Disclaimer: I don't own Katekyo Hitman Reborn.
Chapter 1:
Eternity.
It was an infinite existence that spanned through time and across worlds. When someone knew eternity, he was not born, he simply was; he did not live, he only existed; nor did he experience the joys and sorrows that came with life, but merely watched them pass by.
The planes of existence were many—so many, in fact, that no one knew their exact number. One may speculate or conjecture, but that's all it really was—guesswork. Nothing could be proven in the end.
On one of the higher planes existed a group of beings charged with the duty of observing the cosmic order. Their realm was a concept, an immaterial place that was molded by the wills of its inhabitants. If so desired, it could simultaneously be a land graced by the beauty of nature or a terrain ravaged by war; but in its essence, it was none of these, for it was free of the confines of a permanent form. The entities lived peacefully in their realm while keeping the balance of the multiple planes below them in check; they watched and they guided, but it was not their place to interfere directly.
Most were content to spend eternity carrying out their duties, but not all felt this way. There was one among them who wasn't satisfied with such a mundane existence, what he perceived as an inconceivably dull eternity.
One day, while performing a routine inspection of a lower plane inhabited by beings known as humans, he became enraptured by their world.
Byakuran wrapped a finger in the white hair that framed his face, tapping a bare foot impatiently; he was growing progressively more agitated the more he saw of the human world.
The domain below held so much promise, so much fun to be had, but none of its occupants knew how to grasp that potential and make it great. Century after century, he watched the ants that covered the earth live their lives. Some well, others foolishly; some fully, and others briefly, but they lived—that was the most important part. For the first couple thousand years, the humans had provided entertainment for him in an otherwise uneventful existence. The battles they fought—from small skirmishes over territory to large-scale wars that desolated the land—engrossed him like his duties never could.
His favorite quality of the lower beings was their inventiveness. From their minds spawned countless machines of destruction—from explosives and guns to creative methods of torture such as the bronze bull, the Judas chair, or the rack. He couldn't help but admire their innovation—those had been good times. Recently, however, life on their world had gotten progressively and unbearably monotonous.
Where was the blood, the destruction that he so craved? He hadn't witnessed a good battle in years; there was neither anything being blown up nor massacres taking place—not on a scale worthy of his notice, at any rate. How did these humans get by for so long with so little excitement in their lives? Here he was, an eternal creature, and he was going stir-crazy while the mortals lived their insignificant lives with ease and contentment.
For the longest time now—or perhaps not so long, for time is only an expression when applied to eternity—he had been plagued by a dull ache that permeated his very being. It had been slight at first, barely perceptible, but as the centuries crawled by and the humans grew more civilized, the ache grew as well. He had come to realize that it was, quite literally, a physical manifestation of his boredom.
Byakuran didn't think he could take any more of this. It wasn't enough for him to simply observe anymore. Now, more than anything, he wanted to participate. It was a brilliant idea that had struck him one day, to join the humans in their world. And ever since, he had spent all his time pondering it, imagining all the wonderful possibilities such an act could bring about. But he had yet to act on it because it had never been done.
The others—they didn't care about the humans or any of the other creatures they oversaw, only that the balance was kept. But he wasn't like them—he felt that deep within his bones, and it wasn't merely the persistent ache or his unusual obsession. There was simply something that set him apart from his companions. The more he saw the others meandering around, carrying out the same repetitive tasks time and time again with no variation or excitement, the more he was convinced that he didn't belong here. His place was down below—he was certain of it.
Byakuran stood up, calling the attention of his brethren. When all eyes rested on him, he grinned at them, raised his arms dramatically and renounced his duties.
It was an unheard of act, and that was reflected in the clear shock and bemusement on the others' faces.
Satisfied that his declaration had made an appropriate impression, he bid them all farewell, for he was going to go down to the mortal plane and have a little fun, wreak a little havoc, maybe start a war or two—whichever sounded the most fun; although he felt certain that he would get to do it all, eventually.
The others gave him disapproving looks at this revelation, and told him that his actions were demeaning to their position. As higher beings, they did not meddle in the affairs of the lower planes. The sheer amount of time he spent observing the mortals was bad enough; joining them was downright absurd.
Byakuran merely laughed at his companions as he left, knowing full well they wouldn't try to stop him. Their no interference policy was so ingrained into their systems that they couldn't be proactive even if it meant allowing him to leave.
