AUTHOR: Macx (with Lara Bee)
DISCLAIMER: not mine. Definitely not! I just play with them and hope I tread on no one's toes.
Author's Voice of Warning (aka Author's Note):
English is not my first language; it's German. This is the best I can
do. Any mistakes you find in here, collect them and you might win a prize
g> The spell-checker said everything's okay, but you know how
trustworthy those thingies are.....
ARCHIVE: yes
WARNINGS: Watari ouchies.
TYPE: yaoi
RATING: R
PAIRING: Tatsumi/Watari
FEEDBACK: empty inbox seeks emails g>
ATTN: Demons has a prequel called Angels that describes how Tatsumi
and Watari got together, but alas, it's NC-17. If you want to read it,
follow the link to my homepage. Thank you.
Watari knew it was a trap the moment he stepped into the old church.
Then again, he was going up against demons. Traps were their repertoire.
The shadows around him were deep and black and seemed to teem with
evil. The only light came from the lustrous chandelier that hung precariously
over what had once been an altar. The church had been abandoned a long
time ago, left to rot, a skeletal structure in the middle of nowhere. It
had been a proud monument to people's belief once, but the stones had crumbled
and ransacking had done the rest.
Old paintings and statues were silent witness to his entry, following
his path with dead eyes. Watari passed a stone display of a saint, one
arm broken off, the other still valiantly upholding the staff it carried.
Dead eyes, like all the rest.
He smiled a little.
The candles flickered in the breeze coming in through the cracks in
the wall and Watari's hair moved gently. Golden eyes narrowed as the shinigami
searched every crevice and niche for his opponent. He could feel him here.
He could almost see the invisible eyes on him, assessing him.
"My, my, what a homely place," he said softly, knowing that the demon
heard him.
There was a soft hiss.
That was all the warning he got.
The creature descended upon him in a wrath of black wings, gleaming
teeth and sharp claws. Watari's face showed none of his usual smiles as
he gathered his power and pulled an ofuda. He knew he was no match for
the creature in the long run; he had no shikigami, only his own power,
but he had to buy Tatsumi some time to accomplish his task, to find the
lost soul and free it from the demon's grasp.
Time to play.
The church had been built on a hill over five hundred years prior to
their arrival, at a time neither of the two shinigami had been either alive
or dead. It had been the holy haven of the villages near-by, drawing them
to masses and celebrations, to weddings and funerals. The graveyard downhill
attested to the latter. Like the church, though, it had fallen victim to
time and ill maintenance. Abandoned, the weeds had overgrown the markers,
had made them crumble, and only a few of the sturdier ones still stood
proud.
A chapel had been erected at the other end of the graveyard, but like
the church it had fallen to decay. Its roof was mostly gone, one wall crumbling,
and the iron fence that had been installed at a later time was rusty and
bent.
Tatsumi Seiichiro took all of that in, his sharp blue eyes sweeping
over the silent landscape. Somewhere around here the demon had shackled
the poor demented soul that had called it, binding it, and it was the shinigami's
task to see what could still be done.
He sighed a little.
The man in question was one Robert Lee, a teenager who had foolishly
believed that a little black magic and dabbling in the black arts would
give him power over people, girls and money. What it had gotten him was
a contract with a demon, his premature death, and a soul that lived on
in despair and pain. A shinigami's mission was to see to it that the souls
of the dead made their steps into the afterlife, and being bound to a demon
was not it.
So he and Watari had set out to see what could be done. Demons were
dangerous, lethally dangerous, and this one had already claimed the soul.
Tatsumi entered the chapel, the lair of the creature, and wondered
how his partner was doing. Watari had volunteered to lure the demon away
from its prey. While they were dangerous, some were also dumb, and this
one belonged to that category. It had pursued the blond, leaving Tatsumi
free to look for the soul.
He didn't expect there to be two demons.
But no one ever asked about a shinigami's wishes and dreams, let alone
his expectations.
The moment he stepped into the chapel, the darkness that enveloped
the back roared and red eyes glowed ferally.
Tatsumi had little time to think as instinct took over and powers flared.
But one thought stuck: if the demon was here… what had happened to Watari?
Watari felt the breath leave his lungs as he was thrown against the
wall, the bricks breaking under the impact. He slumped to the ground, groaning
softly. The demon jumped and he felt its claws dig into his leg.
He screamed in pain.
Blood gushed from the deep puncture wounds, joining the blood already
pooling around him from numerous injuries. His body was trying to heal
itself, but there were too many wounds, too deep, and something was keeping
his body from responding quickly. The scientific part of his mind told
Watari that the demon's saliva was probably poisoned, stopping or slowing
down the healing.
