effectively ruined with the splatter. Seishiro was a mess, beaten severely and bloody, but nothing that would kill him. Lots of broken bones, Shinya thought. Lots of cuts and broken skin, lots of bruises. That’s it.

“Yes, Guren-sama.” Shinya responded, cheerily.

“We’re going home now, Shinya, Sayuri, Shigure,” Guren commanded. They walked through the hallways swiftly, Shinya covered in Seishiro’s blood, the blood of the school’s god, and the students whispered, monster, look at him, how did he do that? “Pull Mika out of school, Shigure, and bring him home. Be swift, and do not be seen. Warn Shinoa, if you can, that she’s to be careful, and we won’t think twice if she can’t make it. Make sure to tell her, Shigure, that we understand, that it’s okay.”

“Yes, Guren-sama,” Shigure said, glancing at Shinya as they emerged from the school building, then she disappeared in the other direction.

Shinya stared at his red-stained hands, and he thought, monster, huh.

Fitting, isn’t it?

“What if you were hurt?” Guren asked him, furious, as Shinya unbuttoned his bloody shirt and handed it to Sayuri, who promised to throw it in the wash. “You fool!”

“Ah, so you’ve said,” Shinya hummed. “But I wasn’t going to put up with Seishiro’s jerkass attitute towards you anymore. Hitting you was the last straw. That’s something you don’t do.”

“Hypocrite!” Guren chided, waving a hand at Shinya. “What did you say to me— ‘it’s okay, it doesn’t hurt’ ? Talk about a double standard! The Hiiragi’s will have your head!”

“I know,” Shinya shrugged. “I don’t care.”

“How can you say that?” Guren asked, with fists curled.

Shinya smiled sadly.

“Because it was for you, wasn’t it? I’d rather die than let someone hurt you, Guren.”

The Ichinose family took precautions. They were prepared for the rebuttals, for the repayment of Shinya’s actions, yet not a soul blamed him for doing what they had all longed to do for so long.

Defend their master, defend Guren.

But no orders came. Life continued— Shinoa showed up at the apartment, looking pale, and she announced that Seishiro had been admitted to the hospital, but that he was perfectly stable, and would return to school in a few days. Their father was angry, but not at Shinya; at Seishiro, for losing to worthless Ichinose trash, for being weak.

The school hierarchy was thrown completely off-kilter. Seishiro was no longer the reigning power, and though the Hiiragi’s still controlled the school, there was a certain respect that the Ichinose family carried— no, not respect.

Fear.

Shinya, especially. He was feared by everyone. The teachers did not acknowledge him, but nor did they pick on him— they flinched when he was around, no longer called him or his companions ‘Ichinose trash’ to his face.

But Shinya was not feared by everyone. Jujo Mito approached him, head held high, the day he returned to school, and she said, “You did well, to defend your master like that.”

“Thank you, Jujo-sama,” Shinya said, tone carefully submissive. It was always like that. He was well-trained in the art of servitude. “But I don’t deserve your praise. I did what was expected of me, and it was only thanks to your help that I was able to arrive before the situation escalated into something worse.”

Mito scowled. “There you go again. Why do you talk like that? I’m from the mighty Jujo family, but I’m not a Hiiragi. Why do you call me -sama? Why not -san, like everyone else?”

“Because I’m simply a retainer for the House of Ichinose,” Shinya stated. “It wouldn’t be right for me to speak to someone of higher rank so casually, right?”

“That kind of talk is self-deprecating,” Goshi hummed, jumping into their conversation. He offered Shinya a cocky grin that suggested no fear, and said, “Yo. I’m sure you know me already, but I’m Goshi Norito.”

Shinya inclined his head. It hurt to meet his friends, as it did in every life, and they did not remember him. But that was okay.

It would always be okay.

“I remember, Goshi-sama. We once sparred together, remember?”

“Yeah, and you went down with one punch,” Goshi snorted. “Faker— I saw your fight yesterday. Drop the submissive act! Man, why didn’t you say that you were so strong?”

Shinya re-made two friends that day. Mito and Goshi finally joined them, and their group was finally complete.

“You’ve changed the social hierarchy,” Sakae mused, one night, as they walked in the gardens.

“I didn’t,” Shinya argued weakly.

“You have. They don’t taunt me quite so much at the meetings. I don’t get beat quite so often. My opinion was asked for, once or twice, even if it was scornfully.” Sakae smiled. “You’ve changed the way the Hiiragi family runs things, Shinya. And they don’t like it, but they can’t change it, can’t reverse what you’ve done.”

Sakae laughed. “You’re amazing."

“I’m no such thing,” Shinya smiled, just a tug of his lips upward. “You’re exaggerating again, Ichinose-sama.”

“I’m not,” Sakae said. “You’re the catalyst that Mikado no Tsuki has been waiting centuries for.”

Shinya laughed sheepishly. “Aha, Ichinose-sama, that’s too much.”

“It’s not enough,” Sakae said, firmly. “Thank you, Shinya-kun. For finally standing up the the Hiiragi’s. For protecting my child like I never had been able to— no, never have, I thank you.”

Shinya blinked, and his eyes were wet. But Sakae was not finished— he ruffled Shinya’s hair, in the same fondly paternal gesture, and he said, “Guren chose well.”

Shinya’s sixteenth birthday was expected to be a quiet affair— it was not, to his mild dismay. Sakae called them all home, to Aichi, and they celebrated there.

It was a rather grand affair. Shinoa snuck out, tagging along with Mika, and Goshi and Mito came, also in secret. They weren’t allowed to visit the Ichinose manor, but it wasn’t hard to sneak around their parents. And, the told Shinya, it was fine.

Because it was for a friend, right?

They ate cake, Shinya received a few gifts from his friends and family— Mika gave him a photo collage, which was both adorable and mildly saddening, because Shinya could only think of the people that were missing from the photos, and his smile was a little sorrowful— and it was, surprisingly, relatively normal. There were no demons, no vampires, no Hiiragi interruptions.

It was just Shinya, his family, and his friends. It was easily the best birthday that he had ever had, and most of the time he didn’t even celebrate the day he was born; why would he?

Until, that is, Goshi nudged Guren and said, “What, you didn’t get Shinya anything?”

“Goshi, I didn’t ask for anything,” Shinya sighed, and Shinoa laughed. Mika snickered, but he concealed it much better, behind his glass of juice.

“So cold, Guren!” Shinoa said dramatically. “You didn’t get poor Shinya anything ?”

“Of course I did,” Guren snapped, but her face was abruptly flushed and Shinya froze, curious now. Everyone was silent, waiting for further elaboration, and Guren looked torn between wanting to possibly hit Goshi and possibly dying of embarrassment right then and there.

This is going to be good, Shinya thought.

Finally, Guren huffed, and said, “Otousan always said you’re like a son, right?”

“Well, I mean, yes…” Shinya said, hesitantly, unsure of where this was going exactly. Mika had tensed beside him. “But… I don’t see what…”

“So how would you like to be adopted into the Ichinose family as a son?” Sakae asked, jumping into the conversation, saving them all the secondhand embarrassment of Guren’s muttering. “You and Mika both. Guren has to be married eventually, after all, and I can think of no better candidate.”

Mika was as still as a statue, but a cold hand found his under the table, and Mika’s fingers were trembling.

“Whoa— are you actually crying?” Goshi asked, panicked, and Shinya blinked, startled at the question.

Ah. There were indeed tears on his face— he was crying.

“Does the thought of marrying me bother you that much?” Guren droned tonelessly. “I may not be able to cook, but I can do normal things, you know. I’m not incompetent, if that’s what—”

Shinya threw his arms around Guren, buried his face in short black hair, and he cried into Guren’s hair, “I love you. I’ll cook for you every day, whatever you want. I don’t care if you can’t do normal things. I love you.”

Mika worked his way into the hug after a moment, crying his eyes out. Mito, Goshi, Sayuri, and Shigure all looked confused— but then, of course they would. They didn’t know about shitty parents, and that was okay.

They didn’t know what it meant to be chosen , not for genes but for love.

Shinya is careful. He knows what event will happen soon: the Thousands Nights will attack the school. Guren will struggle against Noya, and the Apocalypse will begin with Sakae being imprisoned and later executed.

He must prevent it. He will.

So Shinya pours into Ichinose research, helps speed their research along, the research that would save Guren when he struggled against Noya. Information that Shinya already knew, from past lives.

And he vows to himself, I will not let Otousan die.

His vow is reinforced when he sees Mika laugh, so happily, when he signs his name and introduces himself as ‘Ichinose Mikaela’.

His vow is reinforced when he sees Guren roll her eyes, but fondly speak to Sakae, taking the small moments for granted, the moments that Shinya knows Guren will weep for later.

His vow is reinforced when Sakae ruffles his hair and tells him that he is proud of Shinya’s progress, and for the first time in Shinya’s life, when someone praises him, there is no ulterior motive behind the praise. It is true, and genuine, and he thinks, I am not a Hiiragi, because Hiiragi’s do not need familial affection, that is how I was raised. But I want this, I need this, please, let me have this,

It did not last. Things never did, so Shinya was not surprised, but he was so unbelievably happy while it did, that it hurt so unbelievably bad when things went downhill.

When they were sixteen, Shinya knew exactly what to do, exactly how to save Guren when Guren struggled against Noya. Shinya saved Guren, and Sakae never turned himself over to Kureto.

But Kureto did not let the incident go, no.

He took Shinya instead, on the charges of conducting forbidden research into demon weapons.

Shinya was on his knees on the floor of his cell, ankles and hands chained, chest bare. Kureto paced his cell, watching him coldly.

“Adopted son, Ichinose Shinya, fiance to Ichinose Guren. Birth name, Shindo Shinya. Half-Russian, half-Japanese. Exceptionally talented in both spells and swordsmanship. Perfect marks in academics, always in peak physical condition, seldom ill.” Kureto’s crimson eyes seemed to bore holes in Shinya’s soul. “We had our eyes on you when you were a child. You would have been adopted into one of the retainer families of Hiiragi, or perhaps even the main family, as a mate for Shinoa, when the time came. But you vanished from the radar, and reappear now as the retainer of the Ichinose family.”

I’ll die before I’d be Shinoa’s mate. She’s my baby sister.

“You sure know everything about me,” Shinya said cheerily. His lips were chapped, and his throat dry. He’d been in solitary confinement for five days before they decided to question him— they’d tried to break him mentally, through isolation, but Shinya didn’t mind isolation. He didn’t like it, but it wouldn’t drive him crazy, either. “What do you need me for then, hmm, Hiiragi Kureto-sama?”

“At least you know your place,” Kureto observed, flatly. “And my name. How do you know who I am?”

“Everyone knows who you are,” Shinya said, which was close enough to the truth. “I would be a fool to not know who you are, when I attend the same school that you had, Kureto-sama.”

Kureto seemed to mull this over.

“Fair point. I will accept that, even though you lie, because it could be the truth, in any other circumstances.” Kureto stopped just in front of Shinya, staring down at him coldly. “Second question. How did you end up with the Ichinose family?”

“None of your business,” Shinya replied cheerily, which was the wrong answer.

Kureto's eyes narrowed, and he ordered, coldly, “Do it.”

Shinya was a Hiiragi at heart, if not by name. He’d been trained to withstand torture in every life that he bore the name Hiiragi— since birth, in the life that he had been born with the brand. So his cheerful grin stayed, even when the whip cracked down on his back and Shinya arched instinctively. The whip cracked against his skin three more times, until four bleeding lashes stood stark against his skin.

“Try again. How did you end up with the Ichinose family?” Kureto asked again, but he looked puzzled. Shinya had not cried out, had not reacted at all, other than arching his back.

Shinya laughed. “Aha, I ran away from home. Such a pity, hmm? I’ve got a rebellious streak.”

Kureto waved his hand, and the whip cracked against his skin in another series of four lashes. But any cry of pain was killed inside Shinya’s throat, and his expression did not change, his smile wide and bright.

“Kureto-sama,” He said, in a voice that was almost singing. “You’ll have to do better than that if you’re trying to break me.”

A challenge. Kureto scowled, then turned and walked away, out of Shinya’s cell, with a final order of, “Break him.”

They couldn’t break him by whipping him, they found soon. After the first week, they moved on to other methods. Starvation, water deprivation, sleep deprivation. When that didn’t work— Shinya had grinned and informed Kureto to be more creative— they had tried different methods.

Ripping his fingernails out. Breaking his fingers, when that didn’t work. Torturing him with talismen, making his body run with so much of the magical electricity Shinya would black out.

But he never gave any information. Shinya never spoke a word of importance, and it irritated Kureto to no end.

“Brotherhood of a Thousand Nights and the Hiiragi family have reached an agreement. A partnership, if you will. But Mahiru holds key information,” Kureto told him, once. “She must be executed.”

“Only to be expected,” Shinya mused. “I bet Guren will have to kill Mahiru, won’t she? I bet that if she doesn’t, I’ll be executed. Within the month, probably. Do me a favor. Tell her, I don’t mind. I’m fine.”

Kureto doesn’t ask how Shinya knows. He knows, by now, that Shinya will not answer. Instead, he observes Shinya’s bloody and bruised state, and he raised an eyebrow.

“I do not believe that she would consider this ‘fine’. Those of Ichinose are soft. You are rather peculiar, but then, you were adopted. Tell me, though. Why do you not mind?”

Soft, hm? No, the Ichinose clan is not ‘soft’. They are just a different sort of strong, and you are a fool to not see that, Kureto-niisan.

Shinya beamed. “Guren’s cooking is terrible, see. The food here is three-star, at least.”

Shinya kept careful track of the days. It was the twenty-ninth. He would be executed in two days. Well, Shinya didn’t really mind.

Lies. Shinya did not want this life to end.

But then, Kureto came in with a cellphone, and Shinya remembered. A phone call. He was supposed to call Guren.

Shinya did.

It rang two times, then went through. Shinya spoke first, cheerily, sunny.

“Guuureen!”

“Shinya?”

“How are you doing?” Shinya asked, shifting his cellphone in bandaged hands. “How are the others? Otousan? Mika? Sayuri? Shigure? Mito? Goshi?”

“...we miss you,” Guren said. “We’re alright. How about you, Shinya? How are you doing?”

“Aha, I’m doing fine! In fact, the food here is pretty darn great, let me tell you!”

“That… that’s great,” Guren said, in a voice that sounded on the verge of tears. Shinya thought that his voice sounded the same, but it was a little dryer, a little weaker. Even so, there was nothing he could do about that.

“Hey, Guren. Don’t worry.”

“...” Guren was silent for a moment. “...So, what is it?”

“Nothing,” Shinya teased. “I just wanted to hear my cute fiancee’s voice, and to tell you not to worry.”

