warnings: dubious consent, barian mindfuckery, absolutely rampant self-indulgent speculation on the barians
spoilers for zexal 88 kind of maybe sort of
barian sekai no tame ni
After Alit was injured in such a cruel fashion -
After Gilag was defeated -
And all thanks to this Tsukumo Yuuma, who somehow despite having no skill or brains has been outmatching them at every turn -
After all that, Mizael may not have minded if Durbe had seen fit to reassign him to a task that didn't involve returning to Earth. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case. (And it would be a breach of his duty to wish otherwise, which is why Mizael is only happy to serve the cause of Barian.)
It rankles to admit it, but Mizael cannot risk another open challenge to the boy. For one, all three Barian Sphere Cubes have been used to no avail, and Durbe made it known that Mizael would need to earn another. For another, it seems - loath as he is to admit it - Gilag and Alit lasted much longer on this miserable plane, and gained a great deal more knowledge, by making an effort to blend in. Thus, this stupid ensemble: the stolen uniform, the hair tucked under some type of false headpiece the humans call a wig, and his facial markings concealed under a layer of human skin-colored dust, which some humans seem to use for the purpose. Bizarre and strange, really. Mizael doesn't understand this plane of existence. It's so... slow. And bulky.
No matter. All Mizael needs to do is observe Tsukumo Yuuma and discern a key weakness in his movements. ("In his dueling," Mizael doesn't think, because Mizael is so clearly his superior in that respect.) For the first two days, he tails the boy to and from school, and watches him as much as he can during the day. There's nothing remotely interesting about him, other than the grating, hair-raising sometimes-presence of the Astral Messenger.
But on the third day -
"Ahh! I'm so sorry!" is all Mizael's warning before something fairly slams into him in the hallway as he walks his ten paces behind Tsukumo Yuuma, slams into him so hard that his opposite shoulder knocks a half-ajar classroom door open and spills the two of them into the room.
Mizael snaps up, snarling, "You idiot," before feeling a strange sensation at the back of his head and realizing that his wig-thing had come loose from his head. Out of sight of Yuuma, however, that was not an irrevocable error. The idiot in question is standing over him and waving his hands and apologizing nonstop, backing up as he does so until he hits the door.
(why is the door closed though?)
Mizael stands up and brushes the human aside to open the door and find where Tsukumo has gone - but - but the handle won't turn? And he turns around, and - and the human is standing just next to him, watching his efforts with the handle, all of a sudden no longer apologizing or screeching in a grating voice but just watching. Closely. And smiling all the while. (it reminds Mizael of - but that would be impossible.)
"Trouble?" the human asks, and there is somehow now something entirely different about him; what's more, Mizael seems to... recognize him. The eyes, the grating mannerisms before, the hair... he -
Oh, no. This is one of the humans who hangs around Tsukumo Yuuma.
"You..." Mizael whispers, backing up to the side wall, to get a better look at the human (and to get away from him, perhaps). This was a miscalculation; he steps forward and now Mizael is barred from the door.
"Me," the human says, and for a second he seems to expect more (why does Mizael think this is important, that far beyond this being one of that infernal human child's hangers-on, that perhaps they know one another?), but his expectations foiled, he shrugs. Perhaps seems... disappointed? "But never mind," he sighs, pulling his deck from his pocket. "I suppose you'd like to duel, wouldn't you?"
Mizael, his lips pulled back in a sneer, stretches his arm out - But no, his deck is at his hip, and his Duel Disk is in the backsack (or whatever) that he carries around as part of his disguise, and that is across the room where he had dropped it, and when he looks up he sees - he sees that the human is holding up his deck and the bottom card is visible, the bottom card spilling a soft red light across the room that reminds Mizael inexplicably of home, of What is Good, and he relaxes.
What a good card that must be, though this human has it in his deck, Mizael thinks, and the human advances but it is alright, because he is still holding that card - in fact, it is getting closer - and Mizael cannot help but stand where he is and bask in its homecoming light. Closer to it, he can read the text at the top: LIMITED BARIAN'S FORCE, and although he should wonder how it came to be in this human's hand, for the life of him he can't feel anything but happiness and warmth in its presence.
"You know," the human says, and Mizael catches himself straining to listen, "it was a subject of derision when Vector reported that human thought processes were conducted in a bodily organ so flexible, so manipulable." Yes, Mizael remembers, it was the subject of much talk, when distribution of arms was discussed. He doesn;t wonder how this human came to know of it. "And yet, we make ourselves so vulnerable to our own weapons, when we take these forms." he continues, stopping a few feet from Mizael. There is a hard, perhaps angry, but mostly satisfied light in his eyes.
(Mizael doesn't question "we.")
(At such a time, in the light of home blotting out all unnecessary electrical synaptic noise in that slab of meat humans termed their "brain," it seems so silly, when Mizael is so connected to everything in this room. Everywhere the light falls.)
"But limited is limited," he continues, though his words mean nothing in particular, as he steps even closer to Mizael. "I can only do so much." He straightens his shoulders. "It is very important, Mizael, that in the future, when you duel Tsukumo Yuuma, you should lose. For the sake of Barian World."
For the sake of Barian World...! And Mizael's heart leaps because it is so good and so right to be given a duty! For his world, his comrades, for his very existence! It is bound up in his very being at this moment, that he should lose to Tsukumo Yuuma when they duel. An honor, a privilege! The idea of fulfilling this purpose gives him such joy! Mizael murmurs in affirmation, "Yes, for the sake of Barian World. I will do it." Yes. Yes.