"Weak creature," the demon whispered, its hot breath brushing over
his blood-matted hair. "Pathetic."
Golden eyes cracked open and Watari looked at the horrendous face,
the long, leathery snout full of canine teeth. He laughed softly.
"Not worth your time, eh? Still you bother with me. Who's pathetic
now?"
The demon snarled. "You think too much of yourself. I like to play
while my brother takes care of your partner."
Watari felt a flash of fear. Tatsumi? There was another demon and it
was after Tatsumi?!
The demon chuckled wetly and bared its teeth.
"Then again, why would the Shadow Master need your help, little shinigami?"
it whispered. "You are weak. Nothing but cannon fodder for him. It's why
he sent you into my lair."
Watari's eyes widened a little. "I am not cannon fodder!" he hissed.
"Oh really? But you are nothing. What are your powers, tell me?" The
demon leaned closer, its fetid breath brushing over Watari's neck. "You
have no shikigami to help you, your own powers are nothing… you are weak…
dispensable… easy to replace."
Yellow eyes suddenly glinted with amusement.
"Or is it something else that makes you valuable? For the Shadow Master
maybe? For Enma?"
Watari struggled as he felt something cold brush over his mind.
No! No, no, no! The creature was digging into his mind… Claws buried
into the abused flesh and Watari cried out, tears shooting into his eyes.
Shinigami had a high tolerance for pain, but that had been crossed a while
ago. He was flung aside like a rag doll, landing against the altar.
Watari coughed wetly. Blood dripped out of his mouth onto the formerly
so splendorous marble ground. His breath rattled in his lungs and broken
ribs moved against each other.
"So you have another value," the demon went on, amused, almost laughing.
"I can see where he finds you useful. Tell me, little one, what else can
you do? Nothing…" came the answering hiss.
Watari fought the waves of blackness, the cold invasion into his mind.
"You are a scientist, right?" the hated voice continued. "But what
are your achievements? Nothing…"
"No…" he breathed.
He had a function, he was worth something…
"You ruin the lab… you play with your chemistry sets… but what's it
worth? You do little to help."
"No!"
The creature advanced, chuckling. "Poor little shinigami. A scientist
without much success or even use. They keep you as entertainment. Just
like he does."
The invasion continued and Watari sobbed in pain and desperation as
the demon's mind wormed itself into his. He had no strength left.
"And you are their doctor, too. What for? Shinigami heal. You are a
fool to believe they need you. They sure don't need your powers. Or lack
thereof."
The demon attacked again.
Watari had barely a moment to think, to react, and he managed to evade
the attack by a hair's breadth. Stumbling, feeling weak from blood loss,
the shinigami caught himself against the altar, breathing hard. Blood was
running into his eyes, the pain was multiplying, and it was getting harder
and harder to think.
Don't listen to that thing. Tatsumi is in danger, his mind insisted.
His partner didn't expect a second demon. He had no back-up.
Power curled inside him, the last remnants of his own, and he concentrated
on it. He had to destroy this thing, or at least cripple it.
"You are nothing!" the demon whispered, tightening its hold on the
pain-wreaked mind. "Let me deliver you from this unworthy existence!"
Darkness soared above him, claws reaching for his unprotected form.
Watari closed his eyes, dug deep into his very soul, gathered what he had…
and his body screamed with agony. Sweat beaded on his pale face as he tried
to last through the pain, as golden eyes snapped open, focusing on the
enemy, and then he let go of the shinigami power.
And Watari had power. He might be called a mad scientist by his friends,
but foremost he was an angel of death; he worked that job. He might not
have a shikigami, but he had his own power. He never flaunted it, he rarely
used it due to the slow pace where his own district was concerned. He wasn't
anything like Tsuzuki with his twelve powerful shikigami, Divine Commanders
no less, or Tatsumi who controlled shadows. But he had power.
That power he now released in a last, desperate attempt.
A power that gave life to inanimate objects, to dead things, to whatever
it touched.
Pictures moved restlessly, the two-dimensional renderings filling with
life and turning three-dimensional. Saints and divine creatures left their
roosting places as stone statues creaked and twisted. The one-armed saint
swung its staff, eyes still dead.
Watari didn't see the movement, the small army of objects coming to
his aid. He only felt the rush of a force he hadn't thought possible, an
energy that left him and flooded the church. Part of him was amazed, but
the amazement was drowned in the sheer agony of his bodily pain.
There was a scream; his own? The demon? He didn't know. Blood was rushing
through his ears, drowning out all other noise.
The world whited out around him.