“I’m not cute.”

“You’re unbearably cute,” Shinya insisted, studying his bandages absentmindedly. He had bleed through them again. “Absolutely adorable.”

“Stupid. I can’t believe I’m going to marry you .”

“Guuureen, that’s mean,” Shinya pouted. “I’m going to be a great husband!”

“You’ll be sickeningly sweet all of the time,” Guren said flatly. “You’ll want to do those awful couple-things. You’ll be the perfect housewife, ironically. You’ll be a perfect father, like you’re a perfect brother to Mika.” Guren’s voice broke. “Which is why I’m definitely going to save you. So just wait a little while longer— just wait a little while longer, and I promise, I won’t complain once when you wake me up at godforsaken hours to watch the sun rise or take me on those cheesy-ass dates that I would always refuse to go on. So… so just hang on, Shinya. Wait for me a little while longer.”

“I’ll wait for you forever, Guren,” Shinya promised, and their call cut off.

His execution date came to pass with Guren, staring at him with eyes that had dark circles beneath them, signs of sleepless nights and overwhelming guilt.

“Hey, Guren! Long time, no see, huh?” Shinya beamed, holding out his hands, an invitation for a hug.

“...your hands,” Guren said.

“Hmm?” Shinya asked, not quite understanding.

“Your hands,” Guren repeated, numbly. “Your fingers are broken, aren’t they? The nails are missing, I can tell from the bloodstains.”

“Ah, no, it’s nothing,” Shinya waved a hand. “Come here. We don’t have much time, right? So come here, and hug me. I haven’t seen you in forever, geez.”

“It’s only been a month,” Guren said, walking forward and embracing him. Shinya’s body screamed in protest when Guren’s touch sent the whip lashes and the burns bleeding anew under his bandages, but he did not wince, or react at all. “But it feels longer."

Shinya smiled. “Ah, what’s the saying? Distance makes the heart grow fonder? Well, it’s true. I think I love you more.”

“You’re even sappier than before. Is that even possible?” Guren asked, trying to keep up Shinya’s lighthearted air, but her voice cracked and broke.

Shinya kept on smiling, running his fingers through her hair.

“Hey, now. None of that. This will be the last time we see each other, right? So let’s not part with tears.”

“It’s the last time we see each other because I failed,” Guren sobbed miserably.

“You didn’t fail,” Shinya soothed. “The subordinates get to live, don’t they? It’s a win, then. I was always going to be killed, in the end. It’s just how the Hiiragi’s work. So don’t cry, Guren.”

“It’s all my fault. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry, idiot,” Shinya reprimanded, wiping away tears. “It’s my mistake that got me in this situation. But you know what? I don’t regret it at all. I’d do it again. Because I ended up here, with you, by making that choice. So I can die happy knowing that— so don’t cry, Guren. Don’t cry for me.”

“Get out,” A guard announced. “It’s time to execute Ichinose Shinya.”

Guren cried a little harder, and Shinya held Guren tighter, then kissed the top of Guren’s head and released Guren.

“Let me see a smile,” Shinya said, as the lead him away. “I love you, Guren.”

Guren smiled, and called out through tears, “I love you!”

Shinya’s execution was broadcast everywhere. His beheaded body lay, unattended, the Ichinose family’s mess to clean up.

Guren’s phone buzzed. She picked it up.

“We’ll send someone to clean up the body, Guren. Don’t go near it.”

“It’s okay, Otousan,” Guren said, smiling. The cameras were still broadcasting, after all. “It’s okay. It would be unsightly of me to leave the body. I will clean it up.”

“Guren, stay where you are—”

Guren hung up and shut off her phone, tucking it away. She walked to the bloody body, and she cradled the severed head, closing her eyes for a moment.

Smiling. Shinya was always smiling, even now. So Guren smiled, too, and tapped into Noya’s power, carrying the body of her deceased fiance alone.

“...it’s okay, Shinya,” Guren said, with her soft smile. “It’s okay. You don’t have to smile anymore. I’ll smile for you.”

Chapter Text

And what if you’re already perfectly happy without me?

As a child in this life, Hiiragi Shinya thought. It was the only thing to occupy him, while he trained and killed. He thought about what to do.

He had a family. But what exactly was that family? It was different every time.

When he was one of them, by blood, he had considered Kureto his brother. Seishiro had loved him, familially, and Shinya had been a doting older brother. Mahiru was his closest confidant, his best friend, his sister— in other lives, she gave spared his life, and then became his worst enemy when she became Guren’s downfall. In other lives, they certainly did not consider Shinya their family, but he would always remember the lives where they did, and they were always his family.

Shinoa, the little girl that, no matter what, he would always protect. Because she was alone, and nobody deserved that.

Yuichirou, Shihou, Yoichi, Mitsuba. They were as good as his children, had fondly called him ‘Shinya-nii’ and ‘Papa’ in Sanguinem, and they barely knew him in most lifetimes, other than by association with Guren. But Shinya would never forget the dried tears and the blood in Sanguinem; they were his family, and he would always protect them.

Mikaela, the brother by blood that was always lost to the vampires, that Shinya had left alone for so long, too long, and it made his heart hurt. The brother that suffered at the hands of their parents without Shinya, and now, suffered at the hands of the Hyakuya Sect. If history remained on course, Mika would be damned to eternal hell, as a vampire. Shinya knew how it felt, to resist the bloodlust, to be a monster , and he would do anything to save Mika from that, in this life.

The people of the Ichinose clan, Ichinose Sakae especially, who took Shinya in at his weakest moment and gave him a real home to return to,  a familial affection, a semblance of a childhood, always-welcome arms; so many things that Shinya had never known before, and craved now. It was, arguably, the best life he’d ever lived.

His friends, his dear comrades. Sayuri, Shigure, Mito, Goshi. The family that chose him, over and over, that always stood by him, through thick and thin. The people that laughed and cried and bled with Shinya, through so many lives. He would die for them in a heartbeat.

Guren. Guren was so much more, it hurt to think about him sometimes. Guren was the one that Shinya lived for, breathed for, the one that gave Shinya a reason to live instead of just waiting to die. He was family, he was love, he was so many things it was impossible to put it into words.

All of them were family. Yet, in every life, Shinya was never able to save them all. It was impossible— to save some, he had to let go of some, and it killed him.

Shinya closed his eyes and listened to his own soft breathing.

What can I do, he thought, to save my family?

There was no way to save them all, was there? It seemed not, at least, not that Shinya could think of. One way or another, in every life, every last member of his family fell victim some way or another.

A common thread. Isn’t there a common thread, that harms them, every time? The Hiiragi family— no, not them. That’s not right.

The vampires? ...no, that’s not right, either. In fact, I don’t hate all vampires. Krul is unbelievably kind, Lacus is bloodthirsty and foolish but faithful to his friends, René hates humans as anything but livestock but wouldn’t dare disobey an order, completely loyal to those he deems worthy of his respect.

The Hyakuya Sect? Yes… Yes, because… the Seraph of the End experiments caused the end of the world, and the Hiiragi family only continued what they began. So yes. That’s true, isn’t it? If the end of the world never happened, the biggest issue would be the Hiiragi’s…

Shinya huffed a sigh. The Hiiragi’s… they are my family too, aren’t they? If I can find a way to eliminate the Hyakuya Sect early on… or at the very least, weaken them beyond repair… will it save my family?

His head was beginning to hurt.

Ahh, I don’t know…  I’m not sure anymore what to do…

It always ended terribly in his past lives. It always failed, Shinya’s plans, in the end; there were always casualties, people he loved and cherished were always lost. He always died, in the end. He was so old, yet so young; he had never seen his thirtieth birthday before, and doubted that he ever would. It was only a few years older than he had been the first time he had died, but it was so unreachable, a distant goal, a dream. Something that was foolish to even think about, because it would never happen; Shinya would always die before then.

What should I do? If everybody dies in the end… is there even a point in living…?

No, that was a foolish thought— of course there was a point in living. His reason for living, for breathing every breath, for every beat of his heart, was Guren and Shinya’s family.

But his mind remained unsettled, unreassured.

How to destroy the Hyakuya Sect, Shinya plotted, while he was a captive of childhood. The Hiiragi’s were not strong enough to do it, even if Shinya somehow managed to tip them off and provide them adequate information, which would raise too many questions.

Who else? Shinya needed strength—

A memory came to mind:

“You’ll be immensely powerful, even among vampires,” Krul promised. “And… you’ll be able to find your precious family.”

It was always the vampires that held the real strength. Shinya needed that strength again, but how? He couldn’t become Sanguinem’s captive, for sure. But he couldn’t stay powerless. He needed that strength, that power, again. And, for the same purpose— to save his family.

The thoughts brought a swell of helplessness, an overwhelming feeling of panic, so Shinya breathed out and in, slowly, softly. He could not allow himself to have a panic attack now.

Guren was not here to help him through one, after all.

Shinya was alone.

Hiiragi Shinya won the competition, like always— and stayed in the Hiiragi family for less than a day. He murdered the people of Mikado no Oni at nighttime, before he could be transferred to the Hiiragi manor. Of course, he was not under surveillance, any longer; why would he be? Now, he was a prestigious Hiiragi. The Mikado no Oni people even used the suffix ‘-sama’.

Shinya escaped, and made his way to Kyoto, alone.

Shinya was exhausted— his clothes were dirty, and his muscles ached from evading Mikado no Oni nonstop for days, but he had made it to the vampire city of Sanguinem, and he couldn’t help but think of the irony.

Once, he had been so desperate to escape, and now, he had come back.

He walked into the cool, dark tunnel, and he was greeted almost immediately by an irritated voice.

“Haven’t you ever been told not to wander from your parents, boy?” A voice purred. It belonged to a vampire with long blonde hair in spiral curls, who watched him curiously.

Thirteenth Progenitor. She belongs to the faction of Crowley Eusford. What was her name… Skuld? Horn Skuld?

Shinya did not move, yet, to draw his sword or a talisman.

“My parents are dead— to me, at least.” He remarked. “They weren’t very nice people, anyways. So no, I wasn’t.”

A new voice remarked, laughing, “Aha, Horn, I don’t think a livestock has ever had the nerve to talk back before! And live, anyways.”

Movement, from the new voice that had spoke, and Shinya moved instinctively— his sword came up just in time to block the blow of the sword blade that descended. His arms nearly buckled under the pressure, but the vampire— a woman with iris-colored hair and red eyes; Thirteenth Progenitor Chess Belle— was just toying with him, and did not apply enough force to break his bones.

“Woah!” Chess exclaimed, eyes wide, studying Shinya as he grit his teeth under her strength and forced himself not to buckle, even when his bones screamed and his muscles trembled. “Crowley-sama! Did you see that? The livestock actually moved fast enough to block me!”

“Stop!” Shinya gasped, pressing against his sword. He could not let this life end, no, he still had to try and save his family. He would not die here. “Stop! I want to meet with our— your Queen, Third Progenitor Krul Tepes-sama!”

He added the honorific reflexively, and cursed himself for his slip-up, induced by his panic. He had called Krul our queen, a horrible mistake. Shinya never made mistakes like those— his boundaries were so clear between lives, he never let his past affections slip into conversation. Yet the thought of Krul— the kindest master he had ever had, the one he would willingly bow his head to, be a dog eagerly for — but it had the intended effect, and Chess looked startled, her strength faltering.

Unfortunatly, his arms finally gave out, and Shinya stumbled, wincing, as the First-Class blade sliced his skin and—

Stopped. Crowley held the blade, with his own hand, ignoring the blood that pooled in his palm. Chess looked panicked, and Horn downright startled.

“Crowley-sama—!”

“Hush for just a moment,” Crowley said, red eyes focusing on Shinya, who was examining the cut on his arm. It cut to the bone, but did not break it, and Shinya was not in any danger of bleeding to death immediately. The pain from where the skin had been essentially peeled away from his bone was agonizing, but certainly not unbearable. Crowley saw the way he dismissed the wound, and frowned. “Little livestock. Boy. Why don’t you cry, hmm?”

“Crying is for children,” Shinya shrugged. “It doesn’t hurt unbearably, and I won’t bleed to death immediately, so it doesn’t really matter, ne?”

Crowley tilted his head to the side, confused.

“...you aren't a demon, so you won’t heal, and there’s no reason you should have been able to react fast enough to block Chess’s strike… so how did you do it?” Crowley reached out, grabbed Shinya by the shirtfront and hauled him up. “How do you know the name of the Queen, little livestock?”

Shinya did not react at all. Instead, he smiled, a small smile, and he said two simple words.

“Ashera Tepes.”

Crowley released Shinya like he had been burned. With a frown again, he said, “I don’t like your smile. You smile like Ferid— the smile that means you know something I don’t, that you’re plotting five steps ahead.” He sighed. “But I can’t kill you after that. Fine, boy. Stand up, and I’ll lead you to the Queen.”

Shinya stood, wrapping a hand around his arm where the cut was, applying pressure. It hurt like hell, but he would try and stop the blood. He needed to be conscious to talk to Krul, after all, and he had no demon to assist him in healing his wounds. He was, painfully, human.

“Very well, Progenitor-san,” Shinya said, with a smile that hid his pain, as Crowley and his aides led him into the streets of the vampire city that Shinya knew so well.

“This is called Sanguinem,” Crowley hummed, watching Shinya curiously from the corner or narrowed eyes. Vampires flooded the streets at the smell of Shinya’s blood, to watch him walk with his back straight and his head held high next to a Thirteenth Progenitor that did not lay a hand on him, but seemed almost wary of him.

I know, Shinya thought, but he said nothing. He walked silently, as his vision blurred and the blood loss grew worrying, and he began to stagger.

They were at the foot of Krul’s manor, so grand, and Shinya gazed upon it fondly. He smiled, and thought,

Tadaima, master.

Then his vision went black, and his tiny, ten-year-old body crumpled to the stone streets of Sanguinem, clothes soaked in his blood.

When Shinya awoke, he was in a coffin. Which was a little startling, but he had slept in a coffin for his entire lifetime as a vampire, so it wasn’t uncomfortable. To top it off, his arm was neatly bandaged, and someone was pacing. He could hear the footsteps on the floor, graceful and delicate.

“It isn’t like you to take such a liking to a human child, Krul-sama,” A voice said, the voice of Ferid Bathory, which made Shinya’s blood run cold. He kept his breathing light and even, feigning sleep.

“Shut up, Ferid,” Krul hissed, agitation and irritation bleeding into her voice. “You heard what Crowley said. He fought off Chess Belle, a Seventeenth Progenitor. A mere human boy, with a toy sword made of steel.”