The human, most blessed to deliver the wishes of Barian World, almost moves as if to put the card away - but stops. To himself, he mutters, "But limited - it may not hold." He turns back, turns the full light of the card on Mizael again. "Mizael. Whatever command I give you, you should carry out."
"I... understand?" A strange misgiving enters Mizael's mind at this: a human...? But, Durbe...?
Seeing this, the human says: "It is the will of Barian that this be done. When I call you by your true name, you will know that this is for Barian's sake."
And Mizael relaxes again: yes, of course, for who but a Barian could know his name, other than those he gave it to on this world? For Barian's sake. "For Barian's sake," he says, again, the words themselves giving him comfort, strength.
"Good," he says. And again, as before, a strange look passes through his face - disappointment? recognition? disgust? expectation? - before he puts the card away in his deck holder.
In his deck...
in...
Mizael puts a hand to his head, suddenly. He is dizzy, he feels strange, time seems to have passed, and - And he needs to be trailing Tsukumo Yuuma, he is wasting valuable time! He steps to the door, before -
"Ah, Mizael," the human says, "could you come over here?"
Mizael steps away from the door. (He's not sure why.)
"That's good, good,"-and Mizael feels his strange human face warm at the praise - "now turn to me." Mizael does - and the human is so close, has him against the door now, has one hand on Mizael's shoulder, the other reaching beneath his human-clothing? - Has closed his hand around a piece of anatomy Mizael had found, up to this point, to be good for little else than an extremely inefficient waste-disposal system. But - this is new! Why? -
"What's - " and Mizael feels his face growing hotter still, some odd function of cell activity or - or, or something.
"You aren't familiar with this body yet, are you?" The human smiles, and it is a terribly knowingsmile, and Mizael feels afraid. He shakes his head for a negative. "That's too bad," says the human, and his hand curls suddenly around that part of Mizael's body, and the oddest sensation rolls through his lower abdomen. "Mizael," and again, the pronunciation of his name in this voice makes Mizael strangely open to whatever follows, as though Durbe had spoken, as though a father or mother had spoken, "You should enjoy this."
And with the sentence pronounced, he does. Mizael had before scorned nearly all the sensations his human disguise had communicated to him, save those that indicated important bodily needs, such as hunger or thirst - but now with this injunction, to enjoy it - the hand on something so sensitive, the proximity of the two, Mizael cannot help it: he is no longer worried, as he backs into the door and sighs. It's... good. It's so good. The human;s fingers roll and play with him, and he breathes strangely, his head tilts back, he feels so disconnected from anything but the sensations in his body, and the command to enjoyringing in his thoughts like birdsong. And it builds - he breathes - and builds - he moans - and builds - he is afraid, he doesn't know what this is - until he feels his muscles clench and some sort of fluid is bursting out of him and in it the sensation is good, so good, so Good, he can't think for it, he can't remember why he is here -
until the human's fingers stroke his face (the same ones?) and he whispers, "You felt good, didn't you?" and Mizael nods, exhausted, confused. His fingers entangle in Mizael's hair: "I'm glad," he says, there is the same strange look in his eyes as before, that would make Mizael think he should know something he doesn't if he weren't so confused right now. "Mizael, you should remember I made you feel so good," and Mizael does, he can't un-know it, this human and his hands and his words that somehow strike him like hammers. "Would you like to make me feel good?" Mizael nods, after a moment's consideration, but he nods: yes, that would be a reciprocal gesture.
The human breaks away, only a little, and says, "Good." He unzips his own pants - and Mizael sees that he has that same odd piece of human anatomy that before this moment seemed to have no use, and it is standing up on its own. "I want you to make me feel good, Mizael." Mizael feels warmth again at his own name, and feels that there would be nothing he wanted more than to gratify this human in the same way; he reaches for it with his hand - "No," the human says. He is smiling like a predator, like something angry. "With your mouth instead."
Mizael does not understand, really, but he bends over at the waist - "It will be easier," the human suggests, "if you get on your knees," and so Mizael does that, and he opens his mouth and closes it over the human's thing - and the human shuts his eyes and hisses through his mouth, a sound odd but not unencouraging. He tangles his hand in Mizael's hair. "Keep going," he says, and Mizael tries his tongue on the thing - that was good - his teeth - that was not good - tries a swallowing motion like when he needed to drink water for his body, and that makes the human gasp and whisper his name with nothing attached to it, and Mizael feels so strange and good when this happens. It was unlike anything that was of the Barian World, this strange plane and its stranger functions. But soon Mizael tastes something strange, and the human clutches his hair harder - it hurt - and moans, and the same fluid that Mizael felt leaking from him leaks from the human too. He swallows it, not knowing what else to do with it. It isn't like water.
"Good," says the human, and Mizael feels a glow of pride. He strokes Mizael's hair, where Mizael kneels on the floor. "Good." His eyes seem focused on something very far away. "Mizael?"
"Yes?" Mizael whispers it because his throat hurts.
"Remember how good you felt," the human says. "That's how good you'll feel when you lose to Tsukumo Yuuma, Mizael."
The thought makes him so happy - there is a feeling that he knew he was going to lose to Tsukumo Yuuma, as if someone had told him in a dream, but now this assurance makes Mizael so satisfied, so assured of his future. (Even though there is a part of him that is still confused, confused and angry and doesn't quite understand.) "I understand," he says.
"Good," the human says. "You can remember how good you felt. But you don't need to think about what just happened, Mizael. You shouldn't think about it at all. Everything will be alright. For the Barian World's sake."
"Yes," Mizael finds himself agreeing. It's so right, without any complications, without anything that needs to be said. It will be okay. "For the sake of Barian World." He smiles, and it is positively seraphic.