Indeed, no one attempted to prevent his departure, and he let out a triumphant laugh as his theory was proven correct.
Once he was alone, the landscape around him switched from a calm river that wound through a grassy forest, to a stretch of ground soaked dark with blood. A blink of his eyes later and it was littered with rotting corpses. He was toying with the visual aspect of the plane in an attempt to calm the anticipation bubbling inside him like a spring—a spurt of water suddenly punctured the ground beside him, welling into a puddle, and gradually enlarging into a pool.
He peered down at the world below, the one that had captivated him so completely. He watched the events unfold, watched the people scurry about, and watched as their time ran out.
Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. If the mortal existence—short as it was—had taught him anything, it was that there was no time like the present.
As with everything on their plane, his placement in it was a matter of intention. He willed himself immaterial, wished himself elsewhere, there.
The ground dropped out from under his feet and he plummeted downward. He fell through the multiple planes of existence, one after the other until he finally breached the one he wanted: the human world.
His first sensation in this new world was the wind whipping past him as he fell, clawing at his skin and ripping through his hair with icy talons, the coldness of the air invigorating him. Changing position in midair, he angled himself so that he descended head-first toward the vast land below, his arms at his sides for a streamlined form.
With a feeling of glee, he decided that his entrance needed to be memorable. After all, it wasn't every day that a being of his stature graced the lesser creatures with his presence. He recalled from his observations that the human race both revered fire for its ability and usefulness as well as feared it for its devastating effects when uncontrolled. He was rather fond of it himself, and could understand why people were so captivated by the entrancing colors that danced with a life of their own.
Fire drew people's attention, and the thought of drawing all eyes to him with the substance appealed to him. To that effect, he tried summoning flames around him, but was annoyed to discover that little more than tendrils appeared before they were quickly whipped away by the wind.
There was a brief flicker of doubt that led him to wonder if his ability was ineffective outside his realm.
Persisting, he poured a larger quantity of his energy into the act. He was pleased to see that he still retained the ability to manifest his will, as the conjured flames wrapped around his entire being.
There was no hot or cold up there, and the warmth of the flames as they spread across his skin was a new experience; he enjoyed the way the heat provided a contrast to the chill from the wind, the two elements combining in a twisting synergy as he descended to earth in a glorious streak of orange fire.
Briefly, he toyed with the idea of siphoning off some of the flames around his body to rain fire upon the earth. But if he did that, there might not be anyone left to worship him… Perhaps he could rain just a little fire, kill just a few people—enough to get the point across, but still have plenty left to revere him.
Before he could fully consider the pros and cons of this plan, he spotted the outlines of structures below. The excitement of finally joining the world he had watched for millennia drove all thoughts of fire and death from his mind. Clapping his hands giddily, he watched as the dots in the distance became more distinct with each passing second.
He could see the tiny figures scatter and seek refuge in their poorly constructed buildings, although a few remained outside with their necks craned to follow his flame-enshrouded body through the sky. A bit irritated that his audience had fled, he decided to let loose a few balls of fire at the earth after all.
Just a few shots toward a couple of buildings, quickly setting them aflame, were enough to encourage the inhabitants to leave their homes and run into the nearby fields. Once there, they promptly fixed their attention upon him. With a crash that shook the earth and rendered a crater larger than two buildings combined, he had arrived at last.
Within the depression, he wondered if he should emerge from the smoke and dust to the villagers' reverence, or wait for the fumes to clear before making his appearance. He needed to inspire just the right amount of awe—it had all been planned from his entrance to the size of the crater at his feet, so the emergence should be no different.
His impatience finally getting the better of him, he quelled the flames and climbed the side of the depression to his awestruck audience.
As the tall figure emerged from within the smoky screen without so much as a scratch upon his lean body, a collective gasp escaped from the crowd. Gazing upon him, the townspeople were simultaneously inspired with awe and fear. This creature before them had been bestowed with an ethereal beauty; but this beauty, complete with a detached coldness in his unnaturally colored eyes and the obvious power emanating from him would have caused even the bravest unease. However, what struck them the most were the expansive wings of snowy white feathers that fanned out behind him.
The people lowered themselves onto bent knees and bowed deeply to this man who was clearly not of their world.