“Are you sure it isn’t because he spoke of your dear brother?” Ferid said, and the pacing stopped. There was the sound of tearing flesh and spraying blood, and Ferid let out a strangled gasp.

“H-Hey now, Krul-sama, d-don’t you think that’s doing a little far—”

“If you don’t leave now,” Krul warned, with a voice of ice and steel. “It will be your heart next.”

“Very well, my Queen,” Ferid said, and there was the sound of a door shutting, softly. Shinya continued his facade, breathing softly and feigning sleep, as Krul walked back to him.

A hand descended on his forehead, small and cool, and Krul sighed.

“How do you know my brother’s name? How do you you have the strength to fight off Progenitors?”

Her voice dropped into a whisper, barely audible.

“How do I know you?”

Shinya’s heartbeat fluttered, speeding up at Krul’s words. His blood ran cold— what did she mean? Know him? Did that mean— did she remember?

Am I not the only one? He thought, the thought painfully hopeful. He shut it down immediately; hope like that only hurt him in the end, and Shinya had long since dismissed the idea. He didn’t know why, but he was the only one that remembered, always. Hope only hurt.

But… what if this time, it’s true?

“I hear your heartbeat,” Krul said flatly, withdrawing her hand like Shinya had burned him. She ‘tsk’ed. “So you were awake, and just feigning sleep? Clever boy.”

Shinya opened his eyes. Krul stood above him, where he lay in the coffin— Krul’s coffin, which miffed Shinya a little. Krul’s mansion was vast, and she had rooms for guests, yet she had put him to rest in her own coffin?— red eyes and pink hair the only thing he could see in the dark, except for the faint outline of her pale skin. His eyes were merely human, with no vampire enhancements, no demon assistance, and the room was pitch-black, built for the comfort of vampires, who could see easily in the dark.

His former master looked irritated, but also mildly bemused. She studied him intently, missing nothing.

“I was not awake for long, Krul-sama,”  Shinya promised. “I have only caught the end of your conversation with your companion. I faked sleep only out of fear, Your Majesty.”

Krul did not believe him, Shinya already knew, from the tense air around her.

“You called me with the proper respects,” Krul said, finally. “You know who I am, but I am in the dark, and that is not something I like. However, I have treated you fairly, when I should have killed you, an intruder in my city; your wounds are treated, and you’re well-rested. In return, you will answer my questions, clearly and concisely, and do so when I ask. If you do so, we will decide your fate from there.”

Ah, you haven’t changed at all, Krul, Shinya thought, fondly.

He said, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“What is your name, boy?” Krul asked, immediately. “How old are you?”

“I am Shinya,” He introduced. Anticipating her next question, he said, “Officially, Hiiragi Shinya, of Mikado no Oni. But I assume I’ve been branded a traitor by now, and have an execution order on my head, so just Shinya is fine. I… I think that I am ten.”

“Think?” Krul asked, dangerously. Shinya elaborated.

“I am not aware of the date. I assume that my tenth birthday has already passed.”

Krul pursed her lips, and paused. “I do not know the exact date, either. Time is… a fickle thing, for vampires. I do not track it like humans do, but I believe that it is winter, of the year 2006.”

“I am ten, then,” Shinya confirmed.

She announced, “Why did you come to me, child of Mikado no Oni? We vampires have no interest in human affairs.”

“I want to make a deal with you, Krul-sama,” Shinya admitted, brutally honest. His plan would either work, or it would not; sweet words had no part in it.

“A deal?” Krul laughed dryly. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a livestock with such nerve. What do you have to offer me, human child?”

“Information on Ashera Tepes,” Shinya said, ghosting his good hand over his bandages. “Your brother, and his current whereabouts. Information about the Seraph of the End experiments, and the Hyakuya Sect— or, as they are also known, the Brotherhood of a Thousand Nights. Information on the Apocalypse that will occur, and wipe out much of humanity if someone does not stop it, and it will certainly not be the humans, because we are the ones who will cause it.”

Krul was silent, dismayed. Then, she said, “...ten years old, a mere human. How do you know all of this?”

“I was raised inside of Mikado no Oni, but that does not mean that I am loyal to them,” Shinya shrugged, evading the answer, I have lived so many times, died so many times. “I am just a foster son. But I had wealths of information at my disposal, and I memorized them.”

“How do I know that you do not lie?” Krul asked, skeptically. “How can I trust your information?”

Shinya breathed out a breath he did not know he had been holding.

Krul did not kill me right off the bat. I have a chance.

“I can prove it,” Shinya promised. “I’ll give you the information you long for most, about your brother, Ashera Tepes. But when my information proves good, you have to swear to listen to my demands.”

“I have to swear to nothing,” Krul said, with slitted eyes and a growl.

A threat, Shinya realized, and almost laughed. I’ve had my blood drained, my bones broken, my skin whipped, electrocuted magic— you can’t break me, Krul.

You’re far too kind for that.

“I will break to no torture,” Shinya warned. “My information will die with me, and that is why you will listen to my terms.”

“You are a child,” Krul said, unemotionally. “Children know nothing.”

But she sounded unsure.

“Ashera Tepes is now known as Asuramaru,” Shinya began, exhaling and closing his eyes. “He has been captured and put to use inside experiments by Mikado no Oni. At the moment, he is one with a girl my age, by the name of Hiiragi Mahiru. They share one body, a namanari. Later, when Mahiru no longer has a purpose for him, he will be removed and bound to a weapon called a Cured Gear, and he will become a slave to the humans, to fight against the Horsemen of the Apocalypse and vampires.”

“You speak nonsense,” Krul said, gritting her teeth. “What apocalypse?”

Shinya shrugged. “You won’t believe me if I tell you now. Let my information prove true, and then, Krul-sama, I will explain more.” He sighed. “Hiiragi Mahiru is guarded by Mikado no Oni closely, as she is a candidate for the next head of the family. But when you find that what I say is true, and you can trust me, I can tell you when you can find her alone, and how to free your brother, if you swear to me that no harm will come to her.”

“You share the same surname,” Krul observed. “Hiiragi. Is this Mahiru, the girl that holds my brother captive, your sister?”

“No. I’m adopted into the family as a son to be her husband someday— at least, I was supposed to be, before I ran away. Now, I’m a traitor to be executed, but she was to be my fiancee. We never met, though.” Shinya laughed, but his laughter died off when bitter tears pricked his eyes. “Mahiru isn’t my sister— Mahiru doesn’t even know I exist at all.”

“But you love her like one,” Krul said, cutting right through all of his acts like a knife. She saw through him eerily well, and Shinya shrugged his shoulders again, half-heartedly.

“I do,” Shinya said, hollowly. “I love her like a sister. There’s another girl, too. If you want Mahiru’s information, you’ll need to kidnap her, and separate her from her demon, as well. Otherwise, Mikado no Oni will just continue their experiments, and they’ll remain powerful.”

I’ll save Mahiru and Shinoa, Shinya thought. I’ll save my family.

“I won’t allow Mikado no Oni to make my loved ones into namanari, and in exchange, you’ll get your brother back. Isn’t that sufficient?” Shinya asked.

I’ll save my family, so why does my heart hurt so badly?

“If your information proves true,” Krul said, flicking long pink hair over her shoulder. “Then I will agree to your terms, and you will share the rest of your information with me. If it’s wrong…”

You’ll die, Krul did not say, but it was conveyed well enough. Shinya expected it.

I know. I’ve never expected to walk out of Sanguinem again as a free man— or, likely, never at all.

“I’ll be executed. I know,” Shinya said. He was prepared for that when he escaped Mikado no Oni— he was prepared for any number of horrible scenarios for his life to end. He could have been tortured to death slowly, been killed immediately, been drained of his blood slowly, been turned into livestock again.

In fact, the latter would probably still happen.

To his surprise, however, despite her threats, Krul did not attempt to drink any of his blood, or anything of the sort. She paused at the door to her own room, and did not order him out, but was leaving herself.

“In the meantime,” She commanded, in a queenly voice that betrayed her own conflicted emotions, “get some rest. Do not leave this room until I return.”

The door shut ominously, but not before Shinya caught her muttering, softly, words that were not meant for his ears— were only meant for Krul’s ears, but in her confliction, she had slipped up and spoken loud enough for him to hear, as well.

“Shinya-kun, Shinya-kun, why do I know you? Why, when I look at you, do I trust you? How do I know you?”

It was no surprise, but his information proved good. Krul came to him, later, and she said, “Tell me how to save my brother, and I will save your sisters.”

Shinya worked quickly. The spell talismen were prepared in days, and Shinya, armed with his sword and his talismen again for the first time since his surrender to the vampires, left Sanguinem with an escort of vampires.

With Krul herself, in tow.

They moved swiftly, with the speed of vampires; Shinya was carried, to his disliking, but he saw the practicality, and he did not protest. Before midnight, they had reached Shibuya, and were lying in wait for her.

And, when Mahiru snuck out, as she often did, to catch a glimpse of the sky and for some fresh air. To be free, even for a moment, of the Hiiragi’s confines.

“That’s her,” Shinya confirmed, quietly, to Krul. She nodded her head, then ordered, “Now.”

The small group of vampires— low-ranked city guards that were, above all, loyal to their Queen, who would not speak a word of tonight when asked on her orders— swooped down on Mahiru like vultures, with Shinya leading them.

Mahiru reacted, probably solely on instinct and a feeling of sudden fear. Either way, she dodged, and Shinya missed; his hand had been going for her neck, with a weakening talisman on his palm. Shinya grit his teeth as Mahiru danced backwards, out of his grasp, but he did not allow her to call out, or to speak a word. Shinya dove forward, kicking a leg out, catching her ankles with his and wrapping his arm around her throat, constricting her airway.

“Don’t say a word, Hiiragi Mahiru,” Shinya warned, slapping the talismen down on her neck and breathing out the incantation. Mahiru froze as she felt the energy and strength begin to drain from her, but Shinya kept his hand— which had moved from her neck to her mouth— clamped firmly down.

“Watch my back while I do this,” Shinya reminded, warning Krul. “If I’m interrupted, I don’t know what the consequences will be, for myself or for Asuramaru.”

Krul nodded curtly, and Shinya took a deep, calming breath before he withdrew another talisman. He had never attempted this before— he had taken on Shinoa’s demon before, and the process was, as far as he could tell, the same. Except instead of sealing the demon inside himself, or a weapon, Shinya would be setting him free.

Shinya pressed the talisman onto Mahiru’s neck, right above her pulse, and he watched her eyes widen in panic as he chanted his incantation. It was a long spell, tiring, and by the time Shinya finished, he was breathless and exhausted. Dark trails of energy, the tell-tale sign of a demon, seeped out of Mahiru’s chest, and she thrashed in protest.

But it was too late— the black mass spilled out of her, and Mahiru’s eyes rolled back in her head as she passed out.

Shinya watched, awestruck, as the black mass shifted and changed, until it formed into a vaguely humanoid shape, then, solidified completely, into an adolescent boy with long purple-blue hair and horns, with milky skin, red eyes, fangs, along with pointed ears. He was dressed elegantly, with a golden headband and a silky black-and-white dress, with a golden necklace and rings that adorned his hands.

“Brother…?” Krul asked, taking a step closer to the demon, with wide eyes and painful hope in her voice. “Brother…!”

But Asuramaru’s eyes were on Shinya, and suddenly, chills ran down Shinya’s spine. His sword came up just in time to stop fangs from sinking into his neck, and Shinya gasped out, “He’s been trapped for years, of course, he’s hungry, he’s not rational—!”

Krul understood immediately. There was a slight rustle, of her movements, and then there was a snapping and there was the body of a woman wearing the uniform of Mikado no Oni lying dead next to Mahiru’s unconscious body.

Asuramaru drained the woman dry with sickening slurping sounds, and Shinya forced himself not to look away. Finally, the slurping stopped, and Asuramaru released the corpse. Blood stained his chin and lips, turning his dress crimson. His eyes were a bit hazy, a little confused, and he swayed a little on bare feet as he came to his senses.

“Where am I?” He asked, dazed.

Krul wrapped her arms around Asuramaru’s neck, and she said, “Safe. I promise, Ashera. You’re safe now, my brother.”

“But my sister is not,” Shinya announced, standing and brushing off his clothes, sheathing his sword. “We have to go, and do the same for Shinoa, before they find Mahiru and realize what we’ve done.”

Krul released Asuramaru and nodded. “Yes… yes, I remember.”

“You are a human,” Asuramaru observed, still hazily, not quite clear-minded yet, but thirst sated. “You are the one who separated me from Mahiru?”

“I am,” Shinya said, with a smile. His body was weighed down with fatigue, and the thought of doing another incantation made his sick. But he would do it, to save Shinoa from her terrible fate. “But now isn’t the time for explanations. Now, we have to go.”

Krul trusted him. After the retrieval of Asuramaru and the successful separation of Shinoa and Shikama Doji, it was much more apparent.

But she was no fool, and although he was a ‘guest’ in her mansion— he roamed freely inside, and the servants payed him no mind, while he was fed two meals a day, but dared not exit the manor onto the streets of Sanguinem— he was bound to it. Only inside the manor did he have Krul’s protection; outside, he was fair game for any vampire.

He was a prisoner.

“You want more freedom,” Krul noted, watching him tap his fingers absentmindedly as he read a book in her vast library.

“I do,” Shinya conceded.

“Shinya-kun,” She said, with an odd sort of finality. “I’ve been avoiding making a deal with you for a reason. Because I think that— no, I know that you’re hiding something from me. So tell me what it is,” Krul said, studying the book in his hands, as if to avoid looking at him, before she finally met his eyes. “You’re hiding something from me. I don’t know what it is, but I will not make a deal with a human that withholds information.”

Shinya fingered the pages of the book he had not really been reading anyways— a battered copy of Macbeth, written in English— and set the bloody tragedy aside.

“Say, Krul-sama…” Shinya said, instead. “Have you ever read this?”

“It’s in my library,” Krul scoffed. “Of course I’ve read it— the last time I did, though, I believe that Shakespeare was still alive. Or recently dead. But that doesn’t answer my question, Shinya-kun.”

Shinya hummed in acknowledgement.

“Do you remember much about it?”

“No,” She said, growing impatient, but also curious, to see where he was going.

“Ah. Let me refresh your memory, then. In short, Macbeth, after killing Duncan, the former king Macbeth had once served, grows paranoid, because the witches that prophesied he would be king also said that Banquo, Macbeth’s friend, would be the father to many kings. So Macbeth plots to stop this, and plans the assassination of Banquo, which succeeds. But Macbeth’s paranoia doesn’t end there, and he seeks the witches out again, to demand more answers.” Shinya smiled bitterly, thumbing at the pages, skimming the lines. “It’s ironic, don’t you think? If Macbeth had never received the prophecy, he would never have become so paranoid, never have tried to change the future, and things could have turned out much differently.”

