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From an early age, Dazai didn't believe in God. Nothing to be held against religious people, but quite frankly, they were stupid. He never understood those who worshipped a person, a being, or an idea. How could they allow their purpose in life to be defined by an entity? To unconditionally believe in something without question?
That is faith. It’s stupid. It makes humans weaker. He wouldn’t consider himself a part of such primitive beings. As a matter of fact, he wouldn’t even call himself human, not while living with the truth about the atrocities he’s committed. How could he? Not with a soul the colour of rotten flesh.
Several people have mentioned how he didn't have a heart, and it was true—he didn't. Especially not at the moment.
He felt nothing; he saw nothing. He was dead. Even worse, he wasn't breathing. Was this how he wanted to die? It was peaceful. It was pain-free. That aside, his soul wasn't free, which sucked.
Crack.
A sharp punch to his jaw as he awoke from his stupor. The pill he had previously placed at the side of his mouth dislodged, spilling its bitter antidote on his tongue.
He had escaped death, yet again.
Eyes snapped open to reveal the sheer destruction. Blood-red encompassed the skies and rubble meters below him.
A deep inhale.
He was hovering in the air, but not alone. A golden sphere surrounded him and another man, the one who punched him. He had a short stature, snarling at him with the fangs of an unmistakable otherworldly creature. Was it a god? Or was it a demon?
A slower inhale.
The air felt heavier, as if gravity itself were pulling his sides apart. That didn’t bother him as much. Instead, his eyes were focused on the sight above him. Fiery ginger locks were set free with blood trailing from his lips.
It was Chuuya. He found him. His eyes were rolled-back, scars appearing throughout his body the longer he stayed in that monstrous state.
Dazai was breathless, and it wasn’t from his almost-death. He was inches away from his partner and inches away from death. A double suicide if Dazai didn't save them both. The monster would rip his insides out and then its own.
Not a very peaceful end. Not for his god. Even if they were both granted hell.
Chuuya coughed blood as Dazai held his hand out, entranced. It wasn't for the other to hold. His fingers tenderly reached toward orange locks. The god, or whatever human conscience he had left, gravitated toward his palm, letting Dazai caress his cheek. A smile crossed his face. He felt him melt under his touch, his red glow neutralizing to a calm blue.
Chuuya’s bloody scars started retreating, leaving traces of torn flesh. Ironically, the vessel of Arahabaki, the god of calamity, looked somewhat at peace.
Consciousness washed over Chuuya’s blue irises, looking down on Dazai's muddy brown ones. Realization followed suit. His faith in him, a mortal human, did not result in their deaths.
“You used Corruption, believing in me? How beautiful,” Dazai started.
“Yeah, I did. I believed in your disgusting vitality and craftiness.” There was a lack of his usual irritation.
Dazai's hand pulled the other closer, still cupping his cheek. They were airborne in the red skies. Yokohama was perpetually still in danger from Shibusawa and the rat being loose.
Thud.
The gravity pulled them down to reality as they crashed violently on top of the debris. Chuuya dropped on top of him, one hand holding onto Dazai’s bent knee as fatigue overcame his movements.
The red fog obstructed their vision. It morphed into blue as soon as it touched Dazai’s skin, neutralizing the tenacious ability.
“Let go, asshole.” Chuuya frowned.
“Don't move. The fog hasn't cleared. I don't want to have to protect you from your special ability in this situation.”
“It's still not over?”
“No, it's just beginning.”
Chuuya’s muscles cramped as exhaustion hit him all at once, mentally and physically. “Shit… I can't move a single finger.”
“I already calculated all of this. Now the rest is on them.” The resolution of the crisis was left in the hands of Shin Soukoku, their younger counterparts.
Not a second after, the god lost all of his strength and slumped face-first on his lap. Dazai gingerly ran a hand through orange strands. There was a speck of a smile on his face.
“Rest, Chuuya.” His voice was faint, as if not meant to be heard. And it wasn’t.
They were alone among the ruins: the faithful and a worshipper.