Author's Note:
Hello and thank you for clicking on this story. For all those who are about to embark on this tale, please be aware that reviews (if any) will also be promptly replied to via PMs.
I'm hoping to sum this all up in one author's note, so bear with me here. This story is dark, twisted, and hopefully it will be something special. Chapters will most likely not be updated on a regular basis, and there will probably be a significant time-lapse between them.
Please do not take the opinions of the story's characters to heart, as they are purely for character development/plot purposes.
This story is not an AU. However, it begins one year before Rin and Yukio's freshman year at True Cross.
Thank you, and good reading.
Disclaimer:
Ao no Exorcist/Blue Exorcist is the property of Katou Kazue, and not of myself. All trademarked characters, locations, and ideas belong to their respective owners. This work is a piece of non-profit fanfiction used for entertainment purposes only. All original characters, locations, and ideas belong to this fanfiction's author and are not to be used without their consent.
Blue Exorcist
Ventil of Nightmares
By Siegrain
1. To Those who Hear a Tyrant's Musings
When I was young, my parents had high expectations from me. Often times they'd suggest career paths I might find interesting, more so to them than myself. My father seemed to be fixed on me becoming a businessman and taking over the family industry, while my mother was ever persistent on making me into a man of the arts.
"Darling, I have signed you up for art classes as of a few minutes ago. Doesn't that sound just wonderful?"
"That sounds brilliant, mother. Thank you." Once my mother had left, my father entered as if on cue and bombarded me with yet another round of news.
"Son, you're to be attended to by an accountant I have hired. I know that you secretly don't want to learn all of that art rubbish and would much rather know the ways of a money-maker, so there is no need to thank me."
"Yes father, rubbish. Thank you."
Life at the time was very routine; wake up in the morning, throw on proper clothes, travel down for the morning meal, and then bid my parents farewell as they left to who-knows-where. I had no idea what their job really was, I just knew that it had to be important considering how long and hard they worked.
When I became a little older, my parents' expectations seemed to lower somewhat, but they continued to push classes onto me nonetheless. Truthfully, I did want to please them—I just didn't know how.
How could I please my father; a man so high up on the world chain that I could only hope to catch a glimpse of his face as I stared up from my speck on the ground. And my mother; a woman so cultured and esteemed that I was as close to reaching her as I was to becoming the first man to colonize Saturn.
I was seven at the time, and I didn't see them for more than two hours a day, usually in the morning. When they came home, I was expected to be in bed. Secretly I'd lie awake, waiting to hear the door open to make sure they'd come home safely, and only then would I drift off to sleep.
No matter how much I studied or memorized, nothing seemed to be enough. Initially, I had gotten off on the right foot, but I didn't really receive any praise from my parents. It was inevitable that I would try to seek refuge from the "real world." I wanted to be someone important too.
As days turned to months and months turned to years, I became obsessed with something called the gaming world—a world where I was adored by all, and where I was the one people looked up to. Granted, I became so entranced by the power of being the main character that it became an obsession—gaming, that is.
The large expectations my parents had for me whittled away every time they saw me lying on my bed, clacking away on a game console.
By the time I was thirteen, I spent more than half the day sitting in front of a screen trying to save the princess of generic fantasy land, or something similar to that; the rest of the day would be filled with more studies and a full-blown exercise program my parents had desperately thrown together in order to keep me from becoming overweight.
I quickly came to realize that I was, in fact, good at gaming when I had set a record for most amount of completed titles. Once I had switched to playing online, I was even hailed as a gaming master—someone who could defeat any storyline in record timing.
That was the first time I'd ever been praised for something I'd done myself.
After much debate, my parents opted to send me away to a supposedly "foreign prestigious academy" I had never even heard of, with nothing but a suitcase full of clothes and a monthly salary that would remain untouched for most of my stay. They'd told me that it would be good for me to develop my independence, language skills, and get a taste of the "real world," not that I was interested in it at this point. To me, the world on my screen was the "real world."
At fifteen years of age, I was sent away with a cold farewell after my parents failed to show up for my departure (which I had come to expect). Then again, they were busy people, so I couldn't really blame them. I wasn't too miffed about it either way, mostly because I could take my refuge—my game console—with me. The only thing I was required to do was call them once a month to let them know I was still alive and kicking.
Of course, you could imagine how enthusiastic I was when I learned that I'd been shipped off to Japan—the land of wonderfully articulated games. I'd spent a good two days just browsing through game stores non-stop, although I did encounter some difficulty with my purchases.
"Excuse me, but I would like to purchase these items." The man gave me the most confused stare I had ever witnessed in my life. I then remembered that he would not know how to speak English, and attempted to ask my question in the language I had assumed to be Japanese.
Let's just say that I'm not welcome at that store anymore.
When I had actually gotten around to entering the school my parents had enrolled me in, I don't think I could have been any more surprised. Of course my parents would send me to a school that looked like its own bloody country—how in the world was I supposed to navigate around the campus, anyway?
More importantly, how was I supposed to participate in a school? I'd been homeschooled my entire life, which was probably not the best idea for "gaining independence," as my parents had put it.
As luck would have it, I was two hours late for the entrance ceremony and ended up not being able to attend. Instead, I spent the duration of the time attempting to charm the beauty of typical high-school-drama-land that lay dormant within the depths of my gaming console. Before long, students were plowing out of the building behind what I assumed to be a tour guide.
That day I learned that the actual school only consisted of a mere four buildings; what the rest of the land was for I will never know. It seemed to me as though the headmaster of the school was hell-bent on creating his own nation. I say this because he had established his own hell-themed theme-park (which is rather impractical).
The idea only continued to sink in further after I saw that the man looked more like a colorful clown rather than the owner of an academy.
Time wore on blandly; I attended the usual classes, gradually (after playing various Japanese titles) learned the language, and made a small group of acquaintances who shared the same interests as me. I quickly transitioned into my second year, and the cycle began once again.
But I was not contented with the life I lead. Often, I was reminded of the feats my parents accomplished whenever a news report came onto the television screen, or when I picked up a copy of the global newspaper (which was a rare occurrence).
I wanted to accomplish something of my own; I wanted people to know my name—to revere it as they did in the games I played. But by the time I had accomplished just that… I can honestly say that I'd wished I'd never attempted to do it. In retrospect, my actions were my own undoing.
I was a criminal—perhaps a man as hated as Satan himself. A tyrant; a traitor. And in my own sick, twisted mind, a self-proclaimed savior.
I should have known the real world could not be compared to a world of fiction.
Perhaps if you take from my actions what I was unable to, and learn from them as I did not, then you might be able to do some good in my place.
For where I stand at this very moment is where I, a mere high school student, brought the world to an end.