Krul sighed. “…It’s true, I suppose. Trying to change the future was foolish.”

“But then,” Shinya said, closing his eyes. “Was he really so foolish? If you had seen the future, Krul-sama, and the future was a terrible place, but you found yourself with a chance to redo things, would you do it? Would you try and change the future, or would you let history run it’s course?”

Krul stared at him for a long, long time, her crimson eyes reflecting a kaleidoscope of emotions.

Shinya would not tell her about his past lives. He would not tell anybody— that was a promise he had made to himself, a long time ago, and he would not break it. But, as stupid as it was, he still trusted Krul with the sort of affectionate trust a son might show his mother— or, the reminiscent fond feelings of a servant to his kindest master— and he could not lie to her about something so important.

She would not understand. Shinya knew she would not; but he hoped that, somewhere, deep down, the part of her— the part that remembered him enough to rest a hand on his forehead while he slept, to put him to rest in her own coffin, to treat his wounds and feed him, to be courteous and fair to him when any other vampire would have killed him on the spot— would understand, and would forgive him for not saying more.

“I see,” Krul said, eventually. “Or, perhaps, I don’t. But I think I do, and one more question will tell me if I am right or wrong. So tell me,” She said, tone never changing, “what do you want from me? You came to Sanguinem to make a deal with me, knowing the possible consequences, but uncaring. What could be that important?”

“I want power to save my family,” Shinya answered. “You can give it to me, Krul-sama. I know you can.”

She looked to be in disbelief.

“...you wish to become a vampire?”

No. No, that’s not what I want at all. I don’t want to drink blood. I don’t want to be immortal. But what other options do I have? How else can I save my family— and the world?

“A partial vampire,” Shinya corrected. “For as long as I can. Then, yes, a vampire. Because that will give me the strength that I need to save everyone I care for.”

Krul smiled, but it was a smile devoid of mirth. In fact, it looked rather sorrowful.

“Ah, I can see it in your eyes. You won’t back down, no matter what I say.” She laughed hollowly. “You realize that your information will not simply free you— by drinking my blood, you trade your freedom for power. You’ll be my dog, at my beck and call, for all of eternity.”

Shinya shrugged. “You aren’t such a cruel master. I don’t mind, so long as I gain the power I need.”

Krul studied him for a moment longer, then drew up her sleeve and slit her wrist with her pointed nails. The blood sprayed, and she beckoned him forward.

“So be it, then. Come; drink my blood, and give me your life.”

Shinya walked forward on steady legs, this time, and he drank the blood that poured from Krul’s arm without hesitation, but not eagerly.

I am no longer human. I have traded my humanity for power— but will it be enough to save the ones I care for?

I’ve damned myself to eternal hell, but is it even worth it to try and change the future?

Tears pricked at his eyes, as he drank, but not because of the growing pain that began to consume him like wildfire that spread as the change to vampirism began.

Krul sighed, and wrapped her arm around him, drawing him close as Shinya’s body grew rigid with the pain.

“My poor little fool. You never change, do you?”

His humanness was something that tended to be off-putting among vampires. Shinya was not really one of them— he was still partly human, part livestock, so therefore he must have been weak; that was how the vampires of Sanguinem thought of him.

It changed abruptly, when Shinya bested whatever opponent was thrown at him. City guards, low-ranked nobles— he, the small, partially-human boy, bested them all, the vampires with experience and many years his senior, and it gained him their respect quickly.

Most of them, anyways. Crowley still kept a cautious but curious distance from him, and Ferid— well, Shinya avoided him at all costs. The silver-haired vampire had not done anything of offense to him in this life, but even for a vampire, Ferid was unnerving to be around. Shinya could never forgive him for trying to do harm to his family, and for ending his life as a human.

But even without their respect, Shinya had no time to spare. He was ten years old already, and the end of the world would occur in five short years— the blink of an eye, to a vampire. Officially, he was a ‘child’ of Krul’s, and he served dutifully as her attendant and a City Guard, but behind closed doors, he and Krul were hard at work with other matters.

Firstly, and most foremostly, tracking down the Hyakuya Sect. Shinya knew the location of a single orphanage, which was all he was able to glean before he fled Mikado no Oni, and that was only to be used as a bargaining chip. The rest of his knowledge was from prior lives.

Secondly, to stop the Hiiragi family from continuing the experiments, through any means necessary— which would likely include assassinating Tenri.

Lastly, the goal that took first priority in his mind, was finding, specifically, Mikaela’s orphanage, and to set the poor boy free. Then, to track down Yuuichirou, Yoichi, and Shihou. Mitsuba and Shinoa, he had no chance at, Shinya knew— but if he could stop the apocalypse, then all of the children would be safe, and Guren would never have to fight in a war for his life, would never have to lead armies of soldiers to their deaths, and Shinya would be content.

Right? Everything will be worth it then, right? I’ll have a lifetime to make happy memories with them— even if I never age, even if I’m a monster, if they’re happy, then it’s okay, isn’t it?

Shinya sighed, and closed his eyes. Vampires didn’t need to sleep, true… but his coffin was looking more and more appealing the longer he sat alone in his room, brooding over his thoughts when he should have been working on his research.

Surely a few minutes rest wouldn’t hurt?

No, he couldn’t afford to rest. His family was at stake— fatigue was trivial when weighed against the lives of his loved ones.

Krul draped a blanket around his shoulders, later, when she found him asleep over his maps and papers, his candle burnt down to nearly nothing, the flame flickering weakly. He hadn’t really needed the light— with his vampiric eyesight, Shinya could see clearly in the dark— but old habits died hard. She studied the papers and maps, then to Shinya, whose face was not relaxed, even in sleep.

“Shinya, won’t you ever learn? This accomplishes nothing. You’ll burn yourself to ashes like this— and unlike the phoenix, you will stay ashes,” Krul murmured, sighing heavily, placing a hand on his forehead for a brief moment.

She snuffed out the candle’s weak flame with her fingers, and the room was plunged into cool dark.

On an investigation, three months later, Shinya found himself perched in a tree outside of an orphanage that the Hyakuya Sect ran. He needed no binoculars, despite the fact that he was a good distance away from the orphanage, thanks to his vampire eyes, and he observed the actions of the children and their caretakers meticulously.

There were seven of them, the orphans. One of them was not Mikaela, his dear, blue-eyed, blonde one, which meant that he remained still a Shindo, with a mentally ill mother and drunken father that would beat him. But surely, that was better than here? Better than an orphanage where Mika would be subjected to human experimentation? To the horrors of the Seraph of the End?

Shinya didn’t know, but he swore to find out.

Shinya arrived at the small park near the apartment where the Shindo family resided the next afternoon, where Mika often played. He was only three, but he was active and strong already, with an infectious laugh and a smile like sunshine. Despite the warming weather, he still wore long sleeves and pants— to hide bruises, Shinya knew— but nothing could be done to conceal the black eye that was faded and yellowed, almost gone.

It made him angry to see it, but his anger faded quickly. Shinya watched Mika play and laugh with the other small children his age, and he wondered.

Mika seemed to be so happy.  Was that all really an act?

Am I making a mistake? Would it be better just to leave history to play out it’s course?

“Oniisan, why you look so sad?” A small voice asked him, and Shinya blinked, coming back to the present. Mika had paused in front of him, holding the rubber ball that he and the other children had been playing with in his hand. It had probably rolled away from the group, and Mika chased it— but Shinya cursed himself for being so careless.

I wasn’t supposed to make contact. Observe, that was it. Ahh, I screwed up, didn’t I?

“I’m not sad,” Shinya said, with a bright smile.

“You smile sad,” Mika said, blue gaze far too trenchant for someone so young. Mika smiled, and held the ball out with a sunny smile. “Want to play?”

“Aha,” Shinya laughed, startled by the sorrow in his own laughter, “I don’t think I should.”

Mika frowned, then reached out and grabbed Shinya’s sleeve— he was dressed in human clothes when he was out to spy, a button-down and slacks that could easily mark him a student in any school, just without a school jacket— determinedly. Shinya let himself be tugged forward, opening his mouth to speak in protest but quickly shutting it when he realized that his fangs would be in plain sight to the adults.

“Oniisan play ball too,” Mika insisted, announcing it to the group of small children he had left. With a beaming smile, he tossed the rubber ball in Shinya’s direction with a cheerful, “Catch!”

Shinya caught it, careful not to move faster than any human boy would have been able to. Against his will, a small smile tugged at his lips, and he tossed the ball to the next child with a gentle speed that would seem normal to the children.

Mika laughed delightedly, and Shinya laughed, too.

“Oniisan not sad,” Mika declared, with a bright smile that showed off his tiny, baby teeth. The fangless teeth that Shinya vowed to keep that way. “Playing ball make happy!”

Shinya smiled and ruffled Mika’s hair fondly, the fluffy blonde strands standing up at odd angles afterwards. “Ah… yes, I suppose it did.”

“Oniichan come play ball again?” Mika asked, with the kind of painfully innocent hope that made Shinya ache.

“Sure,” Shinya said, with a cheery smile and a bitter taste in his mouth from the lie. “I’ll come back to play again ball soon!”

Mika cheered, and Shinya dropped to his knees to drape his arms around the toddler, burying his neck in the small blonde’s shoulder and breathing in the smell of the sweet baby-blood that ran through Mika’s veins, his tiny heart beating strongly.

“Oniichan?” Mika asked, small, soft hands coming up to pet his head gently. “You still sad?”

“No,” Shinya whispered. “I’m not. I’m… happy.”

He drew away quickly, turning his back on Mika and towards the setting sun.

“Good-bye Mika!” Shinya called, his voice deceptively cheery.

“Bye-bye, Oniichan!” Mika called, and Shinya saw from the shadows on the ground that he was waving good-bye. “See you again!”

For your safety, this is the last time I’ll be able to see you, little brother. I wouldn’t forgive myself if the Hiiragi’s found out that I love you, and hurt you because of me. But… thank you. You’ve reminded me why I’m still fighting, and given me the strength to continue. So if I never get to see Shigure, Sayuri, Mito, Goshi, Guren— anyone that I love… well, that’s okay. I’ll destroy the Brotherhood of a Thousand Nights, and you’ll all be safe, and that’s all that matters.

Shinya swiped at his eyes, smearing the tears that blurred his contacts.

It took Shinya and Krul almost six months of work and investigation, but it came to fruition in a single night. All of the vampires in Sanguinem, every single one, and some from other cities— the turnout just from Nagoya was astonishing, including Crowley Eusford, Chess Belle, Horn Skuld, Zane Lindau, Mel Stefano, Lucal Wesker, and Ester Lee. The latter two attended in place of Lest Karr, and Shinya watched them carefully; they had no obligations to obey Krul’s orders unless so ordered by the Progenitor Council, although they could not outrightly dismiss her orders because of Krul’s rank.

Shinya had a seat in the very front row of the stadium. Krul was seated on her throne, on the upper level of the stage, watching the announcer below her— it was a vampire that Shinya did not know personally, with purple hair and garish purple lipstick that matched the color of her scarf, which was oddly covering one of her eyes.

“We, scions of the progenitors,” She proclaimed into the microphone, “have been gathered here today because of a grave threat!”

The vampires in the audience murmured, displeased at the strong declaration of an opening statement, but no single person spoke out. Krul watched with a hawk’s eye from above.

“It’s a human organization known as the Brotherhood of a Thousand Nights,” She continued. Krul had briefed her on what to say beforehand, and it had apparently been carefully practiced; the announcer was good at her job, Shinya would admit. She spoke clearly, concisely, and her voice reached every corner of the auditorium. “Or, the Hyakuya Sect. They experiment on weapons to kill out brothers and sisters, dabbling with the forbidden magic and playing with demons. But, most gravely, it has been discovered that they also have been experimenting into the Seraph of the End!”

That got the attention of everybody. Immediately, the auditorium erupted into chaos; the Seraph of the End was something only rumored among the lower ranks of vampires, the existence and exact purpose only truly known to the High Progenitors on the Council. The only thing that was widely known was that the Seraph of the End was a terrible weapon that could bring about the deaths of many, which had been forbidden and stomped out centuries ago, when humans first began to dabble in magic.

Krul threw a hand out, a command for silence. Unhappily, the vampires assembled did so, and Krul stood, walking to the edge of her balcony and smiling at the crowd.

“I have already made my decision,” She said, her voice ringing out commandingly, offering no place for objections. “For the sake of this world and it’s stability, we will destroy the Hyakuya Sect, and any other humans that will dare meddle in the Seraph of the End. We are at war!”

The vampires stood and cheered, and Shinya stood with them, clapping his agreement. Krul was a charismatic and fine leader; already, she had a show of support that quelled his worries a significant amount.

From her high perch, Krul met his eyes, and smiled.

Only people of high rank were supposed to attend the meetings that would plan out the strikes on the Hyakuya Orphanages. Shinya, a half-turned, seven-month-old newborn, was certainly not of proper rank, even with the blood of the Third Progenitor in his veins.

Yet he attended the meeting nonetheless. It was held in Krul’s manor, in a very large room with maps of Japan tacked around the room, and a large table in the centre. A candleabra, more for decoration than lighting, sat in the centre of the table, and lamps around the room gave them more proper lighting.

It was no surprise, though, when his attendance was brought to attention. To his ire, it was Ferid Bathory who brought it up.

“My. my, such a good little dog~” Ferid purred, and Shinya frowned. “You follow your master everywhere, do you~?”

Shinya gritted his teeth, but said nothing. Krul spoke for him, vouching for him— which, in the vampire hierarchy, would be much more influential than if he talked back to a Seventh Progenitor.

“Shinya attends because he knows the most about this subject,” Krul said, and her words cut through the pride of the vampires at the table like a knife.

“My Queen, what could a mere newborn tell us about such an important matter?” A vampire of high rank that Shinya was not familiar with spoke up in protest, and most seemed eager to agree. “He’s barely half a year old— a babe! He has no right to attend!”

“I say that he does,” Krul said stonily. “Do you dare go against my orders, and commit treason?” She paused a beat, and when not a soul spoke, she continued, satisfied. “Shinya has done this investigation side-by-side with me. He will attend, and you can judge whether or not he has the right to attend our meeting after he has spoken his part.”

The other vampires were not happy; red eyes burned into Shinya, where he sat, in the seat just to Krul’s right. But nobody spoke against him again as Shinya gathered his papers and stood, pointing to the map.

“The locations that have been identified as branches of the Hyakuya Sect are marked in red on the map,” Shinya announced, feeling far too small and young— which was odd, considering that biologically, he was just about as old as he assumed Krul to be. Biological age meant nothing to vampires, but he still felt out of place, diminutive. He tried to crush those fears, putting on a placid and confident smile, gesturing to each location. “Every one of them is operating under the guise of an orphanage, and for all intents and purposes, it is an orphanage. In blue are their lab facilities, which are much more heavily guarded— all of the actual experimentation takes place there.”

“And how do we know this?” Lucal Wesker asked, with a scowl.

Krul met Shinya’s eyes, with a smile and a curious look in her eyes that encouraged him with just a little bit of teasing, that asked him, Well? What will you do now? Can you stand on your own feet, without Mother backing you up? Can you face the big bad nobles alone?

Shinya smiled back at her.

“I gathered the information myself,” Shinya said, with his head held high.

Ashera was treated like a prince, if Krul was treated as a queen. Shinya tried his best to avoid the demon whenever possible, but Ashera eventually met him by chance in the library.

Shinya had been reading a book of Roman war strategies, one that had been recommended by Krul herself. It was more of a journal, with pages so thin they were translucent and ink so smudged and worn he had to be careful to decipher the handwriting. It had been translated into Japanese at some point or other, and that’s what he was reading, so it wasn’t as old as the original probably was, but it didn’t make the ancient journal any less delicate.

It was also probably worth a small fortune.

Footsteps made him freeze, and a voice said drowsily, “Oh, I remember writing that.”

The demon was dressed in Progenitor finery, but Shinya was not fooled. The golden necklace about his throat and the golden bracelets on his wrists were engraved with magic, to dampen the demon’s power and to keep his bloodlust at bay. In effect, to docile him— Krul hadn’t liked it much, but Shinya had insisted that it was the only way to ensure that Asuramaru behaved— and it worked well. It made the demon more vampiric, suppressed his more demonic qualities.

Ashera looked sleepy, like he had just woken up from a nap, and it was very possible he had.

If Shinya’s heart was still beating, it would have been racing. Thankfully, he was, for all biological intents and purposes, stone-cold dead and no longer possessed a beating heart. So since his mild panic was concealed behind a careful mask of mild surprise and a warm smile, Shinya’s panic was not evident to the other.

“Ah, Ashera-sama. You wrote this?” Shinya asked, with a nervous laugh.

Ashera shrugged, yawning. “I wrote the original. Someone’s translated it now, but the material is the same. Krul wrote an opposing analysis of Greek war strategy, but I dunno if anyone’s ever bothered to translate it.” The demon paused, then tilted his head to the side, a cascade of purple hair falling to the side as he did so. “Hang on a minute… I know you.”

Shinya laughed lightly, closing the book. “Aha, oh, do you? Ahh, I’m flattered, Ashera-sama!”

“You’re the one that separated me from Mahiru,” Ashera frowned. “I remember… you were the newborn that used the forbidden arts, magic. Krul is your sire, is she not?”

“She is,” Shinya conceded nervously. He had been avoiding the demon out of fear that the demon would also have a recollection, as Krul did, of past lives— but it seemed that he was safe. “And yes, I was the one that separated you from Mahiru.”

“Where did you learn to practice the forbidden arts?” Ashera asked curiously. “I was one with a Hiiragi since birth— those were Hiiragi charms you were using, were they not?”

“They were, my lord. I was a Hiiragi when I was a human,” Shinya said, glancing from Ashera to the door and wondering how much longer the demon would keep him. It was only for a brief moment that his eyes left Ashera’s, but the demon frowned quizzically, eyes narrowing.

“...why are you so anxious, hmm, little newborn?” Ashera asked pointedly, drawing up a chair and sitting down, and Shinya’s heart sunk. “You have no reason to fear me, do you?”

“Of course not, my lord,” Shinya answered evenly, struggling to keep his breathing even. “I’m just not used to being around someone so powerful, that’s all.”

Of course I’m nervous— you’re Mahiru’s demon. You’re the one that corrupted her, and you had access to her memories, didn’t you? If she remembered me at all, even just a little, then you might, as well.

Ashera hummed, watching Shinya with cold crimson eyes that seemed to cut him to the bone.

“Liar. You spend more time around Krul than I do. So why do you really avoid me, hmm? Is it because I’m a demon?” Ashera’s grin was sharp, and he suddenly a hand was touching Shinya’s skin, the place where his gloves met his sleeves and his wrists were bared—

Shinya pulling the trigger, and Guren falling, dead— and it was not Guren, it was the demon, but it was Guren; the look of surprise as the halo of blood bloomed behind him as the corpse hit the ground was Guren’s, and Shinya’s dropped the rifle and sobbed—

Mahiru crying into his shoulder— she had deteriorated so fast, in this life, she was still just a little girl, and Shinya could do nothing but watch and hold her when she cried and told him of her plans to save Shinoa— the plans that would end any chances of Mahiru’s humanity— and Shinya could do nothing—

Mikaela, a vampire, as Shinya ran his rifle through the boy that he had never saved, screaming at himself, wondering why his hands still moved, still spilled the blonde vampire’s blood when he begged himself to stop—

The body of his first kill, the boy that had once been his friend, Shinya’s hands covered with still-warm blood—

The nightmare that lingered always, his family, his dear, precious family, blood spilled and stiff with death, so pale, because Shinya couldn’t protect them—

“Brother, stop!”

Abruptly, Shinya was freed, and tears were falling from his eye, a sob lodged in his throat. Ashera’s hand had been yanked from his by Krul, who stood next to them with blazing eyes and pursed lips, her brother’s hand still firmly in her own.

“Shinya,” Krul ordered. “Breathe.”

He had been holding his breath— the world was spinning slowly, a little hazy at the edges, and his ears rang loudly, but Shinya obediently gasped for air. His lungs burned, and his eyes stung from the tears that still rolled down his cheeks, but he understood what had happened well enough.

“Go back to your rooms, Brother,” Krul said, releasing his hand. “Do not do that again. Shinya is my progeny, and I forbid you to lay another hand on him.”

Ashera looked utterly surprised, but not at Krul’s words. He shrugged, standing and exiting the library with quiet, barefooted steps.

Ashera had forced him to relive his memories, trying to break him— Demon’s Thrall. It was only supposed to work when entering a contract or when the host was sleeping, but Shinya wasn’t surprised; Ashera was far more powerful than even Krul, so it was no surprise he could do something like this to Shinya.

“Krul,” He managed to choke out, “Krul, he saw—”

Krul wiped away his tears and pulled him to his feet, with grim eyes.

“I know. Forgive me, Shinya— he had not intended to see all of that. Ashera… Ashera likes to torment before he drinks, and I think he wanted a taste of your blood. Ashera is not a bad person. He… he just…” Krul sighed. “Don’t mind him. I… I’ll sort Brother out, I promise. Just focus on the mission.”

“I will,” Shinya croaked, but he caught her wrist as she tried to leave. “Krul— Krul, it’s not your fault—”

Krul didn’t say anything, simply tugging her hand out of Shinya’s, painfully gentle.

Shinya led the raid on the Hyakuya Sect. Not the orphanages— other vampires did that, for which Shinya was glad, because he wasn’t sure he could take killing more children in this life than he had to— but on the labs. Specifically, he spearheaded the raid on the main lab.

He felt so small as he lead the other vampires, who had to be older than he by centuries. But his uniform fit well, and the first-class sword in his hand was a welcome weight. At his side, hidden beneath his cloak, were his talismen— something that was technically illegal for him to use, as the vampire laws forbid him, but if it came to a life-or-death situation, Shinya would use them regardless.

“Sword, drink my blood,” Shinya commanded, as the moonless night cloaked the vampires in shadows. As the tendrils crept up his arm, suddenly gunfire split the air, and Shinya dodged the bullets.

“We’ve been spotted!” He announced, and ordered, “Remember to ensure there are no survivors! Surround the building, and block of all exits!”

There was no shouts of agreement, but Shinya did not need them. His orders were executed swiftly and silently, and his attention was solely focused on avoiding the bullets the Hyakuya Sect fired at them with mediocre precision. Almost none struck Shinya’s soldiers, the vampires, although the ones that did were momentarily crippling; the bullets had to be enchanted with spells and curses.

Shinya himself moved deftly, slaughtering anybody that stood in his way. He danced out of the way of bullets, deflecting others with his sword, and within moments he was inside the Hyakuya Sect, cutting, slashing, killing the people inside. He made it into the basement, where he knew the experiments were going on the most, slowly but surely.

A bullet pierced his shoulder, and Shinya grimaced, but did not falter. In his head, he recited anti-curse spells, trying to ward off the Hyakuya’s poisonous curses to the best of his abilities. His hands were too occupied, so he wasn’t able to fish out a talismen to complete them, but the counter-curses did slow the progression of the poisonous curses down, so Shinya chanted the spells in his head like a mantra.

And then, a cry— the sound of breaking glass resounded through the basement, startlingly loud. Animals, large-bodied lions, crept out of their cages.

Shinya recognized them. Chimera’s, experiments by the Hyakuya Sect, animals that had the genes of the Four Horsemen of John implanted in the. They were very dangerous creatures, and Shinya ground his teeth irritatedly,  Fighting chimeras was never pleasant, and occasionally the chimera from Umeno still haunted his nightmares, on occasion.

Shinya held up his sword, blocking the chimera’s clawed paw as it descended, but another swiped out at him, and he made a noise of surprise, though not pain. The chimera’s claws pierced Shinya’s skin, but it healed in the same second, what with his vampiric healing. Shinya pressed on his blade, just a little, and the chimera flew backwards.

But he had been careless, and a gunshot rang out; Shinya stiffened as the bullet passed through his skull. He had no time to chant anti-curse spells, and his blood sprayed as the curse spread across his skin like spilled ink diffusing through water. It made him weaker, put a damper on his healing and strength— and it was evident why the Hyakuya Sect was the most powerful magical syndicate in Japan.

“You lead them,” the woman that shot him said, with shaking hands as she fired off another bullet, and another, and another. Shinya avoided two, but one pierced his torso, sailing right through what had to have been his spine and damaging the bone horribly, as the curse ate away at him like acid. He crumpled to the ground, paralyzed as his healing worked frantically, trying to repair the damage and fight off the curse at the same time. “If you die, the attack will fail—!”

The curse was strong, but Shinya was stronger, and as his bones mended with unimaginable speed, he ran his sword cleanly through the woman that had shot him, slicing her in half. Her blood sprayed, so alluring, and Shinya’s throat burned for her blood— but the chimera swiped at him, a reminder that Shinya had been careless, foolish, and his skin was torn like paper.

The internal damage is bad, Shinya observed, looking at his organs— which he should not have been able to do, but the sight didn’t bother him too much— that bled obscenely, and he pressed a hand to try and keep his insides in. He staggered out of the chimera’s way, and reached into his waistband to grab a talisman and fling it at the lion-like creature, croaking, “Explode!”

He breathed the enchantment to go with the tag, and the chimera exploded in a gory shower of blood and body parts. Shinya ran his sword through the chimera’s corpse for good measure, then staggered up the stairs, avoiding the battling vampires that crushed the Hyakuya Sect with frightening ease as his body screamed for blood, blood, blood—

The fresh air helped a little, and Shinya was walking away, stumbling, anything to get away from the horrible smell of the tempting, alluring blood.

Can’t drink can’t drink I can’t drink what would Guren think of me I can’t be a monster—

Shinya’s breathing was ragged, and he finally gave in, slumping to the ground. All he could smell was his own blood, mouthwatering and seeping from between his fingers nauseatingly, now, so he was probably far enough away, he figured.

“Oniisan…?”

Shinya knew that voice; it was Mika’s voice, tiny and worried, and there was a little blonde peering at him— and Shinya thought that it had to have been a bad night, where Mika’s father was angry and violent and had thrown the child out of the house, because the small boy had a split lip and a swollen cheek and he was outside of his apartment complex alone, well past midnight, hiding out in the little park just beside the apartments; the place where Mika had always gone when he was upset.

“O-Oniisan, you’re hurt—!”

The smell of the blood from Mika’s split lip was overwhelming, and Shinya lost control in an instant.

Blood blood blood I need blood give it to me—!

Mika hit the pavement roughly and Shinya’s fangs were nearly buried in his neck, the hood of his uniform falling to cover his head, when he heard someone shout, “Get your hands off him, damned bloodsucker!”

A kick shoved him off roughly, and Shinya went flying, crashing into the playground equipment with enough force to dent the jungle gym. He blinked hazily, and his vision was just barely clear enough to see a girl with purple hair cradle Mika tenderly, brandishing a sword in her free hand. Above them stood a boy with messy black hair and violet eyes, bearing a sword, who had been the one to evidently kick Shinya away.

Mahiru and Guren. But why were they here, tonight of all nights? Why did they have to show up now?

“Wai—” Shinya began, but his speech was cut off as Guren moved swiftly, like a snake, and suddenly there was a sword through Shinya’s chest and he could not speak, could not think, could not do anything but wheeze softly.

His back arched, and his breathing halted, blood in his throat blocking his airways. Shinya coughed and it cleared, but his breathing was ragged and weak, and he thought, stupid stupid why didn’t I bring Krul’s blood with me why did it end up like this—?

“Vampire,” Guren said, coldly, twisting his sword deftly to cause more damage and withdrawing it to point at Shinya’s throat. “What’s going on, huh? What is your kind doing? Answer me, and I’ll make your death swift.”

“Stop it!” Mika cried, pulling free of Mahiru and running, shoving away Guren’s blade with his bare hands, whimpering when his palms bled but never faltering. Shinya dug his hands into the concrete and forced himself to stay, because the smell of Mika’s blood made his thoughts hazy. “D-Don’t hurt Oniisan!”

“Mika,” Shinya rasped. “Go.”

“No!” Mika shouted, and Mahiru frowned, confused.

“The vampire beat you and was about to drink you dry, but you defend him?”

“O-Oniisan no hit me!” Mika protested, with his rushed, child-speak, and Shinya forced himself to hold his breath before it became unbearable. “Oniisan— Oniisan is hurt!”

“Who hurt you then, if not the vampire?” Mahiru asked, with slitted eyes, and Mika stiffened.

“Leave him be,” Shinya rasped, with the last of his breath. “Mika, go now. Please, do as I ask. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“Oniisan will come back to play ball?” Mika asked, voice barely a whisper.

“I will,” Shinya gasped, fingers breaking the concrete under his demanding hands as the pressure became too much. “Go— go, now.”

Mika sent him a worried glance, with teary blue eyes, then turned and ran away, taking the smell of his sweet blood with him, and Shinya could finally breathe again, a little better. He was exhausted, from the still-spreading curse that his body was too weak to fight off, after healing so many wounds while under the effects of the Hyakuya Sect’s curses.

If he had drank Krul’s blood regularly like he was supposed to, or if he was a full vampire, it wouldn’t affect him like this— but no, Shinya was foolish and thought with his heart, dreading the moment he would stop aging and turn into a monster, and now he was paying for it.

Guren and Mahiru both studied him with looks of equal surprise and wariness. Shinya’s vision was blurred with his own tears of pain and hunger, but he could see the way that they stood, so close, nearly back-to-back— and he hated himself for the pangs of jealousy that ran through him at the sight. This was what he had wanted, wasn’t it? For them to be happy— even without him?

“Why did you let him go?” Guren asked, and Shinya’s hands left the concrete to press into the wound in his chest that was healing slowly, far too slowly, almost not at all. Pain wracked his entire body, like his every nerve had been set on fire.

Shinya could deal with the physical pain— the hurt was bearable, then. But why did his heart hurt so badly? This was what he wanted.

Shinya said nothing in response, and Guren ‘tsk’ed irritatedly, pointing the sword at Shinya’s throat.

“Whatever, that’s not important. Tell me, bloodsucker, what’s going on, huh? What is your kind trying to achieve tonight, attacking the Hyakuya Sect?”

“The Hyakuya Sect’s destruction,” Shinya managed to choke out, coughing— more blood bubbled out of his lips, staining his chin crimson. He was drowning in it, gasping. “S-Stay away, Hiiragi, Ichinose. Only those of Hyakuya need to die tonight.”

“You say that,” Mahiru said, with a kind smile and cold eyes, “But you aren’t really in a position to make threats, are you?”

She moved as fast as lightning— or at least, it seemed to be so to Shinya, who could barely see straight— and pressed a spell talisman to his wound, where his skin was exposed and his protective vampire city guard uniform was torn. She chanted the incantation so fast it was dizzying, but Shinya heard it and recognized it; a curse to turn his blood to poison, a variant of the Shikkeju curse, except this one had a much higher fatality rate and a much lower rate of backfiring on the caster.

Shinya coughed out a mouthful of blood and chanted the anti-curse just as quickly— no, even faster than she could even react, and he almost smiled.

Mahiru, look. I finally beat your incantation time, ne?

And Guren ran his sword through his chest again, so viciously that Shinya was impaled into the concrete. Guren’s eyes blazed with fury as he put himself between Mahiru and Shinya, and hissed, “Don’t lay a hand on her.”

“How do you know the anti-curse—?!” Mahiru began, but cut off in a short gasp when Shinya’s hood fell away and his head hit the concrete, face bared to the world. “You! You’re… You’re the one that—”

Shinya opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a wheeze and an obscene amount of blood. It was coming from his nose, his ears— his blood was everywhere. The Hyakuya Curse had eaten away at him from the inside, weakened him too much, and Guren’s sword had caused too much internal damage. His organs had ruptured, likely.

Guren staggered away like he had been burned, staring at Shinya’s blood that drenched his hands. His face had drained of blood, and he shook like a leaf.

“Oh my god,” He whispered. “Oh— oh my— I’m— I’m going to—”

Shinya was fighting for enough breath to stay alive just a little longer when he saw Mahiru stumble back as Guren fell to his knees and retched violently.

“Guren!” Mahiru cried, shocked, but he just put a hand to his forehead for a brief moment, and when he drew his hand away, his eyes were wet. Shinya tried to struggle to sit up, to do something— but every limb was lead, and he could not.

“S-Stay back, Mahiru,” Guren rasped, staggering to his feet and walking forward unsteadily, to kneel down in Shinya’s blood and to stare, watery-eyed, at Shinya’s face.

“You— You’re hurt, oh my god, I hurt you—”

“St...ay… back…” Shinya hissed, with bubbling breaths. His bloodlust was nearly unberable, clouding his every thought, and the sound of Guren’s heartbeat, so close, was driving him insane. “Can’t… con...trol…”

“You need blood, don’t you?” Guren asked, and Shinya opened his mouth to say no, please, no but Guren was faster, and he had rolled up his sleeve and slit his wrist before Shinya could even finish coughing. “Here— drink. Just— just don’t die, idiot.”

“Too… late,” Shinya wheezed. “Too… gone…”

“Shut up and drink!” Guren hissed, pressing his arm against Shinya’s mouth, and the blood was in his mouth, so sweet and delicious and Shinya swallowed—

He knew. It was too late already, the damage too much, even as his body worked frantically, fevorally against the curse and the wounds, that it would be no use. He was already too wounded, too weak, too dead— the change wouldn't even take him, completely, he was so far gone. But the blood was so good, like ecstasy in his mouth, and he drank swallow after swallow until Mahiru pulled him off and said, “Stop, you’ll kill him!”

“I’m sorry,” Guren whispered, dragging the sword free from Shinya’s chest and pulling him into an embrace. “It’s not enough, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

“Why?” Shinya rasped, relaxing into the feeling of the embrace that he would never forget, no matter how many lives he lived, no matter how many times he died. “You are… an Ichinose. You… kill… vampires… so why… did you—” A brutal cough sprayed Guren in blood, and Shinya winced, not from the pain but from the gory sight.

“Because it’s you,” Guren whispered. “I— I dream about you, dream about other places and other times and— and I can’t believe they aren’t real. I— I can’t let you die, I can’t believe I killed you—!”

“Shh, shh,” Shinya whispered, because he couldn’t say much more. “You didn’t… the Hya… Hyakuya Sect… did… Cursed… bullets…” He gasped, fingers curling in his tattered City Guard uniform and pulling at it desperately, clawing at the skin and the lungs that burned and ached beneath them. “Not… you…”

“Your name,” Guren begged, “please, tell me your name.”

“Shinya,” He managed, with a wheezing cough and a cry of pain as his body convulsed, unable to hold the sob of pain in any longer. “I— my name— is Shinya.”

Guren pressed his forehead against Shinya’s, regardless of the bloodstains and the curse marks that marred his skin, and Shinya tasted salty tears, warm against his cold face. Their hands were twined tightly, so tightly that Shinya was sure if he was at full strength Guren’s fingers would have broken, but Guren did not complain.

Instead, he let out a choked sob, and said, “Guren. My name is Guren. It’s nice to finally meet you, Shinya.”

Shinya smiled, and the tears that spilled were bittersweet, no longer out of pure pain.

His life ended in Guren’s arms, body crumpling to ash.

Chapter Text

Ah, but I don’t blame you; I’ll never burn as brilliantly as you.

When Shinya opened his eyes in his new life, he sobbed. He was, technically, still a toddler— barely that, even— so his ear-splitting wails were perfectly normal. Not for him, maybe, who had always been a sunny child even before regaining his memories— but normal enough for children in general.

But Shinya didn’t stop. He shrieked and screamed, wailed and sobbed like he never had before, for so long that he lost count of the hours. He cried until the pain eased a little, and all of his tears dried up.

He cried until he could breathe again, and sleep claimed him.

Melancholy seemed to overtake him completely. His dreams were haunted with memories of his family and laughter, and every time, the only thing Shinya could think was, I’ll never see them again,

Because it had failed. He had never saved anybody— he had failed, over and over again, just like he always had, This life started the cycle all over again. Shinya couldn’t access much information, so young, but he could read the newspaper his parents read and the news that played every morning and night. The year was 1999— he had not saved his family. Somehow, the world had ended, all over again; at least, that was the only explanation that he could think of, for why the cycle had started anew, even after the Hyakuya Sect had been destroyed.

There’s no point in living. It’s a never-ending cycle. Just living until I die— nothing ever changes, in the end. It’s always the same result.

His hands were still small and uncalloused, soft with baby-skin. Shinya studied them in the dark, and tears welled up in his eyes.

Failure, failure, that’s all I am. A failure. I can’t save anybody. Everyone always dies, regardless of what I do. So why do I even try?

He draped his arm over his eyes, concealing the tears that continued to trickle from his eyes incessantly.

...there’s no point in trying. So I won’t.

Shinya did not win the competition. He did not even become a candidate for it— when his parents tried to enroll him in the prestigious kindergarten, Shinya pretended to have no ability for spells whatsoever, fumbling his movements so that he looked slow and clumsy, far too klutzy to ever be considered even a lowly servant for the prestigious, godly Hiiragi family.

He was enrolled in a regular school, where the first concern was grades and tests and regular things: people called him “Shindo-kun” and he flinched, because no, that wasn’t his name, call him anything else, anything but that, but he never said a word; during physical education, when the others complained and slacked, Shinya found it to be stupidly easy; the schoolwork was for children, so easy that it was insanity, and he was half-tempted to just not do it, but he did; when someone touched him, casually, he reacted instinctively and almost attacted them on reflex, because who would dare touch a Hiiragi so casually, if not to attack? Before he remembered that he wasn’t a Hiiragi, and the touch was just a tap on the shoulder, a classmate asking to borrow notepaper.

Shinya found that he couldn’t adapt to the normal school life that he had always longed for— because being a soldier, a good, dutiful little Hiiragi boy, was ingrained too deeply into him. He was a soldier, way deep down to his soul, and it was impossible to adapt to a civilian lifestyle— so he didn’t. He did his work quietly, but did not stand out, and kept to himself.

His mother grew worse so steadily, without Shinya’s exemplary progress to placate her. His father was a drunk that loved to hit and kick, and the fact that Shinya never cried out only pleased him more.

“Why don’t you ever smile?” His mother screamed, angry— what had set her off today, Shinya would never know. “You— you look like a corpse, a dead man walking! Why? Why?— answer me, you devil child!”

“What do I have to smile for, Okaasan?” Shinya asked, with a bitter laugh and dead eyes.

She hit him, hard, and he fell, his head striking the counter. Shinya’s vision went blurry, and he saw the horrified but satisfied look on his mother’s face as he fell, and he wondered how much he had to have been bleeding for her to look like that.

Then his eyes closed, and he could not find the strength to open them again.

He dreams about Guren.

He dreams about the happy moments, and without a second thought, Shinya let’s himself grow lost in the memories.

The warmth of summer days and the cool water of creeks, in the clash of blade on blade in friendly sparring matches, passing notes in class behind the teacher’s back, gentle kisses and soft touches, laughter and smiles. Playful shoves, helmetless motorcycle rides, a garden in the moonlight, dancing to the jazz music that Guren liked to listen to because it would soothe the demon in his heart. A collage of memories, from all sorts of lifetimes.

And the only thing Shinya could think was,

He is the sun, he burns so brightly, he lights up my world. He burns so bright, so fast— he burns himself out, like a star.

And I cannot do a thing to save him.

Shinya wakes up in a hospital with stitches in his forehead to close a wound that his mother informed the doctors was his own fault— apparently, Shinya had tripped and hit his head on the counter.

He didn’t really care. Why would he? There was no point, after all.

When he is seven years old, and Mika is born shortly thereafter, disaster struck. Of course it would— nothing ever went right, and Shinya was not surprised to open his eyes and find that there is thick, choking smoke clouding the air and orange flames licking at the walls.

He moves instinctively, rolling out of bed and running across the room to where Mika slept soundly, oblivious to the disaster creeping up around them, and he reaches in to pull the blonde boy off his futon and escape from the acrid smoke and the unbearably hot flames.

And he stops.

I always fail, in the end, anyways. I’ve already decided that there’s no point in trying. Why should I even try?

Mika’s eyes fluttered open, staring at Shinya, clear and blue, cutting through him like knives. It froze Shinya in place, but when Mika let out a panicked wail, eyes clouding in fear of the red flames that licked at the walls and ceiling around them, spluttering into a cough at the smoky air, Shinya reached down and pulled the infant into his arms.

It doesn’t matter. I’ll fail, and we’ll die, anyways.

Shinya held him close and walked to the door, pressing Mika’s face into his nightshirt, hoping to filter out some of the horrible, choking smoke. But Shinya jerked back with a hiss the minute his hand was placed on the doorknob— his skin was seared in an imprint, the doorknob painfully hot.

Aha, look at that. I was right. We’re going to die.

Shinya pressed his burned hand against Mika’s back, distracting himself with the pain, clearing his head. He was a soldier, a sniper. He could find another route of escape.

Why am I still moving? Why am I still trying?

Shinya yanked open the window, and gulped in the air for a moment, blinking hazy eyes. He lived on the highest floor of his apartment building— four stories up. A dizzying height, but he had sniped from higher, and it didn’t bother him.

I should just jump and get it over with. End this, here and now.

Shinya held onto Mika with his burned hand, cradling the infant against his chest, and swung himself out the window, holding on tightly to the window ledge with his good hand. His feet scrambled for purchase on the wall, finding none, but he took a deep breath and held onto Mika a little tighter, as his hand and arm began to tremble from the strain.

Ahh, I never exercised like I should have, haha. Now it’s coming back to bite me, ne? Oh well.

Shinya focused on the ground. Four stories— that was roughly twelve meters, wasn’t it? He had no demon. He was not a vampire. A twelve meter fall would most likely kill him, if he didn’t fall right. It would kill Mika, for sure.

Everything would have to be perfectly timed— falling, catching the ledges to slow my fall, holding Mika in such a way he would take the least shock, landing on my feet.

Impossible. It was impossible— Shinya knew it.

We’re going to die.

Shinya let go of the window ledge, as the fire licked at his trembling fingertips. His heartbeat sped up, pounding painfully in his chest, and Mika’s screams stopped as the breath was taken from his tiny lungs. The world seemed to blur around him.

It’s peaceful. So calm. The eye of the storm.

Shinya’s hand shot out, skidding against the side of the building. His skin was scraped away, bleeding, and his arm burned when it passed through flames whooshing out of the third-story window— he missed the window ledge.

I failed, What a surprise.

But the tiny hands gripping tight to his nightshirt, little face pressed against his collarbone, told him to try again. And Shinya wasn’t sure why he did, when his heart was lead and he was content with death anyways…

Try again, huh?

His hand reached out, straining, to grasp the ledge that whizzed past him. His hand caught it, and his arm jerked painfully— a snapping sound and a searing pain told him that he had broken something in his arm, probably his lower forearm, from the way his skin stretched unnaturally— but he held on tenaciously, and managed to hang for a precious few seconds on the second story window ledge. Then his momentum carried him forward, his head crashed against the building, and Shinya saw stars.

Ah, that one stung.

He had the sense to bend his knees and to relax, though he was mostly unconscious when he did, relying on pure instincts. Shinya’s grip on Mika gave the infant no slack to bounce, cradling his head and neck securely with his bleeding and burned hand.

Mika—

Then they hit the ground, and Shinya rolled onto his side and collapsed onto his back. His legs ached, and his ankle was definitely not supposed to bend like that— he was bleeding from somewhere, but he could feel his toes and his fingers, so he supposed he wasn’t paralyzed. His entire body seized with the pain, and he had a nasty feeling there was internal damage. A branch from the shrub they had landed on was poking into his skin, the thorny branches pricking him and spilling his blood.

Mika isn’t crying. Ahh… I failed again.

The fire crackled above him. Shinya watched as the roof collapsed, and people screamed. From inside, or around him, Shinya couldn’t tell. His ears rang too badly to tell.

Then, a silhouette blocked out the flames, casting Shinya into shadows. It was a man, with slick black hair and dark eyes, looking very surprised.

“You just leapt four stories, and you’re still alive? My, you’re a tenacious one.”

No, I’m already dead. Look at me closely, don’t you see?

Shinya closed his eyes, and they did not open again.

The nurses and doctors tell him that he’s lucky, tell him that he has much to be thankful for. They tell him not to cry, because his parents may be dead, but he and his brother were blessed and lived, the only survivors of the fire. Because they were so fortunate, to have survived a fall like that— and his jump was caught on film by the television crews outside of the apartment, that were reporting on the blaze, so there was no hiding it— to have been stumbled across by a kind stranger, that stayed with them until the ambulance arrived. And he had to take care of his little brother, had to be strong, so don’t cry, okay?

Over and over, he was told that. Shinya never bothered to tell them that he didn’t feel the need to cry.

Dead men don’t cry.

Shinya was kept in the hospital, and Mika was released to an orphanage.

“You survived,” The nurse told him, again. “And in a year, you’ll be walking again. Eight or nine months, if you really try hard at physical therapy. Then you can go back to your brother.”

He stared at his blanket-covered legs bitterly, hands tight on the armrests of his wheelchair, and thought, lucky, sure.

Three months into his physical therapy, Shinya had a visitor: the man who had called an ambulance for him.

“I’m Saito,” the man said, with a gentlemanly smile. “You’re Shinya-kun, yes?”

Shinya knew from the moment he lay eyes on Saito that his visitor was not human. He had spent too many lives around vampires to not recognize one when he saw one, though Saito didn’t have the trademark pointed ears, fangs, or red eyes. In fact, there was something different about him, something not quite demonic and not quite vampiric.

Yes, I’m Shinya, and you’re a vampire, what else is new?

“I am,” Shinya said flatly, leaning against the wall, braced against his crutches. “What do you need from me, Saito-san?”

“Right to the point, aren’t you?” Saito mused. “Well, I suppose that’s good. I’m from the orphanage where your brother is being kept.’

I have a bad feeling about this.

“When do I get to visit him?” Shinya asked, shifting his grip on his crutches. His arms ached, and his legs hurt— he wasn’t supposed to be this far along in his physical therapy, but he was pushing his body to the limit and beyond — but he refused to show weakness in front of this man, this vampire, who might as well have been holding Mika hostage. “It’s been three months already. I’m walking. I should be dismissed soon.”

“Haha, you might be walking, but you won’t stay that way for long,” Saito chuckled. “With the way you’re taxing your body, you might get better— for a bit.  Then, you’ll break again, worse than before. And you’ll never see your brother that way, hmm?”

“I’ll be fine,” Shinya snapped, face pale with strain and hands shaking. “I don’t need your—”

Saito tapped Shinya’s crutches with his foot, barely touching them, but the damage was done. Shinya’s precarious balance was lost, and he fell with a crash to the floor.

“It looks like you need my assistance,” Saito said, with a falsely kind smile and a hand offered to Shinya.

Shinya scowled and slapped the hand away, pulling himself to his feet shakily. He nearly slipped, but managed to do it on his own.

Saito grinned, a devilish smirk that made Shinya want to shout for Byakkomaru to shoot that smirk right off his face—

“So you still have a little fire left in you, do you? Maybe you’ll make it yet. The Hyakuya Orphanage could use you, so hurry up and get better, okay?”

Saito left, laughing, and Shinya was stuck frozen.

Hyakuya…? Why, of all places, did Mika have to get sent there…?

Shinya received another visitor, not long after that. A boy that was his age, surprisingly, with thick black eyebrows and red eyes that were strangely sharp and serious. He wore the uniform for First Shibuya Elementary, and he was accompanied by a girl with blonde hair in pigtails and green eyes, wearing the same uniform, except with a blouse and skirt. Though they were children, the nurses and doctors bowed to them respectfully, and not an objection was made— the boy walked like he owned the world, and the staff of the hospital treated him like he did.

Kureto and Aoi. No wonder the doctors were so in awe; a god had visited the hospital.

“You are Shindo Shinya?” Kureto asked, scanning over Shinya briefly.

“I am, Kureto-sama,” Shinya said, just a little bit sarcastic and bitter. “What sort of honor have I, the kindergarten flunky, been awarded to be graced with your presence?”

Kureto raised an eyebrow, and Aoi looked furious at his disrespect, but he held a hand out for her silence.

“You know my name, though you never made it past the kindergarten’s entrance exams. How?”

“I’d be a fool not to know the names of the prestigious Hiiragi family,” Shinya droned.

You don’t remember me at all, do you, Niisan? No, I suppose you wouldn’t.

Kureto's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing about that, continuing on like Shinya’s answer was nothing more than an annoyance; Shinya supposed that was true.

“Your fall was captured on film. By camera crews. You fell four stories with an infant, yet you were strong enough and smart enough to know how to break your fall. You are normal, yet you are not. The tests said you were trash, with no magical ability or physical worth, but you managed to pull of that feat.”

Shinya shrugged.

“Haven’t you heard? I’m lucky,” he said, and the word was dripping with bitterness and poison that made even himself recoil.

But Kureto didn’t flinch.

“My Father thinks that you’re worthless, still. But I think that you might have some value.” Kureto announced. “When you’re well, I’ll see about making you a servant. One of my retainers, maybe.”

It’s not an invitation. It’s an order. And he thinks I should be honored.

“Kureto-sama!” Aoi protested, horrified. “But he’s just low-born trash! He— He’s lower than an Ichinose! Such a dog isn’t worthy of serving you!”

Haha, tahat’s right. I’m just trash now. Lower than the Ichinose family, I have no name; I’m an orphan, a failure.

“He is nothing more than a mutt,” Kureto agreed, and Shinya’s scowl deepened. “But he will be a useful pawn.”

Aoi wasn’t happy, still— she glared daggers at Shinya, who shrugged and swayed on his crutches. But she knew her place, and relented with a soft, “Yes, Kureto-sama.”

“Heal fast,” Kureto ordered, as the two left, the door shutting ominously behind them. Shinya had the urge to throw a window open and scream, or maybe throw a crutch at the door, but instead, he slumped to the floor, using the wall as a support, and laughed dryly.

And yet, I still can’t escape the clutches of the Hiiragi family.

Shinya knew one thing: if he went back to the Hiiragi family, he would surely meet his family, friends— he would meet Guren.

I don’t want to go back. I can’t go back.

He pulled at the sheets that covered his legs, concealed the braced limbs, fisting the white cloth between his fingers. His chest ached, making it hard to breathe.

I can’t kill those children again.

It wasn’t enough to ground him— he switched to grasping at his hair, pulling at the lengthy strands until some came out in his fingers, anything to ground him. He couldn’t breathe, could feel the memories pulling at him, could see the blood and the bodies of the children he killed every time in his peripheral vision.

I can’t watch Mahiru deteriorate again.

The images of her floated behind his eyes— the girl that had his back in some lives, and put a knife through it in most. The smile and they eyes that shone so brightly but were always so sad, the tears that she had shed, the life that she deserved but never got.

I can’t be a good little Hiiragi anymore.

He remembered the assassinations he had been sent on, the blood, the bodies, so clearly. It had never bothered him before— so why now? Why did those ghosts come to haunt him now?

I can’t see them and pretend like I don’t know them. It hurts too much.

His friends, his family, his precious ones— he couldn’t see them again, couldn’t watch them die again, couldn’t take it anymore. His chest burned; it felt like cold fingers were wrapped around his throat, cutting off his air, and Shinya’s hands moved from pulling at his hair to clawing at his throat, desperately trying to breathe.

I can’t smile anymore.

It hurt so badly.  Nothing was working, it wasn’t enough pain to bring him back to the present. He slammed a fist down against his legs, and gasped a lungful of air when his body convulsed in pain. His heart monitor was going wild.

I can’t do it—

The door flew open, and the nurses screamed at him to stop, grabbed at his hands and feet, trying to restrain him.

—can’t pretend like everything’s okay when it’s not—

Shinya fought back against them, until a needle slipped into his arm and a lethargy took over his body, dragging him to sleep with cold claws.

He was put on a careful watch as he healed. New pills, every morning and night. His day was monitored meticulously, and he was moved to a new room. Shinya was no fool; he feigned sleep when the nurses came in to check on him, like they always did, like clockwork— every ten minutes.

“Poor boy,” one of them tutted. “Losing his parents, breaking his legs, and then being separated from his baby brother… it’s no wonder he lost it.”

“I’m not so sure that’s just it,” The other hummed. “Haven’t you ever noticed? He doesn’t smile. Or laugh— never. Not a single person has been able to make him change his expression. He didn’t even cry after his parents died. There’s something… not right about him.”

“He’s only eight,” The first nurse rebutted. “And he’s been through a lot. Some people cope differently, that’s all. And he was just moved into the psychiatric ward; of course he’s not right.”

So I’m in the psych ward, huh?

“You don’t understand,” The second nurse whispered. “His eyes— catch him when he’s alone, and look at his eyes. They— they aren’t normal. They’re so dark, so dead. I used to have a soldier here, that had PTSD. Shinya-kun— Shinya-kun looks exactly like that.”

“That’s crazy,” The first nurse scoffed. “A child can’t have the eyes of a soldier. He’s eight. He’s never been to war, never killed anyone.”

Shinya almost laughed.

“You’re right,” The second nurse conceeded. “But… I don’t know. I can never shake the feeling that it’s the soldier looking at me, through that little boy’s eyes.”

A soldier? I look like a soldier, do I?

The first nurse laughed. “I think you’ve spent too long with our patients.”

“Maybe so,” The second nurse sighed.

If only you knew.

His physical therapy went well, his legs healing within the year. They still ached, but Shinya could walk without the assistance of his crutches and a cane, now.

And when the braces came off his legs, he knew; the Hiiragi family and the Hyakuya Sect would be coming for him. It was only a matter of time.

I won’t go back.

To his mild surprise, it was the Hyakuya Sect that got to him first.

“I’ll take you to where your little brother is,” Saito informed him, with a comely smile. “Isn’t that great, Shinya-kun?”

Shinya shrugged. They Hyakuya Sect was just as bad as the Hiiragi family, and he supposed that, at least he didn’t know anyone in the Hyakuya Sect, except Mika.

“Why the long face?” Saito asked, cheery, walking beside Shinya as they made their way to the elevator. “Aren’t you happy to be finally leaving this dull old hospital?”

“I guess,” Shinya said noncommittally.

“Well, that was very unenthusiastic,” Saito stated, and Shinya shrugged once more in place of an answer.

They were approaching the elevator when the doors dinged and slid open. On the other side stood Mahiru, Kureto, Aoi, and Hiiragi Tenri himself.

“—make a promising pawn,” Kureto was saying, but froze when he saw Shinya and Saito.

Tenri did not freeze. Tenri ordered, “Capture him!”, pointing a finger at Shinya and pressing a hand to his ear— a bluetooth, or something of the sort— and ordered to someone else, “Send in the others, put the hospital on lockdown. Capture the one that tried to take Hiiragi property.

Ah, yes. Nobody gets away with stealing Hiiragi property, is that it? I’m flattered.

Saito grabbed Shinya’s arm, bruisingly tight, and dragged him down the hallway the way they came. Deftly, he knocked a nurse and cart over, sending the woman careening into a startled Aoi— the two crumpled to the ground in a heap, but Mahiru leaped over the cart like a cat, ducking and weaving around the chaos gracefully. Kureto was less graceful, but no less skilled, following just behind Mahiru with a talisman in hand and a hand on the sword hilt at his waist.

“Those pesky humans,” Saito muttered, steering Shinya up the stairs. “We’ll have to go from the roof— I bet they took a helicopter, so I’ll just take over that.”

“Why does the Hyakuya Sect want me so badly?” Shinya asked dully. Saito’s grip on his arm was brutal. “I’m nothing special.”

Saito’s smile was sharp and predatory, vampiric.

“Nothing special? No, that’s not true. You’ve got a strong heart and an unbreakable will— and a body to match, as tough as nails. You’re exactly what the Hyakuya Sect needs.” He laughed, jerking Shinya aside as a spell talismen flew over their heads. “Don’t worry. We’ll erase this from your memory later.”

Gee, so considerate.

Saito moved with inhuman speed, and Kureto fell behind easily— Mahiru kept up more, her eyes gleaming and her talismen exploding around them, shaking the floor in small blasts. But even she was outmatched by the vampire’s speed, and when Saito threw the door off it’s hinges, revealing the helicopter on the rooftop that belonged to the Hiiragi family, the two siblings were a good distance behind them.

Now, however, they were surrounded by soldiers. Servants of the Hiiragi family, with guns and spells, and Shinya saw no way out, other than killing the soldiers there and stealing the helicopter— and from the irritated expression Saito wore, he saw it that way, too.

“Stay still, and you won’t be shot,” Saito said lowly. “They value you— your life is in no danger, so long as you don’t make yourself a target.”

“Okay,” Shinya mumbled, and suddenly Saito was gone and a Hiiragi soldier was beheaded, blood spraying, hot and crimson.

I won’t be a pawn in this life.

Soldiers opened fire immediately, bullets and curses flying through the air, but Saito was faster,

I will not be a slave to Hiiragi or Hyakuya.

Mahiru and Kureto emerged, kicking away the broken door, Kureto looking out-of-breath and Mahiru exhilarated and irritated at the same time. Saito flung an arm out— and chains flew out, sweeping into Mahiru and Kureto both, throwing them into the wall so hard that it cracked.

I will die by my hand, this time.

Shinya darted, sprinting on weak legs, ducking around a soldier to throw himself into the air— off of the hospital roof.

Someone screamed, and abruptly Shinya was yanked backwards, hanging from the back of his shirt, dangling in the air.

“Idiot,” Guren gasped, fingers locked into Shinya’s shirt, holding desperately onto the concrete of the rooftop ledge, the only thing standing between Shinya and a ten story fall. “Idiot, idiot, stupid, why would you do that?!”

Shinya stared up, into violet eyes, and he gasped as the sound of tearing seams sounded and Guren released the ledge to thrust his other hand out and demand, “Grab my hand!”

“Let go of me!” Shinya shouted, eyes wide in fear as Guren slipped closer to the edge, looking pained. “Let go! We’ll both fall!”

“If I fall with you, it doesn’t matter,” Guren declared, reaching down to grab Shinya’s arm, forcefully grasping his hand and pulling, releasing Shinya’s tearing shirt in favor of both of his hands. But he was eight, a human boy, and he was not strong enough to haul Shinya up. “So I don’t care! Hold on!”

“Why did you try to save me?” Shinya whispered, as his fingers began to strain and pop from dangling by only his hands. “Why?”

Guren’s face was pale and drawn.

“Because I wouldn’t ever let you fall,” He managed breathlessly.

“Why are you with the Hiiragi family?” Shinya said. There were tears in his eyes, from the stinging wind that whipped around him viciously. “Why would you make yourself their slave?”

“It’s the only way that I could find you!” Guren hissed, trying to pull him up again, desperation gleaming in his eyes, and anger. “But— but you weren’t there! You—!”

One of Shinya’s hands slipped, and Guren tried to grasp it again, but Shinya found that he was too weak to lift his hand up that far.

“Let me go, Guren,” Shinya urged, over the wind. “Let me go!”

“I won’t ever let you go!” Guren shouted back at him, angry and desperate.

We’ll both fall. We’ll both die— for nothing.

Guren twisted, calling out a hoarse, “Help! Somebody, I need help!”

Nobody will help. It’s a lowly Ichinose, and they are servants of Hiiragi, fighting off a vampire. Mahiru and Kureto are probably unconscious, or at the very least, incapacitated.

Shinya forced himself to move, finding strength in the panicked look in Guren’s eyes, in the desperation which he fought to save Shinya. His hand came up to wrap around Guren’s, where the dark-haired boy’s hand grasped his tenaciously, and he placed his hand over Guren’s shaking fingers.

“Take care of Mika for me,” Shinya said. “I’ll try hard next time, I promise. I won’t give up again.”

Guren realized what he intended to do, and his fingers tightened around Shinya’s.

“Don’t you dare—!”

“I’ll see you again,” Shinya promised.

Shinya pried Guren’s fingers from his, and let go.

Guren screamed.

“Shinya!”

As he fell, Shinya watched Guren get further and further away, the sun burning brightly behind him, setting the inky dark hair against a halo of gold fire and painting him in shadowed hues.

Shinya smiled.

I’ll never burn as brilliantly as you.

Chapter Text

It’s only fair that I should be the one to chase you across ten, twenty-five, a hundred lifetimes until I find the one where you’ll return to me.

The moment Shinya opened his eyes, he vowed to himself to never fall into a slump like that again. Never again would he waste a lifetime— never again would he just give up. He couldn’t, not now. Not with the image of Guren screaming his name was burned behind his eyes.

I’ll find a way back. No matter what, I’ll find you again, Guren.

It hurt him to leave, when he knew that he would condemn Mika to face hell alone— but Shinya was selfish, and Shinya knew that Mika could survive unbroken, because Mika was so much stronger and kinder than he would ever be.

So Shinya shone, and excelled at the tests, pulled out all the stops. His words were sugary-sweet, his smiles saccharine, and he enchanted the teachers with a bat of his eye.

He was the best candidate for the Hiiragi family, Shinya made sure of it.

His body ached. It burned, and he had pushed himself too far today— his muscles trembled in pain, and he shook faintly on the bed he lay on.

But it was okay, Shinya thought. He had to be strong, in this life, to make up for the weakness he had shown last time. He would recover tonight, and be fine tomorrow. He could work through the stiff and sore muscles training left him— the pain kept him grounded, even. In the present.

And when he thought about Guren, it didn’t hurt quite so bad. He could dream about happy times, and his smile was real.

He worried.

Shinya had ample time to think, after all. And he did think, especially about Guren.

How much did he remember? More than two lives ago, it seemed, when Shinya was a vampire dying in Guren’s arms, because Guren had the insight to go the the Hiiragi family to search for him.

Why did he submit to the Hiiragi family like that?

I’m not worth that.

Poisonous thoughts, too— ones that Shinya was no stranger to, but that still hurt.

What if he’s happier without me?

What if I only make things worse?

What if he dies because of me?

Others will suffer because I choose Guren.

I can’t save everyone.

Worthless. I’m worthless.

A failure, that’s all I am.

What if he’s forgotten me?

In the end, does it even matter?

We just die in the end, anyways.

He kept the thoughts at bay with memories of happy times. They hurt sometimes, too, an aching kind of hurt, because Shinya knew that he could never go back to those times— but he never again succumbed to the despair.

But if there was even the slightest chance that Guren remembered him, Shinya would fight tooth and nail to return to him. Even if it broke his heart again, he would fight.

Because he knew what it was like to be alone, consumed by memories, and he wouldn’t condemn Guren to that in his wildest dreams.

“I won’t love you,” Mahiru tells him, upon their first meeting. She’s small and delicate and dangerous, and Shinya watches her sadly as she gives him a vacant but mischievous smile. “Deep-night Shinya.”

Shinya laughed, as his heart crumpled. “Aha, I suppose you already have someone you love, lunch-time Mahiru?”

Her smile is pleased, that he went along with her teasing so easily, that he does not treat her with unbearably lonely respect, but her eyes go cold at the mention of a lover.

“...no. Not one that matters, because he doesn’t love me.” She shrugged, her tiny little shoulders making purple hair shift in waves. “Not like that, anyways. But even if I didn’t, I still would never love you.”

Guren… doesn’t love her? Like that? What does that mean?

Shinya put a hand to his chest, like she had stabbed his heart, staggering in feigned pain.

“Ahh, that stings! Is there something wrong with me, Mahiru? Have I done something to make you hate me?”

She studied him, with her sad, cold eyes.

“Not really, no. But you were chosen for me by my family, so I’ll never love you.”

Shinya sighed, and shrugged.

“Well, that’s fine. Honestly, I love someone else, anyways— and having your marriage arranged must suck, so I understand. I didn’t expect you to love me, just put up with me, until I outlive my usefulness and the Hiiragi family puts me down.”

Her interest in him sharpened, and suddenly she was moving, a talismen in hand, to attack, an illusion in her place. Shinya caught her wrist, ignoring the illusion entirely, saying a counter-spell so fast that the spell tag in his hand seemed to never even be there, the paper fizzing to ashes and his spell working instantly to neutralize Mahiru’s.

“Sorry, Mahiru. But I like these clothes, and I’d rather not have them damaged by an explosion. Nothing personal.”

She smiled sweetly, but her eyes gleamed, interested.

“Of course not, Shinya.” She laughed, so fauxly innocent. “You’re not so dull after all, hmm. You know, I think that I might like you a little, after all~! I’ll pretend to like you, anyways.”

Shinya’s smile was bitter.

“So we pretend to be in love, and you escape the pressure of your family to marry and produce offspring with good genes, at least for awhile.”

“That’s right,” Mahiru said, with a sunny smile, her dress fanning out around her as she spun away from him gracefully. “And you get to live. A fair deal, isn’t it?”

“I don’t have any other choice,” Shinya agreed brightly.

“You understand perfectly!” Mahiru said, accompanied by a brief peal of laughter.

He’s eleven, and there’s no sign of Guren, still. But Shinya waits.

He’s beaten sometimes, at the Hiiragi manor. Truthfully, he’s treated no better than a lowly Ichinose, by the true Hiiragi bloodline. By others, he’s treated like a god, called with ‘-sama’ and respected, revered, though not quite as much as Mahiru and Kureto were.

Shinya was just adopted, after all. But still, it was worth it. The beatings, they were worth it. He could take the beatings with a smile.

Because they can’t take away his hope, not again.

He’s twelve, and Guren has shown neither hide nor hair.

There’s a deep longing, an ache in his heart that makes him want to cry, sometimes. Sometimes, the traitorous thoughts sneak in more frequently, and Shinya barely manages to hold the tears back.

Guren’s forgotten me.

Guren will never come.

But Shinya shakes them off when they come, and smiles at his bruises, traces the shape of purple and yellow fists on his skin, and he thinks, they can’t take away my hope.

His thirteenth birthday passes with a brutal gift. He’s given his first assassination from the Hiiragi family, a member of the Hyakuya Sect.

He’s of age now, they tell him, to go out alone. He doesn’t need coddling, or hand-holding. Surely even he, the stupid, adopted boy, can accomplish this much?

Shinya doesn’t tell them that he has killed so many people, he could drown in the blood. There’s no point; he doesn’t seek out beatings, and besides, they already know.

They just like to taunt him, those mighty people, so high above him.

Shinya thinks about killing them as he passes, with a blade hidden in his sleeve and a pocket full of talismen, but decided against it. Because that would kill the hope of meeting Guren.

That would be letting them crush his hope, and they aren’t worth that, he tells himself.

And when he returns, with blood on his hands and clothes, the crimson stains drying brown, does it really matter if he cried?

Shinya told himself he didn’t. No noises escaped his throat, no sobs shook his body, but his eyes stung and his cheeks were wet. Still, the Hiiragi family would have been proud. It was a clean kill, except for the blood on his hands and clothes, and the blood on the body. Nobody had seen him, nobody would find the body for days.

Now, he’s washed himself free of the blood, washed his hands of it.

But it won’t ever come off.

Fourteen comes to pass quietly. Nobody remembers, the way Shinya likes it. He isn’t fond of celebrating the day he was brought into the world— why would he be, really?

Shinoa seems to realize something today is different somehow. She’s a tiny thing, for five.

“Shin-nii,” She said, holding out the ribbons for her hair, a question.

He smiled at her, cheerily. “Sure, Shinoa. Pigtails today, or a bow?”

“Hmm,” She seemed to consider this for a moment, before grinning at him. “Bow~!”

Shinya laughed, and she scrambled onto his lap, squirming impatiently while he tied her lavender hair into a large bow in the back. When he finished, announcing, “Ta-da!”, she giggled delightedly and ran to look in his mirror.

She was too short.

“You’re all giants,” Shinoa complained, sticking her tongue out at the mirror on the wall, a good head above her.

Shinya smiled, standing and lifting her onto his shoulders. She grabbed onto his hair and studied her reflection with a growing smile of her own.

Do you remember how many times I’ve done this for you, Shinoa? No, of course you don’t. You never will. Over and over, I’ll do the same thing, and you’ll never know any better.

The bitter thought caught him off-guard, and Shinya’s smile slipped away, replaced by a sad frown.

Shinoa frowned, just for a moment, studying their reflections in the mirror. Then she grinned wickedly and grabbed fistfulls of his hair like reins.

Shinya yelped at the tiny hands tugging sharply at his hair, not enough to pull it out, but enough to sting, just a little. It pulled him out of his thoughts, into the present.

“What’d you do that for?” He sulked. “Meanie.”

Shinoa nudged him with her foot. “Shush! Horses don’t talk!”

“Wha—”

Shinoa ignored his confusion, tugging her fistfuls of his hair forward and declaring, “Onward, noble steed!”

It clicked, and Shinya couldn’t contain his laughter— but obediently, he moved forward, his smile returning.

He didn’t see Shinoa grin triumphantly at his smile— and she didn’t intend to let him.

Fifteen is solemn. He will start high school in a few short months, and Shinya waits anxiously, because there he will doubtlessly see Guren there. There, they will finally meet, surely.

The poisonous voice in his head that is his own whispered, what if you don’t? But Shinya pushed it down, locked it in the deepest part of his heart, silencing it— for now.

Because it doesn’t matter how long it takes.

He’ll wait, and he will hope, because he won’t give up, ever. He won’t ever give up on the person with the smile that could light up Shinya’s entire world, with the hands that had hurt him sometimes, but had dried his tears and bound his wounds so many more times. On the person that had danced with him to jazz music at odd hours of the night when sleep was elusive, to distract them both from the demons that ate away at their souls. The same person that he had lived and died for, so many times before— the one that had given him a reason to live, originally, other than just waiting around to die.

He would never give up on Guren, never again. No matter how long it took for them to meet again, no matter how many times his heart broke, he would never give up, not again.

The day that Shinya started high school, it was warm, and he was nervous enough to have not slept in the past twenty-four hours. Which didn’t bother him too much— he had stayed up for much longer, and could function just fine without sleep, for a day— but the nerves made it hard to think straight.

It made it  harder to keep the memories at bay, but Shinya dug his nails into his palms until they bled and forced them back. Because he was in the present, and he wouldn’t be dragged down by memories, not today.

Not when today was the day that they had almost always met before—

The school bell rang, and Shinya realized that he had been standing still for a long time. Everybody else was already inside— he had missed his chance to greet Guren in his typical fashion— and Shinya was alone, with blood dripping off his palms, where cuts in the shape of crescent-moons marred his skin.

He pulled a tissue out of his pocket and wiped the blood away, then walked into the school slowly, his heart beating in his ears like a drum. It didn’t matter if he was late— he was a Hiiragi. He could never show up and not a soul would care, because who would make a god attend a school?

To himself, he thought about how foolish his classmates and teachers were. He was no god— neither was Kureto, or Seishiro, or Tenri, nor was Mahiru a goddess. They were all human (mostly, at least), just puny little humans, just as fragile and mortal as the rest of them.

The only difference, perhaps, was that most people did not experiment with demons and magic, did not dabble with vampires and create armies, did not dream of world domination. The Hiiragi family did, and that was what made them different.

But there was no use in trying to make them see that. To the followers of Mikado no Oni, the Hiiragi family were gods, and Shinya supposed that there was no changing that.

Can’t you see, I’m no god? I’m so weak, so pitiful. How could you ever think I was a god?

Outside the classroom door, he paused. His feet were rooted to the floor, it seemed. He was frozen.

What if, when I open this door, Guren is not on the other side?

The answer was simple. He would wait, that was it. Shinya would wait.

I want to see him.

He would wait. But that didn’t stop the aching, the desire to see. To touch, to feel. Some sort of reassurance that he was not alone.

I’m so scared.

Shinya resisted the urge to turn away, to run. The panic, the fear, was nearly unbearable, and his heart beat like it would leap out of his chest.

In the end, his feet stayed rooted in place until the bell rang again.

Coward, coward, I’m a coward.

Shinya fled to the roof for sanctuary.

He waited, and listened to the bells. Finally, the bell for lunch rang, and Shinya knew that the day was half-over, his chance half-gone— yet he did not move, from his spot on the roof.

What if, what if, what if… I’m not even sure what to do, anymore. There’s too many ‘what if’s. I’m too much of a coward.

He was too afraid to open the door to the classroom and find that Guren was not there, too afraid of having his hopes crushed.

I can face vampires and chimeras unflinchingly, yet I can’t even find the courage to open a door… how pitiful.